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brisquad-unit-4402 · 2 months

Note

Hello can I request Luxiem reacting to you taking off their engagement ring (assuming them and reader are engaged)? The situation can differ per member. Also if you’re not comfortable doing all members then at least Vox, Shu and Ike will be okay. Thank you!

oooo i saw “the situation can differ” and i took the fattest sip out of my coffee. i love drama. if you’re looking for something specifically fluff or angst with your oshi i hope the rng works in your favor

tags: gender neutral reader, established relationship, engagement and marriage, fluff, angst, breakups, arranged marriage, misunderstandings, unrequited love alternate universe, reader gets sold to one direction, i popped off a little too hard on some of these so sorry if you can detect a bias 😔

⚠️ forced marriage, implied dubcon (non-explicit), yandere(?) in vox’s entry

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

🖋 Ike Eveland

Ike spent all the time in the world examining every last ring at the jeweler's with the eye of a detective, whittling down each choice until he found the perfect ring to propose to you with.

Now he looks back at the white gold and how it reflects his face as he holds it up close, glasses up on his forehead while his nearsighted eyes take it in. The diamond in the center divides his reflection up in facets that gleam even as his shadow covers the overhead light, while the two sapphires on either side make the blue in his eyes all the more prominent.

He thought he had it all planned out, and he wasn't so presumptuous that he knew everything would go like how his wildest dreams unfolded, but he thought he had done at least something right. The moment he got on one knee was the number-one proof there was magic in the world.

So why, then, isn't the engagement ring in its rightful place on your hand?

He turns it over, inspecting the band as if there would be a clue engraved on the metal. Nothing, and it makes the growing panic in his head all the louder. You've already left the home much earlier that day, and he hasn't gotten a single text from you since. That's not surprising—he's clingy but not so much that he needs updates from you 24/7—but it's gnawing at him. You were so happy when he proposed that you cried with him, and your eyes rarely left the band around your finger. You swore you'd never leave it behind with wet eyes and the biggest smile in the world.

The memory just makes Ike all the more confused. He found it in the bathroom, on the sink counter like just any old piece of jewelry, even though you always keep it on your nightstand in the same place every day. It's a ritual to slip it on every morning and take it off every night, and there's been more than a few times Ike placed it on your finger before anyone's left the bed, as if the magic of the proposal still lingers with every day he's your fiancé.

At least, he thought it did. Something about plans and not being presumptuous, and doing something right. Or God forbid, doing something wrong.

He clutches the ring closer in his hand as he kneels on the bathroom tile, the cool metal turning warm with how long he's been holding it, while he puts the last few days on replay. Did he ruin something without noticing? He dreads the thought, and when he can't think of any recent transgressions, he tries to recall every day since the proposal.

Anxiety dyes the memories over. He always treasured every moment, even the imperfect ones where he's made a fool of himself (because what else is he supposed to do when he's in love like nothing else), but now he's starting to realize that he could've done better. He should've done better.

He's so lost in his thoughts and the labyrinth of deceit they invite that he doesn't recognize the world around him, even as the home comes to life while he sits still. He ignores the latching of keys and doors opening and closing. The only thing that snaps him out if it is footfalls along the flooring, slowly growing in volume as they approach the bathroom, until they're interrupted by the door creaking open and—

"Holy—Ike! You scared me!" Your hands are raised, startled, but lower to your side. "I just got home, and I was wondering where you went and... Why are you on the floor?"

Count another moment of foolishness. Ike returns to the waking world, where he sits on his legs over the tile of the master bathroom of the house, hands cupped around the engagement ring and the one he cares for above all else behind him, and yet still he can barely muster the strength to raise his head, much less speak out loud.

"Reader," he says. "I, uh, I have a question."

The words end there, and too ashamed to look up, he brings his hands out instead. Diamond and sapphires shine through his palms.

He hears a sharp intake of air. A gasp. Of shock, certainly, but whatever fuels it is lost to him.

"No way, you found it! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" You plop down on the floor right next to your fiancé, leaning along his shoulder in disbelief. "It wasn't in any of my pockets, and I was just about to turn the house upside-down. Where was it?"

"I'm not sure how to approach this," Ike mumbles, before fixing his glasses and raising his quiet voice a bit louder. "It was in the bathroom."

"Ohh, that explains it. I probably took it off to wash my hands, then."

Ike falters. "Wh-what?"

"I usually take it off before getting my hands wet," you explain, as if it's the most mundane thing in the world. It is. "I know gold is waterproof, but I don't want it to lose its shine or anything."

"Right. The shine."

Ike Eveland, certified idiot, at your service.

The ring sits pretty in one hand while the other runs through his hair. Another foolish moment, but with your head up on his shoulder, his anxieties calm.

Fingertips rest along his palm, and when he looks at its source, you return the gaze. Your eyes sparkle nearly as bright as the gemstones, but your lids are lowered, trying to discern something. "Ike, you look like you have something on your mind."

"I do, don't I." At that, he muffles a laugh, fingers still tangled in his ashy hair. "No, I'm just glad that the ring reunited with its owner."

"Thanks again." You nod, the elated smile on your face fading into a dopey one. "Can you...?"

The exchange is wordless, and in his palm, warm. Ike takes the ring and turns it upright, while the hand it rested on takes yours instead.

Every morning when the both of you are too sleepy to even speak, he manages to treat your hands like fine crystal glass, and still he does now, with your palm resting under his grasp and fingers dangling out. The metal's temperature doesn't shock you at all. It's an extension of you, even when it was under Ike's watch.

Ike affixes the band with care, lashes and disheveled hair covering his eyes as he focuses, but you can discern the small, struck curve in his lips as he twists the band into place, certain it won't budge for the rest of the day.

You start to raise your hand, but before you do he gently tugs it back down, still focused on the way the engagement ring gleams. Then up at your knuckles, and higher on your arm until you can see a hint of green through the lashes. That green blinks back under his eyelashes as he lifts your knuckles to his lips.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

🦁 Luca Kaneshiro

It's late. You haven't checked the time in hours, but it's dark, and the false daylight from the old floor lamp in your living room cuts through the night in the window.

You should be asleep by now. You haven't gotten a good rest in what feels like forever. You've always been too worried, and when worry eased it turned into hollowness, even when the other side of the bed sinks with added weight.

You sit along the couch in the corner you always occupy on late nights when Luca is out. Whenever he comes back, he always wraps his arms around you and kisses the top of your head. A metallic scent follows him.

The door opens. Warm arms envelop you. Squeeze. Lips against your hair.

You don't have it in you to smile.

He can tell. His grin falls as he peels back his gloves. They're tinted darker on the knuckles. "Reader. You've been so distant lately."

"I will be. It'll be better for me to stop seeing you. It's not safe." The dredges of all your past arguments curl into your throat.

It breaks your heart to see Luca so stunned. Months upon months cleaning and dressing his wounds, and you've never seen him so taken aback.

That's one of the reasons you can't go on like you used to.

"I've spent so much of my time telling you to watch yourself, and so much time just asking you to come home," you explain. "You know as well as I do you can take a break. But you don't.

"And I can't control you, but do you know how many times I've had to stay up just to know you'll be safe? To know I'll be safe?" Your fingers tense. "The gunfire outside, the spyware, I stopped ordering packages because ever since that threat last year I've been paranoid one of your enemies might actually leave a bomb at my doorstep. I don't know how you can do it, but I can't.

"And I've spent so much time alone."

Your eyes fall to the engagement ring on your hand. It's glamorous and gold, with tiny diamonds that line the band and frame the large diamond in the center like pawns to a king. Is that what you are to him?

You raise the back of your palm up, and the lamp makes the diamonds shimmer. "What does this even mean? You tell me you love me but you never give me your time anymore. You can't just do that, Luca. Not when I stay up night after night worrying what if you got shot, or stabbed, or kidnapped, and every night you don't come home or even send me a text I can't help myself from thinking that."

"I wouldn't." Luca's big purple eyes make contact with yours. The way his voice wavers and his face is set into a grimace, you know he's serious, and those purple eyes are honest. "I wouldn't get hurt and leave you by yourself like that."

"But you did! There are days in a row where I don't see a trace of you and consider calling in a missing persons case! Weeks, even, and so many times I have to patch you up after a fight!"

"I can take care of myself."

"And I want to take care of you! We're engaged, that means we're in it together, but I can't do this! I'm not some superhero mafioso like you. I'm just-"

Your throat tightens. You were doing such a good job at keeping yourself together, but the diamonds are your chain.

You rip the ring off yourself, and Luca watches in horror.

"I'm just normal."

The ring lands on the table, next to the water stains from the previous tenant. Your fiancé is motionless.

"I'll help you collect your things tomorrow when it's a decent hour," you snap, patience lost. "But you're not staying here. God knows you've found places to spend the night without me."

"We're not over," he says, utterly in disbelief.

"Yes, we are! You can't get it through your head that you're dangerous, and you can't even make up for it by being there when it matters. I'm not safe. How could I ever feel safe when the man that proposed to me is never around to actually protect me? You said you would when you got down on one knee, and ever since it's only been more danger! That's the opposite of what you promised me!"

You snatch the ring with one hand and his own in the other. He winces, and you can see a newly formed bruise where his own band glints up at you. Another late fight tonight, when he could've rested.

You push the engagement ring into his palm and force the fingers closed around it. He doesn't even protest. "Go home. Let me be alone like I know you're so good at doing."

"I'll be back for you. I'll make it right. I swear."

"You had your chance and you blew it. You're lucky I'm not changing the lock before you get your things." You leer, scorned and scarred. "We're done."

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

👟 Shu Yamino

Your hand shakes, and the engagement ring between your fingers glints in the lighting. The gold is stark against your skin even in the glow, with a pear-shaped stone in the center of the ring that catches the glow in little reflections off the surface of the fabric of your attire and your skin. They start purple, then gleam in subtle rainbows of fire.

It’s an elegant piece with slanted filigree wrapped all around like Shu's flames around your finger. The stone smiles, and when the light bounces off the facets, it giggles speckles of glitter against you.

Shu is so beautiful in white. His eyes are a brilliant royal purple just like the stone, especially as he blinks back tears, and even though his hair is braided back, a strand of hair strays by his right side. He spent the last twenty minutes blowing it out of his face nervously.

Your fingers graze over the gold. The fiery stone lets out a laugh as it slides off your finger.

Shu's hand meets yours. "Let me help you," he whispers, so quiet that no one could ever hear it but you. He shakes too, but he is together with you, and as you present him your right hand, the engagement ring finds its place on your right hand.

He produces another, one that the both of you picked out together. It, too, is gold, but simply bent upward in a point like a chevron. Two stones, one diamond and one deep purple, are placed on the side. One to represent each of you, set together in metal.

"I've been dreaming about this for so long," he admits. His voice is wet. You know your eyes are too, and even though you gingerly wipe them, you focus on how much care he puts into placing the band around your left ring finger, both hands trembling at the excitement.

It takes you time to find your words. Even as you bring out his ring, you're still speechless, and the weight of the gold is both air and boulder. "I love you," you say, because that's all you can think. His band matches the angle shape of yours, but the metal is thicker to fit his hands, and flat enough to reflect your ring alongside his. As you place it on his finger, you brush against his knuckles.

"Reader. Do you take Shu as your lawfully wedded husband, to live in matrimony, to have and to hold, in both sickness and in health, dedicated to him for as long as you live?"

"I love you, I do, I do, I do."

"Shu. Do you take Reader as your lawfully wedded spouse, to live in matrimony, to have and to hold, in both sickness and in health, dedicated to them for as long as you live?"

"I do. God, I love you." You don't retract your hand, and he wraps around yours. The gold weaves between your fingers. "I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you."

"You have pledged before these witnesses to be joined in marriage, and you have now sealed this pledge by exchanging these wedding rings. By the power vested in me, I pronounce you officially married!"

You barely hear the officiator before Shu leans in. You meet him where your wedding ring presses against his skin and the engagement ring spreads royal freckles across his face.

You're set alight, gold on gold, lip against lip. You take his first kiss of many as a newly married man.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

👹 Vox Akuma

The Lord Akuma may be self-assured, but he knows when his intuition is trying to signal something, and so he approaches you with what you can already tell is hesitation. "My love."

"Lord."

"It has come to my attention—"

"There's a first for everything," you mock.

You know your attitude more than justifies the trepidation. Good. You'll admit that talking back to a noble is a death sentence, and anyone that dared to disrespect Lord Akuma’s name would be strung up for their rudeness.

However, you are not simply ‘anyone.’ You are the royal heir to a kingdom of your own, and your death would bring upon a far worse fate to the Lord than any public execution.

Lord Akuma’s harsh red makeup squints together as he leers—then sighs and tries again, shoulders still square as if that would intimidate you. “It has come to my attention that you reject our engagement.”

Years of etiquette has taught you otherwise, but now, you understand the commonfolk’s urge to spit on the shoes of another. “Of course I reject it. I would never marry someone like you.”

“As you’ve made it abundantly clear. You have my apologies if your time in my castle has been lackluster. Please, if the accommodations have been subpar, or the staff neglectful, just say the word. It will be handled accordingly.”

“I don’t give a damn about your castle. I’m not marrying you!” You snap. “You’re a disgusting pig of a warlord. My kingdom will never accept this.”

“Is that truly what you think?”

You nod, hair in your face and teeth gnashed together. “They’ll come for me. They’ll stand up against the empire we’ve been at war with for the abduction of their royal heir.”

“I’m afraid that’s not how it works, my love.”

“And quit calling me that!”

“Look at me.”

In an instant Lord Akuma lifts your chin with a finger, forcing you to face him even as you try to turn away. “But that is who you are.” Vox’s eyes, a pallid yellow most days, turn darker than sunsets. “Despite your kingdom’s political climate, you are no ruler. A heir, yes, but no ruler. Making your own choice in marriage was never an option.”

He produces the ring, a gold band in a traditional style practiced in his empire alone. You’re no jeweler, but it’s clear it’s a heirloom passed down from blood to blood until it fell into Lord Akuma’s hands. You don’t need a artisan’s knowledge to know those rubies feel much heavier than they look, either.

“I was heartbroken to see you left this behind in your room,” Lord Akuma said, coolly and evenly, and certainly not heartbroken at all. Ice slides down your spine as you realize that hesitance wasn’t out of fear at all. No, you’ve underestimated him entirely. “Especially after the true rulers of your kingdom, your parents, accepted the terms and gave me their blessing.

“If you see me as simply a political figure, then I’m sure you can recognize you aren’t half of the politician you claim to be.” His grin grows wider. “Perhaps a bargaining chip is a better title.”

Your vision flares red, then white as you thrash. “You—“

“Hold still.”

Lord Akuma’s grip is startlingly strong. His nails dig into the sides of your cheeks as he shoves you against the wall.

As much as you try to slip away, the Lord Akuma is the general of his army as well as a noble, and has dealt with much more cunning minds than yours. He pins you down, hot weight pressing your arm away while he catches your left hand.

“It would be wise not to resist me,” he commands.

Still you writhe, even though Lord Akuma shifts his weight to disable you further. Your knuckles are turning white under his grip.

Your strength is on the verge of giving out, now that the adrenaline is wearing off, and Lord Akuma is no longer shocked. You grunt and force every last bit of energy into your fist, but his fingers weave around yours, pulling your fist apart until he wrests the ruby ring onto your finger.

“You bastard,” you hiss. You must be a wreck right now, in improper dress and sweltering under Lord Akuma, and with every last courtesy abandoned in your hatred. The exhaustion from the fight fuels both anger and humiliation, especially now that Lord Akuma is so close. “You’re sick, Lord Akuma.”

He looks down at you, and has the gall to look disappointed. “My love, your fiancé’s name is Vox.”

You growl. “I hate you, more than anything.”

Vox is barely an inch away, and grins as he closes the distance. His teeth point daggers. “Then kiss me like you hate me.”

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

✧. ┊ ⁭masterpost ✧. ┊ ⁭kofi

#luxiem x reader #ike eveland x reader #luca kaneshiro x reader #shu yamino x reader #vox akuma x reader #ike eveland #luca kaneshiro #shu yamino #vox akuma #nijisanji x reader #nijisanji en #luxiem #ike eveland fluff #luca kaneshiro angst #shu yamino fluff #vox akuma angst #4402 writes #listening to the gardens from little big planet while writing shv's entry #i'm also the loudest crier at his and reader's wedding these two things are correlated

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zee-rambles · 9 months

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With the official confirmation from Paramount that there IS going to be an official TV series based on Mutant Mayhem, Tales of the TMNT, that will bridge the gap between MM and it’s sequel(two seasons long), what’re your thoughts? Do you think this’ll hamper any hope for a potential third season of Rise, or do you feel that people shouldn’t be harsh on it and appreciate it for being it’s own thing(I’m very much the latter lol)?

LONG post is LONG, but I really wanted to drive home the importance of this.

I don’t really have an opinion on the Mutant Mayhem show, TBH. I knew it was coming, because Nickelodeon is banking on MM to be a big hit, and it’s not that weird for them to try and squeeze as much money as they can from a new IP. The fact that this new series is going straight to paramount plus and not on Nickelodeon’s main channel is…confusing (Unless it’s actually going to Nickelodeon, in which case, so what? If Nickelodeon can have THREE different versions of SpongeBob airing on their channel, then I don’t see what excuse they can make for not having two versions of the TMNT out simultaneously. They’ve done it before too. 2012 and the Bay films were happening at the same time).

As for Rise, I don’t think hating on Mutant Mayhem or on its related shows is going to do much good. If anything, it’s going to create a divide between incoming fans of Mutant Mayhem, older Rise fans, and Rise fans that are looking forward to more TMNT content. If the show does air on Nickelodeon, it’s not like the kids watching it are going to know the discourse surrounding Rise. Review bombing, hating, and leaving bad faith reviews on anything Mutant Mayhem related isn’t going to bring Rise back. And it’s going to give Rise fans a bad rep, which will end up hurting Rise more, because no one would want to give a show a chance if its fan base is seen as toxic.

Trust me, no one wants Rise of the TMNT to come back more then I do, but I’m not going to go around discouraging or hating on on anyone that is excited for Mutant Mayhem. It’s one thing if you watch and don’t enjoy it, or choose not to support it, I’m not here to force anyone to do anything they don’t want to do, and it’s normal for people not to like something sometimes. If it isn’t for you, it isn’t for you. That happens. But hating it with a passion and posting that everywhere does nothing helpful for Rise.

The best thing would be if new TMNT fans and Rise fans came together to save the show. If more people knew about Rise, the movie, and if enough content keeps the fandom alive, raises interest in the show online, and keeps the show/movie from being fading away into the background, there’s a chance. The bigger the following Rise has, the more people asking for its return, the higher the chances. The more alive it is across social media, the better. What we need more then anything really, is visibility. Not enough people know about Rise. Danny Phantom still has a big following to this day, still has more people giving it a chance because the fans love it enough to keep it going. And people are seeing that. Watch Mojo released a video recently about shows that deserve to come back and Danny was on that list. Spectacular Spider-Man still gets new videos made of it all the time, and the fans STILL, even after all these years, ask for more.

We’re in an interesting position. I don’t think ANY other fandom has ever said, “Heck it! We’ll make our OWN season! Ya JERKS!” So support each other, keep asking for more Rise, keep making art, social media posts, videos, ask Cinema Wins and Cinema Therapy to review the movie, keep sharing and signing the petitions, recommend it to people, anime fans, non TMNT fans (I wasn’t a fan of TMNT until Rise), animation fans and so on. Always ask for the original producers, Ant Ward, Andy Suriano, writers, cast and crew to come back. Word of mouth is a powerful thing. The more people make an effort, the better. And don’t give up. Giving up is the one true for Rise fade away.

TLDR: No, hating on MM will NOT help Rise. BUT! Continuously making efforts to bring back Rise, support each other, raise awareness/visibility, will.

#rottmnt #save rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt #unpause rottmnt #save rise of the tmnt #mutant mayhem #zee answers stuff #Nickelodeon #Danny phantom #spectacular spider man #paramount #unpause rise of the tmnt #rottmnt season 3 #keep rottmnt trending #rise of the tmnt #fandom #acceptance #tmnt mutant mayhem

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plussizefantasia · 6 months

Text

The Surprise

Flufftober Day 20: Hiking

Thorin Oakenshield x reader

Word Count: 2.1k

AN: Day 20! Wow, if I'm totally honest I didn't think that I'd make it this far. Feedback and Reblogs mean a lot. I'll see y'all tomorrow.

divider credit: @royallaesthetics

“You’ve not been yourself for quite a while my love. Tell me what troubles you.” Thorin had been more irritable than normal lately. He had taken to sparring more than normal and had been extremely short with some of the more resistant members of his council.

“It is nothing Ghivashel, do not worry your precious head about me.”

“I’ll always worry about you Thorin, that is what being your wife means.” You pulled him into your arms and looked into his eyes. “You are my heart, and when you hurt, I hurt. So let me lift your burdens.”

“Do you miss it?” Was his questioning response.

“Miss what, Thorin?”

“Being free. The adventures that we had before we reclaimed the mountain. Slaying beasts and journeying with our closest friends.” He was wistful when he spoke of these things. His voice was soft and his eyes were glazed over.

“Of course I miss it my love, but who is to say that it has to be over?”

His eyes met yours. “I have far too much to do. I cannot just leave the mountain to go on an adventure, not while things are still so fragile.”

“Well, yes. You cannot go on another year-long journey to reclaim our homeland. But you can take the weekend. The council is at an impasse as it is and Bard and Thranduil are not due to return for negotiations for another month.” You kissed his head. “Thorin you have done enough that I know the mountain will not fall apart if you were to leave for a short while.”

“But what kind of King would I be if I abandoned my people?”

“My love, you are not abandoning them, you are taking care of yourself. You are letting yourself blow off some steam so that when you come back you will be an even better King than you are now.”

“It is just not possible Ghivasel. I must put these thoughts far from my mind.”

“If that is what you think is best.” You sighed. Your husband was not one to be easily swayed, even by you.

Your thoughts began to race though, thinking of all the ways that you could improve your lover’s mood and what would need to be taken care of before that could happen.

The next few days passed similarly to the ones before your conversation with Thorin. He was up before you were and returned to your shared chambers after you had already gotten ready for sleep. His mood only got worse and you decided that something needed to give. Which is why the next morning after you had awoken, once again to your husband’s side of the bed already cold, you had sought out Balin for a discussion during breakfast.

You had found him in the royal library, where he usually resided in the early morning. Nursing a cup of tea and flipping through pages of an old tome.

“Balin, I need to discuss something with you old friend.”

“Anything, for my Queen.”

“I was your friend long before I was your Queen” You pointed out.

“Perhaps but, I knew you’d be Queen before even Thorin did.”

“That is precisely who I’m here to speak to you about.” Balin put his book down on the table next to him, turning his aging body towards yours fully, and gestured for you to take a seat. “Thorin is troubled. He misses the journey and the freedom that came with it. I do not doubt that he loves being King, but he needs to be just Thorin sometimes too.”

“I have noticed that Thorin has been more easily angered as of late. What do you have in mind?”

“I’m so glad you asked.” You detailed your plan to Balin and bounced ideas of the old dwarf until the sun had reached its peak in the sky. Both of you had accidentally neglected your duties of the morning and spent the rest of the day playing catch-up. Any dwarf that saw the two of you in passing though, could only describe the two of you as possibly giddy.

Two weeks passed before the plan could finally be put into motion. Two weeks of sneaking around behind Thorin’s back, wrapping up loose ends, and ensuring that the mountain would in fact, not implode during your weekend away. It was hard work, and by the end of it, you were very much aware of why Thorin had been so tense lately. It just made you want to surprise him with your gift even more.

The morning of the surprise you intentionally woke up extremely early. Early enough that you were up and ready before Throin was. You pulled together your outfit and his and ensured that both of your packs were properly stocked.

When he finally woke, the confusion on his face quickly morphed into alertness and concern. He practically launched himself out of the bed before his eyes landed on your body and he instantly relaxed.

“What in Mahal’s name are you doing up?” His morning voice was rough and insanely attractive, you had to remind yourself that you were on a schedule before you acted upon the thoughts that came rushing to you at his words.

“I have a surprise for you, and I needed to be awake before you to stop you from leaving before it was ready.”

“Ghivashel,” his tone was apologetic, “today is much too busy for any kind of surprise.”

“Except, my love, it is not. I have already taken care of your duties for the day, and have canceled the meeting you had with the miners guild this weekend in favor of a crafter’s summit later this month where all of the workers in the mountain will be able to discuss their dilemmas together.”

“You, what?” He was baffled, truly baffled. How had you possibly done all this without him noticing?”

“The summit was Balin’s idea, he insisted that it would work and I hope he was right. Nevertheless, your schedule and mine are clear for the next three days and I have planned a surprise for you. Your clothes are laid out for you and I have already packed for the both of us. Breakfast is in the kitchen, meet me in the stables when you are ready. I still have a few things to prepare before it is time.” You instructed him.

“Time for what?” He grabbed your wrist as you began to walk out past the wooden doors of your chamber.

“Time for your surprise, my darling.” You kissed him soundly and continued your exit. Leaving a confused but hesitantly excited Thorin behind.

While Thorin was getting ready, you headed to the kitchen yourself. To grab the basket full of the feast you had called upon the kitchen to prepare. A long with some dried bread and cheese to put in your sack. Then you made your way to the other hall of royal chambers to ensure that the princes were awake and getting ready. Those two could sleep through an orc attack if they were given the chance, and today you would not be giving them the chance.

“If you mess this up. I will shave your mustache in your sleep Fili I mean it.” You had threatened the eldest. You found that it only ever took a threat to the eldest to make sure that the youngest also followed through. Kili was sure that whatever was done to Fili would be done to him twofold. And he wasn’t really wrong.

Once you had made sure that you had everything you would need you made your way to the stables. Hoping that you’d beat Thorin there, or that he actually would show up and not just insist that he needs to work anyway.

You didn’t see him when you arrived but it was still early so you didn’t feel the need to send out a search party. It was only a few moments later when you heard him turning the corner. In the time you had been there alone, you had managed to set up both your horse and Thorin’s. Packs laid across their back and saddled properly placed and laced up.

“Ghivashel, what is this surprise you’ve planned for me? And why did we need to meet here to start.”

“I think I can tell you now, as long as you promise to not leave when you find out.”

“I promise my love, just tell me I beg you.”

“Remember my love, how a few weeks ago you had confided in me that you missed the journey. That you missed being free. Well, I spoke to Balin and we put together a plan that would let you be free, if only for a little while. We are going on a mini journey.”

“Love, This is… Thank you.” You’d never really seen Thorin be speechless before, he had always been a man of few words, but you don’t think you’ve ever seen him without any.

“I just want you to be happy, Thorin. You’ve been so stressed lately that I wanted to help you feel better.”

He pulled you into his arms and fiercely placed his lips upon yours. You melted into his kiss. His lips moved on yours in a passion, relaying all the thoughts that seemed to be trapped inside of his mind. He kissed you like he would never be able to kiss you again. When you finally broke apart you took a big breath and tried to control the dopey smile that was threatening to cross your face.

“We have to get going. I have a plan and if you keep kissing me like that I’ll never be able to follow through.” You pulled away from him reluctantly and made your way towards your horse.

“After you.”

The two of you rode for about an hour before the riding trail cleared and the pathway became too treacherous for the horses.

“This is where we leave them. The rest of the way is one foot.”

Thorin and you dismounted and you let the horses off lead so that they could make their way back to the mountain without you. The two of you continued on foot with Thorin occasionally leading you through some rough terrain. You spent the entire day together, looking at wildlife and speaking about things that had nothing to do with the mountain or kingly duties.

You reminisced about the first journey, about Bofur’s ability to make a joke out of everything. Of Bilbo’s incessant fretting and how amusing it was to watch. You swapped stories and recounted battles the whole way. Only when you recognized where you were and that the final part of the surprise was almost there did you grab Thorin’s arm and stop him from going any further.

“Okay, we’re almost there. But I need to put this on you before we go any further. You pulled a long thin strip of black cloth from your pack.

“A blindfold? Ghivashel…”

“I know, I know but it won’t be long I promise.”

He sighed deeply and heavily but acquiesced. You tied the blindfold around his eyes and grabbed his hand. Leading him through the last of the few hurdles until you made it to the clearing where the last bit of the plan was waiting.

“Surprise!” A yell called out around you and Thorin reached up to pull his blindfold off. The sight that awaited him was the entire rest of the company. All spread out across the clearing. Bombur was stirring a pot that was piked above the fire. Fili held Kili in a headlock and Kili struggled to escape. Dori, Nori, and Ori were all sat around some logs and were smiling at him.

Thorin turned to you and in his eyes, you could read adoration and thankfulness. He briefly left a kiss on your cheek before he let a smile cover the entirety of his face and started towards his friends.

You stood behind watching your husband be the happiest he’s been in a very long time. His eyes were light and his shoulders were straight. For a few short moments, he was allowed to be Thorin Oakensheild, not King under the mountain.

“This was a fine idea, My Queen.” You looked down to the left of you. Balin stood similarly to you, arms behind his back with a gentle smile across his face.

“It was a great plan, Balin. I thank you for your help.”

“Anything for you, and for Thorin. He’s lucky to have you.”

“I’m lucky to have him.”

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the-smut-analyst · 6 months

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Making Characters That Make Sense

Walk-through character template & "how to" guide for writing complex, original protagonists.

If you google "character templates for writing", you'll get a lot of very basic examples that read like a grocery list: eye colour, hair colour, skin colour, positive traits, negative traits, etc.

And sure, filling out this kind of template isn't completely useless - but it's also not particularly useful, either. Choosing whether your protagonist has blue eyes or green eyes isn't going to determine whether readers connect with them or not.

Instead, I prefer to use the below template:

There's some fairly left-of-centre categories here, so in this blog post I'll be creating a character from scratch to demonstrate what each section means and how to use the template effectively.

Primary Goal & Raison D'Être

Fantasy Romance is having a bit of a tournament-to-the-death moment right now, with Hunger Games-inspired stories like Fourth Wing, Throne of Glass, The Savior's Champion, and The Serpent and the Wings of Night in high demand - so that's what we're going to work with in today's blog post.

The story premise and primary goal of the protagonist are almost always interconnected. In this case, the story premise is a tournament to the death - and the character's main goal is to win that tournament, obviously.

But where there's room for some originality is in the raison d'être. This loosely translates to "reason for being" or "purpose". It's the why of it.

For example: what motivated this character to risk their life by entering such a tournament in the first place?

It is sometimes helpful to look at similar stories when thinking about this category. Not so you can copy their protagonist's motivations - but so you can do something different.

The whole selfless-self-sacrifice thing, for example - that's done. At least in relation to this particular sub-genre. We can do better for our hypothetical Maera Mystfang character.

Actually, let's really turn the trope on its head and make her raison d'être incredibly self-centred.

Already, this is character is shaping up to be something a little bit different within the niche of tournaments to the death. Which goes to show how putting a little bit of thought can go a long way, even with something as simple as identifying your character's initial purpose.

Primary Obstacle

Every protagonist needs a goal - and every goal needs an obstacle. This is what gives the story some tension and keeps readers turning the page.

An obvious choice of obstacle for this hypothetical character, since we're dealing with a fantasy romance, would be that Maera starts to develop feelings for one of her fellow competitors.

This concept has definitely been done, but that's okay. Not every section of this list has to break the mould. Tropes exist for a reason and it is totally okay to lean into them sometimes.

However, just for funsies, I'm going to try and put a slightly different spin on this one too.

Instead of the obvious "I love one of the people I'm meant to kill", let's make Maera's (previously dormant) conscience be the problem. Her reasons for entering the tournament may have been self-motivated, but as she gets to know her fellow competitors - admires some of them, even - she starts to second guess those reasons.

Core Traits

A lot of character templates will divide personality traits into positives and negatives - but I don't think this is particularly helpful. It is far too one dimensional - not to mention unrealistic. The key components of someone's personality aren't usually so black and white.

In fact, most core traits are both good and bad at the same time - it just depends on the context.

Instead of being wholly positive or negative, try to think of three core character traits that can serve as two sides of the same coin, with both positive and negative implications to each.

For Maera, I've given her these core traits:

Self-reliant;

Rebellious; and

Good-humoured.

Her self-reliance means that she is incredibly capable - but it's also the cause of her selfishness. She's always had to look after herself, so she expects others to do the same.

Her rebellious attitude means she isn't willing to accept the status quo. But at times she is also a rebel without a cause, causing trouble just for the fun of it.

Her good sense of humour means she is fun to be around, but she also tends to not take things as seriously as she should.

Thinking of core traits in this multi-faceted way not only adds realistic complexity, but it also sets you up well for showcasing character development and growth throughout the story.

Fatal Flaw & Character Arc / Growth

You've probably read negative reviews that throw around terms like "Mary Sue" or "Gary Stu". People tend to be over-zealous with these terms, especially for Mary Sue, but the gist of it is that the character in question is "too perfect".

They're the chosen one, they're good at everything, all the boys like them, etc.

Some characters can get away with this just fine. Look at Aragorn. He's the ultimate Gary Stu but I still swoon every time he opens those damn doors. You know the scene I'm talking about.

Ooft.

But for the most part, you want to incorporate a fatal flaw into your protagonists - because this is what gives them room to grow.

And, no. "I was born to be King but I don't wanna" does not count as a fatal flaw.

Instead, think bigger. Think worse. Think about where your character starts versus where you want them to end up. Think about how you want the events of the narrative to change their world view - or even their initial goal.

For Maera, her fatal flaw is pretty obvious, given her initial motivations for entering the tournament. Similarly, her growth/arc is linked to her primary obstacle, which is developing a conscious.

Her journey throughout this hypothetical story might be learning to appreciate how her past shaped her, while also acknowledging that there are things she can do to ensure others don't have to go through what she did. By being shown acts of kindness, she learns to appreciate their value.

First Impression

Now that we've covered all the "big picture" stuff, let's get into some of the smaller details that give your character some texture.

The first impression category is a hypothetical exercise where you image how your character might appear to a room full of strangers. In dual, multi, or omniscient POVs, you might even get the opportunity to include this impression somewhere in the story.

But even for first-person narratives, it is still worth thinking about, because it will help to inform how other characters interact and respond to your protagonist (at least at first).

For Maera, I've written this first impression as: a fun person to have a few drinks with - so long as you keep a close eye on your wallet.

From this description, we can guess that Maera probably likes to have a good time, but also comes across as untrustworthy. Whether that impression is deserved or not is up to you, as the author, to decide.

There's also a lot of deeper directions you can take this first impression category, too. Like if most people react to Maera this way, but one particular character doesn't, then your readers are going to sit up and pay extra attention during that interaction. Especially when that person reacting atypically is the future love interest.

Spirit Animal

Ah, this one is a fun one!

I always encourage my authors to assign a "spirit animal" to their characters - especially when they're doing multi-POV.

There are two main reasons for this:

It will allow you to assign some very distinct adjectives and verbs with that particular character; and

It is an opportunity to flesh out some additional character traits beyond the core traits.

For Maera, I've chosen "spider" because she is solitary by nature, opportunistic, and patient.

But, more than that, I also like the idea of Maera being the kind of person who knows how to watch and wait. While her first impression might be "here for the good times", her joking façade is actually a mask she wears while carefully observing others.

For example:

Her words were laced with venom. She crawled her way across the rooftop. At some point, weaving lies had become more of a past time that a necessity. Her thoughts were a tangled mess. She didn't bother to conceal her predatory gaze. Inch by cautious inch, she crept forward. Her sanity was already hanging by a thread. If there was one thing she knew how to do, it was spin a good story - truth be damned.

I've never outright compared Maera to a spider in these examples, nor have I made it blatantly obvious that that's what I'm doing. But by peppering these kinds or words throughout the story, I'll be able to subtly create a very distinct kind of impression for her character.

For comparison's sake, let's assign "cat" to the love interest. Examples of possible words to consider in this instance might be:

He clawed his way through the bushes. "What are you doing?" he hissed. The comment had some bite to it, that was for sure. He slunk away into the darkness. His still, unwavering focus was unnerving. He prowled towards her. In a few quick, agile steps, he'd made it across the parapet. He yawned and stretched out beside her.

Of course, not every single word you use in association with a character needs to be related to their spirit animal. But keeping a certain type of animal in mind - and finding opportunities to throw in some subtle messaging through language choice - can be beneficial on so many levels.

It helps to distinguish your characters from one another through the kind of language you use to describe them - but it's also just really, really fun way to add some bonus texture to your characters. Giving your readers some little easter eggs like this is never a bad thing.

Love Language

If you're unfamiliar with the concept of the five basic love languages, then here's a quick visual overview:

Love languages aren't a consideration that's specific to romance. They're important for friendships and familial relationships too.

Because thinking about what your protagonist values most in love is going to tell you a lot about who they are. Especially when you take the question deeper and think about why this is something they value.

For Maera, I've chosen "Acts of Service" because this ties in quite well to her character arc.

In terms of Maera's why, I could easily go with "because this was how she was shown love as a child" - and this is a good enough option most of the time. However, since her love language is very much tied into growing out of her fatal flaw, then I actually want to do the opposite.

Maera winds up valuing acts of service because this is something she craved - and wasn't given - as a child. She had to do things the hard way instead. Hence why she ends up appreciating the kindness of others so much. Such generosity is new to her - and precious.

Conflict Response

This is potentially one of the most overlooked character components. Conflict and tension is central to story telling, yet there is so little attention given to creating authentic, original responses to conflict.

The way I see it, there are three main considerations in regards to conflict response:

How your character reacts in the moment;

The unhealthy methods they use to deal with the aftermath; and

The healthy methods they use (or discover) to self-sooth.

When faced with conflict, Maera's immediate reaction is to antagonise. She doesn't like to back down and enjoys creating trouble.

However, in the aftermath, the conflict affects her more than she lets on. She stews on it - and her solution to that is to get drunk until she can forget about it completely.

But even though she sometimes forgets it, Maera has a more healthy coping mechanism at her disposal. When she is surrounded by nature - in the forest, by the sea, whatever - it calms her.

In addition to identifying your protagonist's various responses to conflict, it is also helpful to think about why. Again, this is a great opportunity to insert something unique into their character backstory.

With Maera, for example, let's think about why she finds nature so soothing. Perhaps, amidst a very bleak childhood, one of her fondest memories is of picking grapes in a vineyard.

Perhaps the elderly woman who owned the vineyard was very rude and abrupt - but also quite kind to Maera in her own way. Maybe she would sometimes stitch up Maera's clothes or feed Maera a hearty, meaty dinner - even though she didn't have to.

If you're struggling to think of a real, tangible, unique memory such as this - then it's always helpful to go back to the old classic of write what you know. Think of a real life moment or memory - something that's stuck with you, no matter how simple - then adapt it to your character.

To create this vineyard example, I simply drew on my experience of picking strawberries with my Nonna after school.

Mentor / Idol

I could write an entire thesis on mentors. Or, more specifically, the "death of the mentor" trope - both in its literal and metaphorical interpretations.

But, for the sake of brevity, let's save that sh*t for another time and focus on what's important for a basic (yet complex) character template. And that is:

The Formative Mentor (past); and

Transformative Mentor (present).

The formative mentor (or idol) is someone who influenced your character prior to the events of the novel. Sometimes they're a character the reader will meet, or other times, they're long gone before the novel even begins.

The transformative mentor is a much looser term. It doesn't necessarily have to be a traditional mentor character, but rather it is a character who heavily influences or changes your protagonist throughout the events of the novel.

For Maera, I want her earliest idol to be a random female sell-sword who she crossed paths with. Prior to meeting this sell-sword, Maera was living without hope for a future, surviving on scraps and petty crime.

But after seeing an independent and moderately wealthy sell-sword in her local tavern, Maera got a glimpse into the kind of life that might be possible if she learned to fight. With the right kind of skills, she might be able to earn some decent money for a change - and travel the world.

This is an example of how "mentors" don't always have to be a wise wizard who oversees your protagonist's training and education. Young minds are impressionable - and even distant figures can have a lasting impact.

Just look at all the women who cite Legally Blonde as the reason why they were drawn to law. Elle Woods wasn't even real - but for plenty of young girls, she made an impact.

Similarly, your protagonist's "present" mentor or idol doesn't necessarily have to be a wise wizard either. It can simply be someone who motivates them to change their world view or strive to be better.

In romance, it is more than acceptable to have the present mentor coincide with the love interest - especially in standalone enemies-to-lovers. I know this seems counter-intuitive, since the word "mentor" implies a power imbalance, but it makes more sense if you readjust your definition of mentor to be "inspires change".

However, for Maera, I kind of like the idea of pairing her up with a love interest who shares some of her flaws. I vibe with the idea of making him a bit self-interested too, although for different reasons.

So in her example, I've listed the present mentor as a selfless secondary character. The way I would envision this going is Maera and the love interest team up early on - but somewhere along the way a secondary character saves them both. They're both heavily influenced by this character before this character sacrifices themselves. The aftermath of this incident rattles both Maera and her love interest, and serves as the spark for growth.

I hope you found this template - and very long explanation - useful!

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heartsofminds · 1 year

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and at every table, i’ll save you a seat - part i

“Well, apparently Baby Goose’s been losing his mind ‘round the base about how this really smart and sweet girl invited him to a wedding and won’t text him about it.” or you invite Bradley to a wedding but your big fat crush on him won’t let you actually. . .invite him.

“and at every table, i’ll save you a seat” - tunes of the gossipy Hard Deck patrons and liking someone so much you feel like you can’t breathe

A/N: hey guys!!! so in the midst of writing this, i realized how long it actually is and how many dividers i had on my google doc? anyway, i thought it would probably work out so much better if it was released in parts rather than just one, big, fat, HUGEEEE piece that would probs crash on mobile. listen along to the playlist (that will be updated with each writing update) and relish in overly flirtatious bradley with me! which btw, he’s the lover album personified with a dash of red and a hint of fearless!

“I’m not asking him.”

Phoenix rolls her eyes before she takes a sip from her Ultra. The thought of it tasting revolting because of its lukewarmness crosses her mind despite her head pounding unceremoniously. She almost speaks up to answer you, but closes her mouth.

She softly places the bottle back down on the counter instead.

She can’t quite tell if the pain in her temples is from the sound of excited chatter all around her, the sound of Mickey, Javy, and Bob shittily singing Go Your Own Way on the karaoke machine in the corner, or the sound of your blue glitter gel pen scratching away at the scrap paper you have by the register; frantically carrying decimals for tip calculation and pathetically adding and subtracting since Penny’s “older than dirt” cash register bit the dust an hour prior.

She almost concludes that the pounding ache working its way to the forefront of her brain is because of your absolute and utter refusal to do the simple and the obvious. But wait.

I haven’t eaten at all today. Yeah, that’s it.

A deep breath fills her lungs before she exhales. Her elbows find themselves on the lip of the bar top and her forearms come up to rest her head on her hands. She notices that the scribbling stops from what she assumes is you looking at her.

An uncomfortable beat passes which is unusual for you two. There’s always some sly remark made or interminable giggling filling the gaps of silence.

You pop your hip on the corner of the table. Your magenta tank top was far too bright of a pink to be welcome in the warm-hued bar. Your bracelet screams “graduation gift” and you can feel the oil on your face contorting your makeup as your time in the muggy air passes.

Out of place is always in your thoughts but doesn’t become an insecurity until you’re left alone with them. The absence of Phoenix’s voice makes this fact more obvious to you.

“You good? Not gonna hurl all over the place?” you cautiously ask, “Because it’s fine if you gotta puke, but I’ll murder you if you make me clean it up.”

Natasha lets out something short of a laugh but too informal to be considered a huff. “I’m fine,” she says, leaning her head into her hand and adjusting herself in her seat.

You nod, returning to your scribbling when the man sitting next to her hands his card to you. “You know, if you write any harder, you might permanently etch,” she pauses, leaning over to get a peek at what you had just written, “ten dollars and eighty-three cents into the counter.”

“Maybe it’ll convince Penny that a new cash register is a need and not a luxury.”

Natasha scoffs. “Could say the same about your plus one, but hey, if you don’t want my advice, then certainly don’t take it.”

You hand the gentleman back his card with a smile and a small “thank you” before returning your attention back to Natasha. She digs her teeth subtly into the plush of her bottom lip.

“I already told you. I’m not asking him.”

She groans, pushing herself to stand up from her seat. Even dressed in civilian clothes, she looks like she belongs. Her aura demands respect; even in a lacy wine-colored top that Hangman had tried to tease her about earlier when the brood of rowdy pilots had first arrived.

“Well, you said no to Jake.”

“You say it like he would be willing to say yes.”

“You said no to Rueben.”

“He’s in a situationship with that girl from my spin class. Going with me to a wedding and her seeing the pics on Instagram would just make shit weird,” you start scrubbing at the permanent water stain near the beer taps anxiously, “Especially when I set them up.”

Natasha rolls her eyes again. She swears that by the end of the night, she’ll know exactly what the inside of her eyelids look like.

“Whatever,” she huffs, “You said no to Javy and Bob.”

“Javy would rub the fact that I asked in Jake’s face and they’ll start a pissing contest on how to woo me…and Bob,” you look around to make sure no one who knows you all is within earshot, “He’s sweet. Like, sooo sweet.”

Natasha tries not to crack a smile before you get your words out, but she certainly knows where the tail end of your sentence is going. “But it’s definitely not believable that we would be together and my aunt is one hell of an FBI agent and I’m sure he’d crack and rat us out and I’d have to sit there and eat my weight in tiramisu to drown my embarrassment.”

Business is painfully slow for a Thursday evening despite the upcoming weekend. Your eyes dart around the room to look for anyone to come and rescue you from this conversation (and even volunteer to be your date to your bitchy cousin’s wedding next weekend without you asking, but you know to only hope for one miracle at a time). And when your eyes turn up empty for an ample opportunity, your shoulders droop while Natasha snickers at you.

“Cut your losses and just ask him. I know he won’t say no,” she says, coy smirk at home on her face.

“No. Absolutely not.”

“What is so wrong with him that you don’t wanna do it? Huh?”

You ponder on her statement before shaking your head. You’d rather be shot in the foot with a nail gun eight times than expose your silly little schoolgirl crush in the middle of the Hard Deck in front of his best friend turned your best friend since moving to the area five months ago.

“Why not Neil or Brigham? Or hell, even Mickey? I know he’s like, engaged, but Mariella is so freakin’ sweet and I know she’d understand so like-”

“Mmm-mmm. No, no, and hell no.” Your frown plasters itself on your lips faster than you can comprehend at her words. “Rooster or bust.”

Your spine straightens as you begin to engage in protest before you’re cut off by the man himself.

“Rooster or bust, what?” he asks, lips coming out to lick the dryness of the San Diego sun away. Your knees start to buckle and you can hear Natasha stifle a laugh as you try to conceal your lack of balance.

He stands in front of you, hand on his hips and sunglasses tucked on the tight, white tank top underneath his button-down shirt. Today’s print was red with cream-colored hibiscus flowers and you wonder how he could pull them off so well. If it were anyone else, you would have had to try your hardest to keep it together with Natasha in front of you; the jokes about touristy dads and low-budget porn actors in the works.

You realize he’s waiting for an answer as you see Natasha getting called away to sing karaoke with Javy and the gang out of the corner of your eye.

Great. Just fucking great.

“Taking bets on who the best pilot is or?” Bradley speaks, trying to get to the bottom of the small fragment of the conversation he had walked into.

“I-,” you stammer.

Fuck. Can someone just come to the bar and order so I can avoid this?

“You?” he looks at you through his eyebrows comically. Everything he does makes you nervous.

“I-,” the lines in his forehead raise with the infliction of your voice, “I need a favor. Like a big one.”

“Okay,” he laughs, “How big are we talking?”

“Umm-”

“Like ‘giving you my other kidney’ big or letting you borrow my car big?” he interrupts.

“Well-”

“Or do you need me to house sit? Dogsit? Babysit?”

You inhale as you place your hands on the countertop. Your eyes find his honeyed-colored ones and you almost drown in them before your pride kicks in.

I cannot embarrass myself in front of him.

“I need you to come to a wedding,” you speak gently. You can see the wheels turning in his head without him having to say anything. Bradley’s face always gave his thoughts away.

“If you don’t have plans, of course.”

The realization of what you had just said starts to kick you upside the head the longer you look at him. He doesn’t say anything. His face doesn’t move at all. You’re pretty sure he hasn’t even blinked yet.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

“And if you’re comfortable! Obviously!” you start to ramble before you can convince yourself to shut the hell up, “It’s next Saturday in Long Beach near the seaside. You don’t have to say yes or anything but I just thought I’d ask because I had a plus one when I had a boyfriend eight months ago and now-”

“I’ll go.”

“-we’re not together anymore and my bitchy cousin is the one getting married who, by the way, makes everything a competition but that’s beside the point. But I know my mom is gonna be pissed if I don’t bring someone because my aunt is her sister and she’ll bitch about how they wasted money and how my mom is running out of time to become a grandma because I’m not married yet and that’s totally not true because I’m not even thirty so my biological clock hasn’t even started ticking yet but -”

“Hey!” he raises his voice slightly, amusement hidden in his tone, “I said I’d go with ya, kid.” He steps forward to put his hands on your bare shoulders. You try not to melt into his touch.

“S’all good. I love weddings and the beach. Promise it’s not a hassle.”

You’re dumbfounded by his response and how collected he is about your word vomit, not to mention being invited to a wedding where he’ll meet not only your parents, but your entire extended family in a little over a week. You know for certain you wouldn’t have handled the situation as calmly as he had.

“You - you’ll…go?” The sound of Britney Spears’s “Toxic” and Jake absolutely murdering the high notes in the back of the bar is the only thing keeping you from spiraling into another dimension.

“Well, I’m not a liar,” he sits down on the seat Phoenix was previously occupying, “I don’t just say things I don’t mean.”

Your head nods solemnly in silent understanding, your hands grabbing a glass to pour him a whiskey on the rocks. He raises his eyebrows in suspicion at you knowing what his usual drink is, but throws away the thought to comment on it before it can even develop all the way. The subtle pang in his chest of you taking that much notice of him makes itself known. He would be lying if he was to say he didn’t hold a brightly lit candle for you.

You’re a regular, Bradshaw. Get your head out of your ass.

“To be honest,” you start, placing the chilled glass in front of him, “that sounds a lot like something a liar would say.”

He gives you a soft smile as he reaches into his back pocket to grab his wallet. “Well good thing that I’m not one then, right?”

Your heart flutters in nervousness and with about as much grace as a stampede of elephants. You’re positive that Bradley can see the outline of it beating out of your chest.

“No, no, no. Your drink is on the house.”

He shakes his head, forcing the twenty dollar bill that lays in between his fingers next to the scrap paper you have laying near the register. “No, I insist.”

“No, I insist. It’s on me, Bradley.”

He cracks a soft smile as he forces the money into your hand. His fingers wrap yours around the beat-up bill that has definitely seen better days. “That just won’t do ma’am.”

“I”m awaiting Bar results, not living in a shoebox on I-405. I assure you that two dollars and sixty cents won’t break the bank.”

The loud scrapping of a bar stool against the hardwood floor (which will probably leave a noticeable scratch in the hardwood flooring that Penny will pretend not be upset about) interrupts the cocoon of the world that existed with just you and him. Just you and Bradley…and Jake Seresin’s loud ass mouth yelling, “Bradshaw! What the hell, man? Get your ass over here and sing some Journey with me!” across the bar.

He shakes his head in disbelief and if you didn’t know any better (didn’t feed into your delusions, is more like it) you would almost think that he was…disappointed? That he didn’t want to leave you and that he was almost as desperate as you to give each other attention; eyes fully and ears solely attuned to the other.

Hoots and hollers and the sound of his call sign being screamed from his rowdy group of friends make the delusion hard to manage, and the reality finally kicks in that he’s not here for you. He’s here for them.

You wish you weren’t so good at hurting your own feelings sometimes.

“Your spotlight awaits you,” you sigh, trying not to show how dejected you felt to him.

A beat of silence passes before he slides his palms on the front of his jeans.

“Here.” He snatches your blue glitter gel pen off the table, his tongue poking out of the side of his mouth as he begins to write. “Text me the details?”

He offers a slight smile that makes your words catch in your throat; the butterflies dinging around in your stomach begging you to reach out and touch him. To lean forward. To say something. To do something. Anything.

But before you can he’s zipped across the bar and the sound of Call Me by Blondie inflates the room. You look down at the cerulean ink with specks of shimmer in it.

xxx-xxx-xxxx Call me, kid! Bradley B

You’re definitely not gonna call him anytime soon…

“Sweetheart, I love you, but if you dry those glasses one more time I think I’ll have a brain aneurysm.”

Penny snatches the dish towel from your hands as your mouth gapes in silent protest. She throws it lazily on the countertop and snags the crate of beer glasses that you were going to town on away from you. The clinging sound of the dishes makes your head droop with disappointment.

“I wasn’t done yet! They still feel slippery! ”you complain and she just teasingly shakes her head.

“So?”

She winks at you and you have to find it in your heart not to be a little annoyed at her for cutting your task off mid-attempt.

Perfectionism fuels your life and she knows this. She knows that you’re using the glasses to stress clean. She knows that your cousin’s wedding weekend starts on Friday and you’re fighting the urge to tear your hair out. She also knows that you have Bradley’s phone number on a slip of paper that’s burning a hole through your nightstand because you still haven’t called him.

“So?” you ask, lightly mimicking Penny’s statement, “Someone’s gonna drop the glass because they’ve never learned how to hold it the right way and then there’s gonna be glass shards everywhere and they’ll get hurt and-”

“You are such a worry wart, my dear. Reeelaaax,” she interrupts, placing her warm, nimble fingers on your shoulders.

The subtle sunburn you had gotten this past weekend is slowly starting to calm down, but the initial sting still startles you. She can see the small happenings of a frown starting to form on your lips and she decides to frown along with you. She spins you to face her and holds your forearms in her hands, offering them a gentle squeeze of encouragement.

It’s not a secret that Penny Benjamin takes pride in knowing her staff well and loving them even better. In the five months she’s gotten to know you, she’s taken you in as one of her own without making her love for you about her. That was kind of her thing; knowing all without having to be told and giving so selflessly without having to ask if you were in need.

Penny just got it, and it’s hard to find people like that nowadays; people who love you genuinely and truly expecting nothing in return.

The thought of her warmness makes you sniffle, and you’re sure that if the jukebox wasn’t turned on and playing some Beach Boys tune, the tears would’ve made their way down your face at a speed that Formula One drivers would envy.

“I know what it feels like to have your every movement judged and not being able to say anything to defend yourself,” she starts, “But you’re smart. You’re kind. You’re so important. And you’re nothing less than amazing, so don’t let anyone treat you like you aren’t.”

You can’t muster up the words to keep the conversation alive. You’re sure that all that would come out of your mouth is a blubbering mess you don’t feel like trying to force out in between choked sobs. Besides, the car doors closing in the parking lot alert you both to the Wednesday night crowd making their way in.

You settle for a small “thank you” before she cracks another smile at you; lips quirked up in amusement. She saunters off to the back to grab the bucket of prepped lime wedges.

“You never have to thank me for the words you deserve, sweetheart. Those are on the house.”

You snort before wiping your nose with the back of your hand. Only she could manage to subdue the mini meltdown brewing in the depths of your chest. But Penny was just like that.

Always calm, cool, and collected.

The night moves slowly in a frame-by-frame manner (one that emulates the night you asked Bradley to be your date, but you shake the thought whenever it tries to enter your head because you think you may actually puke). It’s nothing too out of the ordinary for a Wednesday night.

Mickey and Mariella pop in for mango margaritas after their weekly date night. Mickey gives you a small “hello” before flashing you a knowing smirk. You try to ignore Mariella swatting at his chest, but the imagery eats you up inside. You know that he knows and that she knows, and not taking the steps to actually ask Bradley to a wedding you invited him to makes you feel guilty.

He picks up on your guilt when his eyes catch you twisting your ring around your pointer finger. His eyes soften and he almost considers apologizing to you before he thinks about it. Bringing more attention to it would embarrass you more, he figures. The apology sitting on his tongue is swallowed down with a sip of his drink and Mariella’s kick to his shin.

“Well, we’re about to head out. We’ll see you Friday?” Mickey declares as Mariella narrows her dark eyes at him.

Your heart stops and your fingers feel numb.

Fuck. He wants to bring up Bradley. What do I say? Fuck. Shit. Wait. How does he even know? Has Bradley brought me up? Fuck, wait. He wouldn’t do that. Why would he even be talking about me? He probably told them that I’m obsessed with him and he was cornered and couldn’t say no and-

“Uh? Are you good?” Mickey looks at you with soft eyes and waves his hand in front of your face.

Mariella slaps it down from in front of you. “Don’t do that. She’s not a fucking dog, Mick.”

He rolls his eyes playfully. “Duh. I know that. I just wanted to make sure she wasn’t having a seizure or anything like that.”

“A seizure?”

“They’re called absence seizures. Went down a whole YouTube rabbit hole about them a couple of nights ago.”

You chuckle at their antics and can’t wait for the day they finally have their wedding. At least when the time comes you know you won’t have to forge a story about having a boyfriend. And it’ll be a wedding filled with people you actually like; ones that don’t make you order water out of feeling insecure about how many calories you’re consuming or ones that gossip about the shade of blush you wore making you look too “flushed” behind your back.

“I go down rabbit holes all the time,” you chide, “I watched this documentary about the Pentagon Papers and the atomic bomb from World War II the other day, and now I’m confident I could get my Ph.D. in like, Historical American Screw-Ups.”

Mickey and Mariella let out chortles at your statement before starting to head toward the exit.

“Well, we’ll see you later then. Tell us about that wedding on Monday?”

Your mouth hangs open as they stride out the front doors of Hard Deck. The shock of what just happened makes your heart beat erratically.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! He told.

Mike Metcalf sits at the corner of the bar top on his regular stool with his sweating glass housing a whiskey neat. He sends you a teasing smirk as you move near him to wipe the countertop down.

“Still haven’t texted him?” he asks.

The shock continues to run through your body. You have to place your hands on the edge of the table to keep yourself from stumbling over.

Why does everyone in this bar know what’s going on?

Admiral Metcalf was friendly with you - one of those regulars who offer you engaging conversation, tidbits of grandfatherly affection, and generous tips.

You would tell him not to tip you so much for a single drink, but he would always insist; quoting something along the lines of you reminding him of his granddaughter and that you treated everyone with such kindness and respect that you deserved it back tenfold.

You take a deep breath, arms pushing you up slowly to stand upright. “I’m scared to ask how you know.”

He chuckles, a real belly laugh, and you struggle to find out why you can’t piece together a logical explanation for how he would know.

“Well, apparently Baby Goose’s been losing his mind ‘round the base about how this really smart and sweet girl invited him to a wedding and won’t text him about it.” He shrugs before taking a long drink from his glass. “Thought it sounded like you. I meant to ask about it the other night, but once you turn eighty you forget things at the drop of a hat.”

“Smart and sweet?” you want to ask, but you know that it would confirm rather than get you the answers that you want. You shake your head to dislodge the thought before furrowing your eyebrows.

“. . . Baby Goose?”

The older man plays with the paper coaster underneath his drink. A soft smile blooms on his lips. “We’re talking about Bradley Bradshaw. Correct?”

You start to drum your fingers against the lip of the bar top. The thought of lying briefly crosses your mind until the sound of James Brown’s shriek at the beginning of “I Got You (I Feel Good)” startles you.

“Uhh, hello? You still there, kiddo?”

I have got to get better at answering quicker.

You straighten your spine and pop your hand on your hip. “Wouldn’t the correct terminology be ‘gosling’?”

He raises his brows, “Rooster. Baby Goose. Bradshaw. Gosling,” he rattles off, counting the phrases on his fingers, “Does any of this ring a bell?”

You chew on your lip. The toe of your sneaker slides underneath the sole of your other one. The fidgeting tells Admiral Metcalf all he needs to know.

“Maybe,” you say under your breath.

“Maybe?” he questions. He leans forward to investigate your expression with his eyes.

Another sigh exits your lips. “Okay, well, maybe a little.”

You sound defeated, he thinks. He decides to investigate even though he can hear his wife’s voice in his head telling him not to. If he turns his head just a little bit to the right, his hearing aid catches the sound of the jukebox. He can’t focus on you talking and his wife’s voice if he also hears the jukebox.

Sorry, Carrie.

His chair swivels a little bit and he wipes his hands on his jeans. “It’s certainly more than a little, kiddo. Especially if you asked him to a wedding.”

You scoff, annoyance painting the inside of your brain. Nosiness is one thing you absolutely cannot stand, and it’s the reason why you insisted on not moving back in with your mom after law school. Working yourself to the bone to study for the Bar during the day while mixing drinks and popping caps off of beer bottles at night seemed worlds better than having your privacy invaded constantly. Tired or private. From where you stand currently, it’s safe to say you picked the latter.

Or so you thought.

“So is this just a thing?” You can feel your heart rate speed up as you start to become defensive. “Like, a trend where all you Hard Deck patrons like to gossip and spread rumors?”

“It’s not a rumor if it’s true.”

You almost roll your eyes but the politeness you were raised with paired with your people-pleasing won’t let you.

“Yeah, but it’s technically gossip if you didn’t hear it from me,” you state directly, “How do you even talk to all these people on the base? Aren’t you retired?”

Admiral Metcalf chuckles. “I may be in bed by 8 every night but it doesn’t mean I’m not social, my dear.”

“Okay, but why would your connections be talking to you about Gosling?” You lean on your forearms and glance at the cash register to make sure someone isn’t waiting to be served. Your eyes glance back to the older gentleman sat in front of you. “Aren’t you guys like. . .fifteen generations removed from each other?”

He gently pats your arm with his calloused palm. “You’re a funny girl.”

“You’re dodging my question,” you frown, sitting up straight and grabbing him his usual glass of water he drinks before he decides to go home.

He mouths a quick “thank you” before taking a sip. “Did it ever occur to you that I was a pilot?”

The wheels in your brain start turning to decipher why he would say that and how it would mean that he and Bradley know each other.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“And a Top Gun instructor.”

“Okay. . .?” You’re starting to get the hint now, but it still just seems like a lot of abstract events put together.

“I taught Maverick and Goose.”

Penny’s “boyfriend, not-boyfriend” who comes in to pick her up or hang out on days when the crowd is as dead as a cemetery. Maverick.

But who’s -

“Goose?” you ask, finishing your question out loud.

“Bradley’s father.”

And shit. Oh shit. Fucking shit!

“I- You- Wait-” you stammer. He simply sips on his water, amusement painted on his features at the signs of your internal panic.

“So that’s how I know. I keep in touch with Maverick and he just happened to mention the absolute mess Rooster’s been the past couple days about this wedding,” he declares, “Which, by the way, is kind of rude to invite someone and then not go into detail about it. Don’t you think?”

Your mouth opens and closes in shock, the magnitude of your recent revelation being endorsed by the silence coming from you.

Your brain can’t even begin to wrap around all the degrees of separation and acquaintances and friendships Bradley has from the bombshell of information that was just dropped on you. This place is just littered with people who probably knew him before he was Rooster; all puppy fat and awkward haircuts. You bet there’s probably a series of his prom and high school graduation photos that circulated from eye to eye.

But this also means that if you go through with it, that if you actually bring him with you to Long Beach this weekend, you’ll become part of that essence of knowing - everyone knowing what Bradley told them and your entire weekend spent with him being a topic of discussion.

You try to get over the dehumanizing feeling that will come with being called “Hard Deck Girl” after this weekend when he inevitably tells Maverick about his weekend who will then tell Iceman who will probably tell Admiral Metcalf. You can’t bear to think about all the snickers and teasing that will come from Bradley’s group of friends.

Hangman loves to tease you already. You don’t think you’ll survive more “pigtail pulling” if word gets out about Bradley having to hold your hand and awkwardly slow dance with you on Saturday.

Admiral Metcalf lets out an impressive-sounding whistle that catches your attention and brings you back to Earth.

“That’s one gorgeous Bronco,” he comments, head turned to look outside the windows of the bar. “Used to have one just like it years ago.”

Your eyes follow his gaze to see the cobalt blue vehicle parked in one of the empty spaces of the parking lot. The headlights fade as the owner steps out of the vehicle and -

Fuck!

He has a soft bounce in his strut. His Raybans are tucked into the collar of his white t-shirt. The light-wash denim of his jeans hugs his legs just the right way. His slightly rosy cheeks and tanned forearms bulging from his shirt make him unmistakable.

Bradley Bradshaw is about to walk into the bar. On a Wednesday night. While the crowd is drier than the Mojave.

And there’s nowhere for you to run.

He has a slightly faster pace set to his walk than he usually does. . . Not like you spend your time watching him walk (even though you do, and you’d rather roll over and die than admit that to anyone).

“Good luck getting him back on that perch,” Admiral Metcalf speaks up. He opens his worn leather wallet and fishes out a fifty-dollar bill. “He won’t fly back up there once he gets off.”

You follow him to the cash register to ring him up. The drawer is opened and the bills counted for his change before he stops you.

“Keep it. Part of your tip,” he says, “Least I can do for all the trouble I’ve caused you tonight.”

You begin to thank him before the saloon-style doors open and Bradley stands dead in the center, hands on his hips and eyes grazing the surroundings.

“Good luck, kiddo. I’m sure I’ll hear all about it,” Admiral Metcalf says before turning on his heel. He claps Bradley on the shoulder as a brief greeting and continues his stride outside to the parking lot.

Your heart starts beating in your chest erratically; a tell-tale sign of white hot panic that makes your knees buckle and heat grow on your scalp.

And you’re. . . starting to sweat?

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

Bradley spots you while you stand paralyzed at the cash register. Your fingers are shaky and a lump in your throat starts to form. You feel like a deer in headlights when he begins to stalk forward to approach you.

“I’ve gotta bone to pick with you, missy,” his voice booms, his steps coming to a halt.

His hands spread and turn as he leans on the table; eyes locked on your face.

Your adrenaline kicks in and your feet start to move faster than your brain. A harsh swallow plagues your throat before you book it to the kitchen; french braid slinging heavy on your back and the bucket of lime wedges on your mind.

Bradley zips around the oval-shaped bar top and grabs your waist before you make it out of the opening. His hands squeeze your sides softly. If you were in your right frame of mind, your cheeks would have flushed.

“Uh-uh,” he says, whipping you around to face him. His grip falls to your forearms; holding you firmly but not enough to hurt. “What’s your deal, kid?”

His breaths are exasperated. When he left work today, he had no idea that he would be chasing you around the bar like a goddamn dog who had gotten off its leash. Despite being in good shape (which he takes pride in, given the number of shirtless runs he does in his neighborhood) he still finds himself a little winded.

Your eyes are almost bulging out of your head. His touch feels electric and you feign the ability to even think about opening your mouth to respond. Bradley Bradshaw is here, right in front of you, and almost holding you hostage.

Hostage is dramatic, you think. But so is chasing me.

“I-” you start. Another harsh swallow forces its way down your throat. At this point, you think that swallowing your spit is the only way you can remind your body to breathe.

Bradley’s eyes soften at your frazzled state. He takes his hands off of you and drops them back to his sides.

“I- I need to get the lime wedge bucket,” you rush out, the entire sentence sounding like one phrase.

“Let me come with you,” he says.

Your eyes widen in surprise. “You’re not allowed back there.”

“Yeah well, you’re not allowed to ghost me about a wedding you invited me to, but look where we are,” he counters back. His legs start toward the kitchen hidden behind gray steel doors near the back.

You stand frozen; trying to catch your breath and looking around to still see an empty bar with no signs of life.

“Are you coming or not?” he calls out, a smile on his face juxtaposed to the annoyed expression he wore a few minutes ago when he caught you.

And if it were anyone else, you would be utterly annoyed. You would refuse and start rattling off how it’s a health code violation for patrons to be in the back serving area or how it was inappropriate or how you didn’t want anyone to come in and clean out the Hard Deck while you were distracted.

But because it’s Bradley and because you have this stupid big fat school girl crush on him, you don’t say anything even though you so badly want to.

He’s already a little annoyed with me, you think. He doesn’t want to hear me ramble on top of that.

Your sneakered feet follow him into the terracotta quarry-tiled kitchen in the back. He moves to the side to allow you to step in front of him in pursuit of the infamous lime wedge bucket you had your heart set on.

The silence between the two of you is deafening, but you can’t even rub two of your brain cells together to form a coherent sentence that won’t leave you hunched over in embarrassment. Having a crush as an adult is downright embarrassing. But having a crush as an adult on an older, more refined adult is absolutely humiliating.

The industrial refrigerator stands sleek and tall. The door weighs as heavy as it looks and you damn near pull your shoulder out of socket every time you attempt to open it. More than often, Penny has to come save you and open it because you can never seem to get the resistance of the rubber door gasket to give way.

Thankfully, the door opens with a heavy tug and the bucket of limes was left on a shelf you could reach. You pop the fridge door closed with your hip before you start a fast-paced walk back to the bar; leaving Bradley behind to scramble up to you once again.

In hindsight, your body language and lack of talking makes you seem furious and annoyed. And maybe you are, but it’s mostly frustration and annoyance pointed at yourself because you can’t just be fucking normal.

No, because you have to be the odd one out of your family. You have to be the one cousin who got dumped by her “perfect” dentist boyfriend (who treated you terribly, but you never complained aloud to your family for your fear of being called ungrateful and unbecoming). You have to be awkward and sensitive and young with a silly-ass schoolgirl crush on a gorgeous man who David of Michelangelo envies.

The bucket of lime wedges is slammed on the counter before you realize what your hands are doing.

Bradley rounds in front of the cash register, a sheepish look on his face. “Hey, kid,” he whispers, “I’m sorry for barging in on you like that. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

A wave of guilt breaks the tide in your brain. He’s apologizing, and it’s sincere. It’s certainly not anything you’re used to. Usually, everything is your fault and you find yourself pushing your feelings aside to accept a half-assed apology.

“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have invited you to something that’s such a big deal and then refused the details,” you say.

And you should stop there, you know, but you do that stupid thing you do about having to over-explain everything and keep going. Word vomit to the maximum.

“I mean, I think I kind of bombarded you about it? I know you said that you would go and that you didn’t mind, but it’s really a lot to ask of someone to come with you and fill in for your ex in front of your shitty family who has a cow because you didn’t get married right after undergrad.”

You rock back and forth on your heels and you pinch your fingers together to help soothe yourself. The anxiousness exuding off of you is obvious and Bradley can’t help but feel extremely guilty for making you feel horrible on top of what feelings you were already dealing with.

“You can really say no, Bradley. My feelings won’t be hurt if you do. Honest,” you whisper, finishing your statement.

Feeling small isn’t foreign to you in the slightest.

His eyes soften even more. He recognizes the doubt written all over you. He’s felt that way so many times before.

“I said what I meant, and I really wanna go to that wedding with you. Honest to God, I mean it,” he says, taking a seat on a stool nearby. “I just need to know what the plan is so I can pick you up and everything. Don’t want my suit to clash with your dress now, do we?”

A small giggle leaves your lips. “Alright, Casanova. You’ve convinced me.”

He extends his hand out to you. “Deal?” The large palm looks inviting, but you’re sure the adrenaline coursing through your veins has made your hands clammy.

Your brows knit together and your lips pull themselves into a straight line. “What the hell are you doing?” Suddenly, you’re self-conscious about the potential armpit stains that may have soaked your tank top.

Goddamn nerves.

He contorts his expression into one of faux offense. “Making you shake on it. What the fuck does it look like?”

You let out a breath through your nose. “I mean, exactly that, but don’t you think that’s too. . .”

“Sophisticated? Formal?” He grins as if he had just won the lottery.

“Little Rascals -esque.”

Bradley kisses his teeth before laughing. “You’re never too old to relish in the magic that’s The Little Rascals.”

“What happens if I don’t shake?” you question, fingers drawing circles on the surface near the cash register, “Will I be a target of the He-Man Woman Haters Club?”

“Unfortunately, I can’t confirm but I can deny only if you shake on it and promise me a dance.”

You shake your head before he finishes his sentence.

“I’m a terrible dancer.”

“Then I’ll make sure my dress shoes are steel-toe,” he reasons, shrugging his broad shoulders. His biceps subtly flex and you almost bite your lip but the fact that he’s so close and can see your expression makes you withhold.

“You really wanna go still?”

“How many times do I have to say yes, kid? I want to go with you and I promise you that we’ll have the best time ever. Is that clear enough?”

Penny waltzes back in before you can answer. Her eyes hold a mischievous glint as they look at the interaction going on between you and Bradley. She sends you a soft wink before she joins you behind the bar.

“Bradley!” she greets with a grin, coming to come rest next to you and in front of his seat.

“Hey, Pen. Mav taking you out on the bike today?”

She subtly bumps your hip with hers. She’s about to stir up some trouble.

“No, no,” she sighs, “I have to close up here tonight so we’re going this weekend.”

Bradley nods as you stand frozen next to her.

“Speaking of weekends,” she chirps, “What are your plans, Bradley?”

I love Penny. I love Penny. I love Penny. If I say it enough, I won’t wanna kill her.

“Oh, the kid and I were planning on going to her cousin’s wedding in Long Beach. We were actually just talking about it,” he answers as Penny lets out a dramatic sigh.

“Oh thank God. The suspense of if she was actually gonna talk to you about it was killing us.”

“Us?” you ask, voice filled with irritation and concern.

“Me, Pete, Tom, Mike,” Penny lists, “Jake and Rueben started a money pool. Guess Hangman’s a hundred and twenty dollars richer now.”

You groan and pinch your nose between your fingers as Penny takes your shoulders into her palms and rubs them. She picks up a crate of shot glasses before turning to leave.

“Bradley?” she calls, and his ears perk up.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Stay out of my kitchen,” her eyes narrow playfully, “That’s a health code violation.”

He holds his hands up with a grin. “You got it.”

“You kids have fun this weekend. Gonna have to take tons of pictures and show them to me!” she exclaims before disappearing behind the same steel doors Bradley had followed you into earlier.

A beat of silence passes; partly because you’re so stunned by what had just occurred.

“So,” he clears his throat, “Now that I know you’re old enough to have watched The Little Rascals, what’s the plan? Like is this an overnight thing or a reception thing or?”

You perk up at his question.

“Oh, umm.” You subconsciously pick at your cuticles before forcing yourself to stop. Your mom and aunt would be disappointed to see them ripped to shreds. “So I kinda - well, it’s an overnight thing but we definitely don’t have to stay overnight.”

He nods his head, ears intently listening to what you’re saying. You think he’s nodding his head to queue up a firm decline to your plans despite his insistence on going with you.

“I mean, you don’t have to! You can like, drive home and come back the next day? Or not go to the rehearsal dinner and just meet me at the wedding? I just know that sleeping in the same room is gonna be weird and I think my room reservation only has one bed because like I said, I had a boyfriend whenever they booked it and I never changed it after we broke up and-”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he interrupts your word vomit, “Breathe, kid. Breathe.”

You take a deep inhale in and you want to kick yourself for doing it at his request.

Are you just gonna do whatever Bradley tells you to do, or do we actually have a fucking mind of our own?

“Why would I leave you hanging like that? Huh?” He licks his lips subtly and you have to keep from drooling. “You asked me to come with you and I’m gonna go the whole time and have a blast.”

You nod your head. Your thoughts and emotions have been bouncing off the wall in a vapid fashion from the two hours you’ve been clocked in.

“Okay,” you whisper shakily.

“Okay,” a laugh jumps from his throat and he leans in closer. “Can I get your number, at least? So I can call you instead and make it easier?”

You’re reaching beneath the bar and grabbing aimlessly at the mason jar full of random gel pens and a roll of open receipt paper that was too short to be put inside the machine but too long to be thrown away.

Lime green glitter ink spells out your phone number on the stark white paper before you wordlessly slide it over to rest near Bradley’s fingertips.

He sends you a smile before pulling out his phone and typing the number into the keypad. You have to look away because if you don’t, you’re sure you’ll start hyperventilating.

Your cell phone buzzes in your back pocket once, twice, thrice.

“Are you…calling me?” you ask, head tilting to the side to meet his mischievous glint.

“Context clues, kid. C’mon,” he replies. He holds his phone to his ear as he listens to the dial tone.

You stand in disbelief in front of him.

He shoos you with his hands. “Go on! Answer!” he urges.

You sigh and playfully roll your eyes before slinging your phone out of your back pocket. You click the green phone icon on your screen before bringing it to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Alright, missy. What’s the address I’m picking you up from Friday afternoon?”

Bradley Bradshaw may not be your boyfriend and probably will never be, but he sure knows how to play the part well enough to fool your family. He may even have you fooled too.

“Shit!” you yelp. Your upper body tenses up and you slam your curling iron on the countertop of your bathroom sink.

The strong vibrations of your phone ringing move your device closer to the edge. You scramble to pick it up and bring it to your ear. You didn’t bother looking at the caller ID before answering. Odds are, it’s either your mother or your only cousin that you can actually stand, Hallie.

“Fuck,” you whisper before clearing your throat, “Hello?”

You flash your neck in the mirror, fingers dancing around the irritated baby pink skin surrounding the already darkening magenta wound. The skin feels hot to the touch and you know that its placement makes it look more like a hickey than anything. Your mind starts to wonder if putting makeup on it would be a bad decision.

“Hey, kid.”

Fuck. Bradley. It’s Bradley. I forgot about Bradley!

“I’m outside.” You take a deep swallow that you pray he can’t hear over the phone. “You said the house with the purple hydrangeas near the front steps. Right?”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Am I this fucking stupid that I can’t even think of another word to use right now?

The long pause doesn’t make Bradley hang up.

“Kid? You okay in there?” The sound of a car door slamming can be heard through the receiver. You listen to the Carlsons down the street mowing their lawn. A few dogs are barking and the sound of Bradley’s shoes hitting the pavement plays a symphony with the bliss of what is a Friday afternoon at 2 PM encapsulates.

His knuckles rap against your front door and you audibly gasp. Your finger hangs up the phone before sprinting to let him in. The flutters in your stomach make you feel like you might projectile vomit any second. No amount of pep talks you had given yourself in the past two days can prepare you for the events of this weekend; not to mention Bradley and your big fat crush on him being the cherry on top.

You swing the door open; a shocked Bradley staring at you and a frenzied heart damn near beating out of your chest.

“I’m not ready yet!” you exclaim, turning your back and rushing back into your bathroom. You move so swiftly that you don’t even notice the bouquet of flowers clutched in his right hand.

Fuck! The curling iron is still on.

Bradley lets out a laugh. “Well, hello to you too.”

You pick the iron back up and finish curling the piece of hair you had started on before being interrupted.

“Sorry!” you shout back, “Give me five and I’ll be ready to go.”

Bradley lets out a puff of air he didn’t know he had been holding in. If someone had asked him a month ago where he thought he would be spending a Friday afternoon in mid-March, he probably said he wouldn’t know for sure.

Which is true.

He’s worked out a schedule where he’s able to leave work by 11 AM on Fridays and what he does is often a wild card; his Fridays range anywhere from mundane errands to impromptu skydiving endeavors with Coyote and Phoenix. He might even go for a quick afternoon surf session if he feels up to it.

He’ll admit, sometimes he imagines spending his Friday afternoons with you. In one timeline, he convinces you to ride down the coast with him at sunset. Another has you laying on your stomach at the beach with your nose shoved in a book pretending not to be ogling him while he surfs.

Bradley even lets his mind wander to the possible tan lines on your hips and how he would graze his thumbs just beneath your bikini bottoms to feel the fullness of the skin there, but then he realizes how inappropriate that may be, and he lets the thought sit in the back of his brain unwatered and underdeveloped.

Besides, he was raised better than imagining women naked. . .Even though he thinks you’re absolutely stunning both clothed and naked. . .And would love the opportunity to see you na-

That’s beside the point. Get it together, man.

His eyes survey the surroundings of your living room. Throw pillows and blankets. Candles on the coffee table. Books everywhere. Open windows create sunspots on the carpet. A vintage record player on the shelf of your bookcase and your Tango in the Night vinyl playing softly.

He likes to think that in another life (he’s hopeful for this one, but he’s learned what having too much hope does to a person) your blue fuzzy blanket has a home on his cream-colored couch or that your Fleetwood Mac vinyl finds solace next to his Otis Redding and James Brown records.

Bradley takes a seat on your couch. The brown butcher paper holding together the peony floral arrangement he had picked up crunches in his hand. The other pats along to the soft rhythm arrangement in time with “Mystified.” He can smell the faint scent of your perfume and the sounds of life you make, the small gasps and soft humming and whispered curse words, fill him with endearment.

He’s so wrapped up in melting into your aura that he doesn’t even realize that you had left the bathroom until you stood dead in front of him; curled hair, makeup on, and an electric blue dress laying flawlessly on the silhouette of your body.

You make his mouth dry and any words that he wants to say disintegrate with how amazing he thinks you look. Him not saying anything makes you panic and you wonder if you forgot to blend the bronzer near your neck or if your blush was too pink or if there was a piece of hair you had forgotten or if the dress you had on actually made you look like a frumpy version of Aquamarine (a lot of or, or, ors).

Bradley, please say something.

He sits up straighter upon seeing you. The navy blue dress pants on his long legs bring out the green in his hazel eyes. Your heart feels warm at the thought of him matching you; especially after offhandedly mentioning that you were thinking of wearing a blue dress to the dinner rehearsal.

Your eyes glance to his non-dominate hand and spot the pink peonies wrapped in butcher paper. The simple notion of him getting you flowers makes your knees weak, and the fact that he didn’t get them from the grocery store - that it was an arrangement that he had gotten from a florist - makes you wish you were a better woman and weren’t thinking of dropping to your knees right there in front of him and thanking him with a blowj-

He doesn’t even think you look pretty enough to say something. Don’t get too ahead of yourself.

“Oh,” he wipes his empty hand on the fabric of his pants, “These are for you.” He pushes the bouquet forward for your observation.

A smile is center stage on your lips as you grab them from his grasp. “Thank you. This is really kind of you, Bradley.” You turn to head into your kitchen to grab a vase.

She didn’t say they were pretty. Does she even like peonies?

The silence surrounding you both is deafening. If you could ignore the slightly prickly feeling of heat eating away at the hairline on the back of your neck, you can almost forget that Bradley is even here.

But the thing is, Bradley is here. He’s here and so present and you’re gonna have to give your poor heart a break from beating so fast if you want to survive this weekend without having a stroke.

All the thought does is make you even more nervous (as if that’s even fucking possible at this point).

“Okay, kid. If we’re gonna be together all weekend, this,” he points his finger between you and him, “Ain’t fucking happening. We need to tallllkkkk.”

You swallow. “I -We are talking.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

“Okay,” you whisper sheepishly, your bare toe grinding into the carpet. The friction sends a wave of heat to your otherwise numb toes. It’s unconventional, but at least it’s helping you feel something other than anxiety.

He nods his head before standing up. His eyes glance at the gold watch on his left hand. “Well, it’s 2:30 and the rehearsal dinner is at 5. We need to get going if we wanna beat traffic.”

“Okay.”

He sighs, watched wrist coming down to lay his hand flat across his stomach. “Talking means more than just saying ‘okay.’ That’s not a conversation.”

You pause for a moment. The flowers he had brought still rest in between the crease of your inner elbow. More silence ensues. You just don’t know what to say.

He starts heading down your small hallway. The whiff of his cologne kickstarts your reaction.

“Hey!” you say, starting to stalk after him, “What the hell are you doing?”

He snickers. “Grabbing your bags? I was serious about getting a move on. Don’t want your folks to think your boyfriend is a slacker now, do ya?”

Bradley grabs the two bags you had struggled to set outside your bedroom door with ease. You never forget how strong he looks (oggling at a guy three days out of the six you work will do that to you) but you always seem to forget how strong he actually is.

You close your mouth before you begin to drool. Bradley will for sure be talking about this weekend with his friends and uncle. You don’t want to add any more embarrassing details to the story. Besides, your awkward preteen pictures from your mom’s Facebook hadn’t even been brought up yet. Some room needs to be saved for your utter humiliation.

Your feet slide into the pair of heels you had set aside before you scramble to grab your keys and purse. How Bradley can move so quickly is beyond your thinking capacity as you haphazardly take the needle off of your record. Your eyes do a quick sweep over your living room to make sure that everything is turned off so you won’t magically come home to a fire safety example at the conclusion of your weekend.

Now, if you can just make yourself stop feeling so jittery, you might be able to actually manage to fit your key into the lock of your front door.

After what feels like three years (and the embarrassment of knowing Bradley probably watched you struggle), the keys are stuffed back into your purse before you pause on your porch.

A black Ford F-150 sits curbside to your driveway. It doesn’t fit in with the SUVs and small sedans that make up the neighborhood you live in. You had never seen a car like this where you lived at all. Come to think of it, you had never seen this truck ever.

Doesn’t Bradley drive a Bronco?

Your eyebrows remain wrinkled with your puzzled expression as he rounds the back of the car; the resounding noise of the back door shutting makes his entrance known. He opens the passenger door for you and stands next to it.

He squints as he looks up at you. The sun is blazing and he forgot to grab his sunglasses from his side of the door.

“Cold feet?” he calls.

You start to head down the stairs and onto the pavement. “It’s seventy-six degrees. I think cold feet is kinda ill worded.”

“It’s a saying.”

The crossed arms over your chest signal your apprehension. Bradley stands before you, leaning against the truck and his arm slung on the top of the cab. He raises his brows at you and does a gentle motion of his head to the seat, inviting you to climb in. Even next to the large vehicle, he still looks. . .huge.

In a good way! In a good way. He’s actually really fit and I’m shaking inside and I’m sure I’m sweating and I have got to stop wearing light colors in front of him because he can probably see the sweat and - Oh God. Oh God, the seats are leather. What if I sweat all over them?

The lump in your throat is swallowed as you stand before him. “This isn’t your car,” you say lamely.

He scoffs. “Spying on me? Do you have my license plates memorized too?”

You know he’s teasing and that he doesn’t mean it literally, but you almost answer, “yes” because you do. Thankfully, you’re in the stage of your anxiousness where you clam up instead of puking your words out.

You cock your head to the side, eyes narrowed because of the bright sun.

“How do I know it’s not stolen? What if we get pulled over because it’s stolen?” you wonder, and then the word vomit picks up and - “ I can’t go to jail! I had nothing to do with it and the ABA is gonna pull my Bar application if we get arrested and I spent too much damn money and worked too damn hard to let an F-150 ruin it for-”

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters into a small laugh, “I know you love the Bronco,” he gives you a teasing look, “But the Bronco has no air and I figured that since we’re driving two hours on the highway, you would appreciate not having to ride with the windows down the entire time.”

“You still haven’t confirmed that it’s your car.”

“You know, for someone so smart, you are extremely bad at picking up on obvious context clues. Why the hell would I steal a pickup truck and then drive you to a wedding in it?”

You scrounge your brain for a reply. “. . .For the plot?”

He whistles and crosses his arms over his chest, mimicking your current stance. “Wow. I have a comedian for a date.”

“I’m serious. It could be a possibility!”

“Well I don’t think “felon” looks good next to “painstakingly handsome,” so I’ll pass.”

You remain standing in front of him. Stubbornness was a quality that your mother both loved and loathed and you know it, but Bradley has yet to see this side of you yet. Your arms wrap around your torso tighter and your eyebrows are raised every so slightly.

Bradley knows what you’re doing. He used to do it to Maverick all the time when he was growing up. You’re digging your heels in.

“C’mon. Don’t start poutin’ on me before I even get to disappoint you with my dancing,” he quips. He brings his face closer to yours before flashing you a toothy smile.

You sigh dramatically before letting him help you into the seat. The gentle “Atta girl,” he gives you pinkens your cheeks. You pray he won’t notice your flushed face when he sits on the driver's side of the car. Every interaction you’ve had with him has kept you tossing and turning at night because of your nervousness.

So many things you wish you could take back and so many ways you wish you could act normal; a never-ending cycle of “could’ve, would’ve, should’ve,” and the thought leaves a small seed of sadness in your stomach.

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howyouloveyourdragon · 1 year

Text

Remnants

pronouns: she/her warnings: smut, use of the word ‘whore’, angst, disease, character death, fluff, infidelity, slowburn, classism at first (daemon is a shit) summary: They say that you never forget your first love but the vultures are prey to weakness and intend to infiltrate Daemon’s own desires to preserve his adere riñus (slippery girl). Some say the woman will forever remain in his conscience, guiding his bloodied sword and singing sweet lost lullabies to lay his rest. For it has been too long since the volatile dragon slept peaceful. A prince with more gold than he can keep. A prince who can demand whatever he wishes and command any army. And yet all he is left with…All he is left with are the remnants of her which he swore to cherish as religiously as he would an idol. A/N: reader has dark hair for a plot point to work but i think you can still ignore it if you want to :) dividers by: firefly-graphics wordcount: 6,797

There is nothing like a sunset that is more comforting to him and yet his comfort is limited. How he stares at the strewn stars like figments of grace and kind. How he stares each as though in the eye and recounts sonnets as they emit. How he begs and pleads for the Gods to last the warmth of sunlight just a little longer each time. And each time it fades. Each time his eyes grasp any trace of her to sew back into his mind after it has been torn from him with viscous delight. He should have known. The Gods do not listen to begging. Not even from Crown Princes. No matter how many bottles he shatters in the heat of his dreams. He likes to think that their love was red and as flowing as his ever-heating dragon’s blood. A Syrax in its own right. But there was no Goddess of ecstasy blessing them. No. It was a curse of bluebells and belonging to that of Gaelithox, surely to punish him for his foolishness. He looks up at the sky. The dark array of black and blue. Of silver specks and promising folds of purple. There is nothing like a sunrise better to send the Rogue Prince into a spiel of decay and sickness. The absurd golden bonds squeezing out another day like an artist with their last inch of oils. The crawling brightness that comes to threaten the moon. Abysmal lies sung to him as his brother attempts to push him into seeing beauty in all that inductees his churning stomach.

He wills the flowers to wither.

It was under the rising sun that Daemon had stumbled and forced his way out of the obnoxious hooting Street of Silk. Perhaps he had been desiring only ale or the rancid smell of sweat to intoxicate him. At just two and twenty, he had been visiting the volatile heap of taverns and brothels for the past eight years. It was religious in his dark desires. For dragons did not obey the whims of men and Daemon did not obey the whims of his brother nor father. And certainly not the whims of his wife. His nose turns up at the thought. Marriage would not contain him like they desired and yet still, he receives the constant demands to visit her. Of course he only intends to sink them in water until soft enough to shred, rejecting their presence all together. It would be easier to burn them but he does not think them worthy of his flame. His begrudging circle had even begun threatening to hail her to the Red Keep. To keep her in his presence all torturous times of the day. He knows his mother wouldn’t have let this happen, surely. Never would she sell him like prize cattle just to tame him. He is a dragon does not fuck plain featured sheep, he burns them but he would not devour them like his brother wished. His tastes were precise and he would not settle. He is a prince. He deserves nothing less than a woman matching his silver strands. Which is what he thinks of as he stumbles through the dark night struck streets, hopefully back to the castle gates at least. He despised people seeing him in such a state but he could usually hold his liquor better than tonight. And he assures himself that all will be well…until his cloak catches on a hook and he crashes to the floor in a surge of red blurred vision.

He blinks awake the next morrow with a pounding headache the size of Caraxes. A wince cracks at his muscles. Daemon grunts, a rough sting along his left cheekbone. A blur of dark hair and feminine presence has him assuming he had fallen asleep in the whorehouse again but instead his eyes flit across the plain room, brows pinching at the plain room. It is unfamiliar, he realises. His lips part in time for a resounding click of the unknown woman's fingers to snap him into alert. Anger swells in his chest but his limbs are weakened with exhaustion and ale. His sharp eyes choose to narrow instead as quickly as she takes a step. His brain swishes with questions. Where is he, why is he here and most importantly, who is this already insufferable cunt of a peasant? "You." He sneers, clicking his own fingers but she ignores him, returning to a small room he presumes to be a...kitchen? It is small and brown and littered with pans, some empty, some filled. "Tell me, who are you?" It is a demand. They both know it is a demand and yet it goes ignored. Rage firms his brittle state. "Answer your prince!" He stands on slightly shaky legs, uncaring to his indecent layer of clothing, or rather, lack of. His tunic...Where is his tunic? It isn't panic that raises the bile but it is discomfort. The odd woman merely chuckles at him. Anger flares once more. Daemon's swift hand snaps to his scabbard only to find it empty. "Relax, your highness," He doesn't like the mocking lilt seeping from her untrustworthy tongue. "it will be returned to you, I merely made certain you would not awaken with a missing appendage." His face scowls petulantly at her and he takes a step forward.

Daemon builds up his broad shoulders to square though he is not entirely a man full-grown yet and his boyish features attempt to harden. Intimidation is a powerful tool he knows. "You will hand me my possessions and I will take leave far from your slums or I will–" She spins around, facing him not with fear or mal-intent but with curiosity. Her sly smirk is the first thing he notices alongside her narrowed fox-like eyes. “Or what?” She returns, impishly .His mouth hangs. She had been washing one of her thick pans but now she has tucked the pathetic wet towel into her small apron and folds her arms. The pan is left forgotten on the side after a loud clang. She raises her brows. “Or what, your highness?” She repeats as though he is nothing more than the village idiot or town fool. Begrudgingly he has never felt more like a child, not even after marrying the bronze bitch. Daemon’s mouth moves but nothing comes out. She snorts. “Will you harm a sweet village girl? Add blood to your taxes? Ah, apologies, my lord, you are no foe of such demands, you are the taker.” The snide doesn’t pass him. “No girl is of worth to a Dragon.” He says, finally regaining composure. She doesn’t cower, she sneers. “In that we can agree.” Her voice, once mellifluous and playful, now turns cold. “Except the ones fucking dragons and I assure you, I have no intentions.” He swallows, noticing just how close they have approached once the hit of warm breath fans over his mouth which towers just above her. He ignores when his eyes flicker to her wet lips. How can a peasant look so nourished?

Daemon may ignore it but the peasant does not, her lips slowly curling upward smugly. She hums as she takes in his dilated pupils now wielding more than just rage. Slowly, her calloused hand begins to dip into her apron pocket. In a flash, his palm snatches her wrist and rips it out of reach. She blinks, slightly disoriented, but then raises her brows comically. “Do you not wish me to return your sword, my lord?” She lilts, Daemon’s face softens. “I am your prince, not your lord.” He snarls. Again, her sickening chuckles lift in the stale air. “You are an ingrate that we are all in service to, my prince. Do you wish for your dagger or not?” He hesitates. Who is to determine that she is not attempting to fool him? That she will not snipe his weapon and slice it through his throat; would she leave him bleeding on her floor or scatter him amongst the mongrels of flea bottom? Daemon casts his eyes at her apron. She sighs, allowing his thick fingers to swipe through the various utensils stashed away. The prince grunts when he makes contact with a blade, groaning behind his taut lips. He slides it out once he finds the hilt and dances it between his fingers like a peacock presents its feathers. A smirk twitches.

The peasant girl sighs, unamused as he watches the shining steel. “Do you intend to frolic through the streets and freeze?” She asks with a thin layer of mocking. His eyes narrow on the blade. “No,” He articulates in a frozen phrase. “You will lead me to the garments you have stolen from me and in return I shall allow your pitiful life to remain.” It isn’t a chuckle that escapes her this time but instead a snort. His nose wrinkles at the unabashed noise. “Will I?” She returns, biting the inside of her cheek. Daemon lets a glower settle, breath heaving at the disrespect. He clenches his jaw. “You will or you will taste your own blood.” Daemon spouts the words, attempting to poison her flesh, he can already imagine the boils that would litter her soft skin. The peasant merely winks. “It wouldn’t be for the first time but I am afraid that it would be in your best interests that you stay a moment more.” She sighs as though the fact physically pains her. A hand sneaks behind her back, which connects against the rough counter edge, and produces a small wooden bowl, heat emitting in steam from the top. “Would you not prefer to break your fast before you leave? A weak prince is not a wise one.”

He leans down, sneering. “I am not weak.” She leans up at him and tilts her head. “Then how do you know I was talking about you?” She pushes the strange broth to his chest and slips past him once his confusion lessens his hold on her other wrist. His head snaps to face her figure again. “You are an insinuating little tart.” Daemon comments but much less interrogative than before. He eyes the broth cautiously as he takes a seat at her short stocky table. His legs plead for freedom under the trapment. He ignores them. The girl glances him over and he can feel the scrutiny piercing his skin, ready to seep inside. Begrudgingly, the heir seats himself at the small table of her home and huffs like a petulant child. The threat of judgement crawls like an insect over his tense muscles, it feels like twenty-thousand little cockroaches are bumping one another from the inside of his skin. It begs to clamber into the strange peasant instead, what does a peasant fair against a prince? She must know that it would be further than a sin to place judgement on a Targaryen prince while she is nothing more than a lowly film of dirt atop his shoe; filth he is desperately trying to scrape off until his hands are raw and bloody.

His eyes take this moment to rake over and through her as she stumbles around the much too small hobble. Her hair reminds him of toiled waves, crashing messily and unkempt–even though it is tied up–against the harsh wind sneaking through her window. Her apron is dirtied and there is flour on her face. She looks every inch the commoner he despises. Because she thinks she’s better than him, he’s sure, he can see it in her smugness, her eagerness to keep him dependent on her already. She has a vile brown dress beneath it, his skin itches just looking at the rough worn-in cloth. The prince’s eyes trail to her bare feet, he winces but attempts to ignore it, glancing over the muddy wet end to the dress. He lets a sigh release and shakes his head, inspecting the rest of the abode. Just looking at her made him long to cleanse himself. Daemon’s nose turns up at the sight of a myriad of blue wilting flowers in the corner, well he supposes to her it is reminiscent of a myriad. Her. Why is it her mind, her thoughts, that he wants to explore like the depths of the great sea he has always been kept from? Then his eye catches on the deep red cloth that drapes along a lone wooden chair. His eyes narrow. Is it stolen? She doesn’t look as though she could afford such vibrancy. Or perhaps she is a whore and it was gifted by a client. That must be it. She’s a whore. Daemon clicks his tongue and looks down at the half-eaten broth. He stirs at the odd liquid, raising the too large spoon and pouring the broth back in the bowl before dipping it back in again. It takes all his willpower to stuff it into his cheeks and let it play on his tongue.

He swishes it across his taste buds. Daemon wants it to be foul, he wants it to reek of vomit-inducing grossness. It is a childish word but he is running out of insults. His hope also falls flat because for some reason it tastes good. It tastes better than any soup the high paid cooks have ever offered him, it tastes almost better than any rich meal he’s consumed. His eyes narrow. Is she a witch? Is this set to bewitch him or send him into sleep? No, it makes him feel much too energised. Then is it to gain his favour? Constituted to trick his submission? She will not achieve it, he refuses. He finishes the lukewarm meal while taking his time. He watches her hum and shimmy about the room, searching for something he does not know. He scans her curiously. “My garments.” He states in demand, standing and approaching her swiftly. She doesn’t react, doesn’t even stop humming. She moves about a few thick books, all handwritten and all with olden pages–yellow with use.

His fist rests sideways against the presumably oak bookcase so he can lean over her, forearm following suit. He wants it to reflect dominance but instead it twists his gut and warms his lower stomach. “You have something that belongs to me,” Daemon purrs. His eyes narrow. His free palm outstretches. “I want it back.” “I have more than one thing, milord.” The snark drips from her tongue with charisma he loathes. His jaw clenches at the forced display. “Then return them and I shall return this.” Her eyes snap up to him and frown at the sealed letter in his grasp. Daemon can see as the panic swells and tenses her muscles, he can see as she takes in an inhale sharper than Dark Sister, he can see as her eyes widen because Daemon is not merely a swordsman and soon-warrior; Daemon Targaryen is also an observer. The peasant girl swallows. “Very well.” She chokes out and he finds himself surprised to have won this game of cat and mouse. Of dragon and sheep. Almost disappointed. The prince nods and steps back but as she prepares to swipe it from his hands and pulls it back with a visibly pensive expression. “I will give it to you once you return my possessions.” Eyes meet and again, his gut twists. She tilts her head, guard seemingly lowered. “How curious,” She breathes out. Daemon’s brows knit. “What?” He questions. “You said possessions not belongings. Most would use the latter.”

When he eventually does return to the castle, fully clothed and prepared to sleep off the remainder of his disturbed night, He keeps a firm stance and intends to forget the strange day so far but his mind circles the events like a fly. Daemon growls as he shrugs off his shirt to replace it with one of pure white and tosses the prior into a drawer. He roughly grasps a red doublet in his hands and tugs it over. His breath comes out in grunts and curses until he is redressed. It is the same shade as the peasant girl’s cloth, of course it is. It was his favourite until today and now childishly, it feels tainted by the resurging memories of humiliation being sewn inside. His nose scrunches up, a grotesque taste rubbing against his tongue as he recalls one incident in particular. The prince, a man to be respected, can visualise as he was shoved to a thin mattress and tossed up the mix of bile and sickness from his stomach. All. Over. Her. Floorboards. Daemon winces and shakes his head, trying to shake the memory into the deepest depths of his subconscious, never to be seen again. He sighs and turns around, pausing when a slight fluttering falls as soft as a petal from his trouser. He frowns and peers down at the paper. There sits a thin parchment, not unlike the letter he had returned to the peasant girl. This one however is in cursive words much more eloquent than the past one and written in a phrasing he’s unsure of. He looks at the wax seal this time. It’s blue and the paper around it is curled. Daemon glances over the creases. Perhaps his business is not yet forgoing.

A moon passes before he finally returns through the winding streets, trying to recall the pattern in which he returned home, backward. Daemon finds himself humming a tune to which he should not be familiar with but it is the only thing that consumes his mind as he passes through the Street of Flour. Finally, he reaches a small doorway and raps at it. No one answers to which he sighs and takes a step back, peeking through the opening of his hooded cloak at the abundance of civilians. Daemon’s eyes dart amidst the unknown area and his feet follow, investigating a series of yells and glances one last time at the door. The street is in uneven bumps and the people there are clumped together as they holler and whistle. Daemon halts his tune and uses his substantial height to attempt to see over the large mass of bodies. He can barely make out the sight of steam and two large wooden stands. The hollers burst through his ears like pellets of rain, forceful and punishing as a storm.

Then a familiar voice is raised above the others, a mock resounding in his ears but with the playfulness and wit of a friend. His violet eyes snap up to find the woman haunting him. She’s laughing raucously, obnoxious and loud. Daemon’s lips slightly twitch at the teeth she bares. Again, his gut stirs. The heat becomes smothering but that doesn't stop him in his pursuit in finding the peasant girl who he now sees tossing around a pan filled with water and meat. From the brief glances he can snatch up, she’s almost finished while a man beside her is kneading a similar meat lined in fresh pink. Daemon pulls his lips taut, tensing as he watches the show. His little peasant seems to be enjoying herself. Witch, he thinks briefly but she doesn’t look like a witch and nor does she particularly sound like one. Are witches not supposed to be tantalising and hibernate an illusion of raw sex? Of primal appeal to tempt him? She doesn’t appear to be trying very hard. The flour is gone from her face now, he notes, but in its place lays a curved slice, colour as deep as that of Dornish wine. If she is a witch, would she not surely cover it? The hiss of her heated pan hisses throughout the street and Daemon finds himself surprised that no one has stolen from the small bag of coins in the centre.

A cacophony of enjoyment and not one has a trail of bitterness. He watches as the girl glides a hand around her neck to push back the hair escaping its tight wrap atop her head. Only joy amongst the miserable. Perhaps that should worry him but he is too enthralled in the display. The woman’s hair is tied high again but much clearer than the moon prior–the day he last saw her. She is still wearing the same rags but this time that revolting red cloth is wrapped around her shoulders like a shaul. Not a whore either then. A whore would not be parading her squeals for free and nor would she wish to wear rags when surely many men had solicited them. So she is not a witch and not a whore and yet he finds himself stalking after her presence like an injured pup. Daemon growls at the very thought. He is a prince. How many times must he remind himself? Princes do not chase after strange peasant girls. The scolding floats through the wind when the peasant girl cheers and hurls the pan down on the wooden market stand. Her opponent groans half-heartedly, grinning like a mad man as he stretches out his arms and embraces the girl, one rough large hand resting to cup the back of her head and his other reaching to slap her back like Daemon has seen other knights behave. But this is not a knight, this is a peasant. The fact twitches his nose in distaste. But so is she. A voice whispers in his ear, he swats it away, watching as the surrounding peasants cheer.

Daemon watches as the children let their little hands grasp the food and jump in bubbles of excitement. If he had a warmer heart, he may have found the sight sweet. But he does not, he has a mission to complete. He approaches the peasant girl with sly steps but she has already noticed him, how, he does not know. He steps behind her and opens his mouth but she beats him to it. “My prince,” She speaks with a burning smugness he doesn’t have to look at to be aware of. Against his better judgement, a sly smirk spreads across his pale lips. “You remembered.” He quips to which she hums in approval and folds her arms over her chest. “Unfortunately I did.” Daemon shifts in intrigue. He hesitates for the first sun of his existence. “I almost thought you wouldn’t bring it back.” She comments, amusement slipping in between her teeth. A snicker passes his mouth, a mouth rarely barred. “I had not imagined you would need use of such a thing left so easily misplaced.” Daemon’s hot words burrow through her ear, as determined as their wielder. She turns her head, baring her soft neck and piercing eyes to look up into his. The heir’s breath hitches.

“I misplaced nothing, my prince.” The peasant purrs boldly. The intimacy of a whisper drips from her like an aphrodisiac. Daemon grins. “Is it my name or merely my title that you know of?” He chuckles, a confident hand reaching wind at her waist. Her own hand cups it. “Of course, my Prince Daemon Targaryen.” He swallows and a shuddered chill draws down his back. “Might you tell your prince your own for adequate compensation?” She leans a little closer, only a breath apart and fanning across his twitching lips. She interrupts his thoughts by slapping his hand enough to stun him. “I shall not.” With him vulnerable, she twists away from him with cautious grace. “I like to leave my men wanting.” She calls with a growing impish grin. He surprises himself by returning the gesture, straightening his back as he does so and raising his brows. “And I am one of your men then?” He retorts easily and watches her sashay apart from him. Before she is too far, he pats down to find the letter in his pocket but already knows it has been swiped. Instead of berating his own foolishness, he smirks at the smart, slippery girl and steps away, sure to see her more in the growing time.

As the moons pass and his brother grows increasingly irate with him, Daemon Targaryen sneaks away into the night. He ignores the hailings of his Lady Bronze and replaces her calls with the sweet melodies his newfound companion intoxicates him with. The soothing lilt of her lullabies and the calm braids she strews across his hair. Daemon stands, now a man of 27 years, at her side. Y/n, she had told him. Her name was Y/n. She was of no surname and no wealth but she was beautiful and kind. She was fresh and witty and every inch the insinuating tart she had been the night they met. Her fingers stroke through his tangled mane with a snort before landing her hands, rough with work, on his shoulders. He leans back and flutters his eyes shut. With all the bread she has kneaded, this is not the first time he longs for her embrace. He hums in swift pleasure, reaching up to coil his fingers with hers. “How is sweet Rhaenyra?” Y/n asks, voice ripe with interest and honey as always…Only this time, there is something burrowed beneath, he can feel it. He can feel it better than he can sense Caraxes’ heartbeat. “She is well…Almost full grown already.” Daemon responds, his fingers lingering as they caress Y/n’s hand. Why does it feel so much frailer than it did before? “Are you hiding something from me? Are you aware that it is a crime to lie to your prince,” The joke falls flat as she leans forward and shakes her head, arms stretching across her lover’s chest. She doesn’t speak and he doesn’t pry but they are both aware of the deep mulberry bags beneath her eyes.

But Daemon has always been a man of actions and impulses and so, he lets instincts take over, leaning back his head to look at her. His hands both reach up to cup her face and descend it toward him with gentle prompt. “I brought something for you,” He breathes, twirling a strand of her hair around his fingertips. She tilts her head and tightens her lips. “Whatever for?” He lets a mischievous grin twist his mouth and stands, settling Y/n down in the chair instead. Daemon cups her cold hands in his warm ones and folds them in her lap. “Close your eyes.” She does so begrudgingly but she is long past arguing with him when he’s in his moods. She chuckles. “You told you there was nothing you required for your namesday and while I respect–” She interrupts him, groaning with amusement. “Because it is not a namesday, I will never know my namesday,” She chuckles but her tickling throat gives her away, choking the words out of her dry throat. Daemon hums lowly. “But it is the day that you were given shelter.” She rolls her eyes at the quip. “That place was hardly a shelter.” He leans down to kiss wetly along her jaw and up to her earlobe. “And yet it brought you to me, kept you safe and waiting.” She snorts and raises her brows, a pointed expression inching over her. “I was hardly waiting.” He chuckles this time and kisses up the column of her throat. As she begins to breathe out gentle moans, he takes her distracted presence to skillfully thread his hand over hers, sliding cold steel onto her finger. She gasps and flutters her eyes open to see his cocky smirk. “Well?” He asks and kisses the finger. He licks his lips and lets a shaky breath flow through him.

Y/n regains composure and stares at the ‘something’ he had brought her. She brings it to just in front of her sights and swallows. “Is-Is it…?” “Yes,” He whispers and looks at the carefully crafted jewellery too. “I want you to have a part of me, always. And in return…” He pauses and turns the ring around her finger slowly to reveal a carved dragon, its wings spread for flight. “I want all of you.” He slowly kneels in front of her. “I want you to marry me.” It’s instantaneous that her mouth parts and her eyes widen. “Daemon…” “That woman is not my wife.” He states coldly before warming at the sight of her softening brows. “You are my wife in body, in soul and I want so in law too.” He takes in a breath. “Please, do not this deny of me. “I told you I would give you everything and I intend to. “Your brother will never approve of it.” A growl ripples through his mouth. “I do not care, he has tried to be my dictator since we were children and now I am a man grown, I should be allowed to choose my own wife. To let her choose me. He has not yet had an heir, let me take you to Dragonstone.” He leans closer until only a single breath can part them. “Let me make you my wife in the ways of my ancestors.” Silence cups them in a bubble, so easily popped. Too easily popped…and yet, she turns the ring, roaming the dotted rubies that form the dragon’s eyes and in slow movement, she stares into violet irises as she kisses the dragon’s head. “Yes.” She whispers. “I will be your wife.”

He doesn’t take a moment more to grasp the sides of her face and kiss fervently at her soft pliant lips. She returns the force in tandem as the sun sets behind them. The golden rays darken in a way only the most beautiful of moments could demand. Daemon’s hand drops to scrunch at the material at her thigh, at the skirts of her dress. It is in moments that both his hands reach to pop and tear at the incriminating fabric, ripping away her bodice until he can paw at his prize like an animal starved. Her teeth sink into his lip and the wet resounding noises surface upon their lips. His breath grunts as hers quickens in high pitched desperation. Her own hands slash roughly at his doublet, shoving it away from him like a criminal. His hips grind against her in hard strokes, desperately trailing his kisses down her neck while she clutches and pulls at his long silver hair. A high moan tears from her mouth as he sucks his marks into her, the need for possession clawing at his veins. Her pearl throbs as she twists to plunge him onto the floor. She straddles his thighs and wraps her arms around his neck and pushes his face against her neck again. He growls and snaps off her smallclothes. “When we met,” He groans, eyes fluttering back. “I thought you were a whore.” A breathy cackle drips from her animalistic mouth. “I’m starting to rethink denouncing that. You are much, ah, much too talented to be a baker.” He moans and burrows his head into the pillows of her breasts, lips wrapping to suction once more, to claim. “And you,” She interrupts herself to moan, tossing her head back. “Are much too unkempt to be a prince.” He bucks his hips. “Tell me,” A shriek breaks as he tugs roughly at the pelvis of his own trousers, desperately trying to be rid of the material. “Tell me you’re mine, Rogue Prince of the Seven Kingdoms.” A gasp drips from his tongue while he finally gets a grip of his fabrics. He tosses her to lie on the floor, her back pressed against the wood. “Fuck, I’m yours,” He babbles like a hormonal desperate teenager. With thick hands grapple his own trousers and tears them off with haste. “All yours, only yours.”

He throbs as he kisses down her body, planting wet marks as violet as his eyes and crimson as his blood. He props up her right leg to drape over his shoulder and sucks at her thigh. His tongue probes at the flesh. His palms squeeze at her thighs as he slowly dips down between them and worships her mound in deep licks, drinking in the slick. He wants to drain it into a flask and carry it in his satchel. He wants to carry her around to sip from at any moment. He could die happily between her legs. Daemon Targaryen does not need wine or whore because she is his sin and he will anger the Gods happily if he can keep this temptress at his side. He pulls back to fan his breath along her throbbing cunny. Such a sweet filthy little thing, he thinks to himself, blowing down on it and revelling in her small jolt. His tongue drops to play with the bundled pearl, rolling it over the muscle and sending vibration as reward for every little moan that she lets pass. Her hands reach down and tug at his hair. “You should not have tempted me, adere riñus,” (slippery girl) His dark eyes level to meet hers. “I told you I want all of you and I intend to take it.” With an animalistic grin, his mouth descends once more to lap at her. Her back arches, grinding into him impatiently. “Be careful,” The woman pants. “Or I may start suspecting you to be a whore yourself.” He growls as she smirks and pushes up her body, slamming a forearm by her head and stretching her leg. She winces for a moment but recovers as his fingers replace his tongue. “A private whore then.” He speaks, removing his hand from her bud to palm at his length. “For a have already told you,” He grunts, chasing her mewls as he plunges into her entrance. “I am yours.” And so he pushes deeper, pushing roughly and lets his sweat pound into her flesh until they absorb one another.

Months have passed. He knows they have but he doesn’t feel it. All he can do is fight and slay and watch as men burn and bleed. So long it has been since he last saw his true wife, since he last kissed her lips. A comment in passing has devoured his entire mind. A half-hearted promise that he has clung to now is visible but only in part. He wants it now more than he has ever wanted anything. “Yes, well, you may marry her if the Stepstones are ever retaken.” A King will be true to his word and his brother has never proved untrustworthy but the phrase was meant in jest, he knows. However, Daemon Targaryen, Rogue Prince and man of twenty-eight years, will let himself be damned before he rejects the prospect. He will make his wifey his own if it is the very last thing he does. He has returned to his brother, a crown of bone within his grasp and presented it to him with but one request. He shall take his own wife and he shall take her at court for all to see. Before every lord, lady or royal proudly. For the first time, it isn’t frustration or malice in his brother’s gaze in response to his boldness. It is gentle and merciful. Because that is what it feels like to be gifted the honour of his adere riñus. It is mercy, it is a blessing, it is his salvation. It is the rise of his sun and the fall of his stars because he only needs one. He only needs one shining star to keep his moon afloat and begging.

Finally he can return home to her with more than a title and unfair vows. He can return with a heart full. Daemon’s hand twists at the wooden door he has slipped past so many times before but he freezes at the sight. An array of mess greets him and horror balls in his throat to gag him. His eyes snap at every corner, panic rising like the flow of sharp wind. His feet travel through the cluttered space, wariness biting at him but then he sees blood splatter on a cloth. It is as crimson as the shirt beneath his tunic and that alone makes him scream for her. Her name resounds through the open space and his legs run swiftly to the only other room there, the one where he had professed his devotion to her until the words bled out. He bursts the door open with the force of ten thousand men, the hinges yelling at him. He settles his sights on his weak love. She is shivering. With widened eyes and swiftly snaps to her side in one breath and kneels there, clutching her hands. “What is wrong, my love, who has hurt you?” The words are loud, demanding and cold. She almost doesn't respond and his heart stops. “I am well, husband.” She calls him such…She calls him such without even knowing the good news, the news he had only dreamed of whispering into your ear but not like this. Never like this. “My love, you are not.” Daemon chastises and fumbles with her bedsheets. He reaches to cup her cheek. “My love what has happened, has someone thieved you, please tell me what has happened.” She merely shakes her head. “I,” She coughs into her hand, rich thick blood dripping from it like a cursed potion. His face hardens but he lets her finish, lets the quiet remain. She’s trembling like a little lamb. “You knew that I was in an…unseemly state when you left. I am glad to have you return to me.” She has never spoken so proper, so rehearsed to him before. How long had he been blind? “I am taking you to a healer.” He snaps instantly and stands. She winces. “No,” She begs weakly. He shakes his head. “No, please, I do not wish for you to see me in this state.” “Shame is not for this time!” He yells. “I return home to my wife sickly and bedridden and you expect me to not alert a maester? Nonsense, you are coming willfully or I will make you.”

The nights are cold and they pass without progress as he lays by her side at all hours. Her eyes stare up at the ceiling. “It is in the sky that you are free,” She utters. “Caraxes will be missing you.” Daemon shakes his head and glides a hand up her waist. “And if I should fly him then I shall be missing you.” “He is an animal as wild as you, my love,” She berates with the softness of an angel. “And he will wait.” “And for how long? Until I am old in my grave.” “Do not say such things!” Daemon chastises. “It is mere truth, husband.” She sighs and curls his hair in her fingers. “He needs flight and so do you.” He doesn’t respond, his petulance growing.”I am not getting better.” She wags a finger in his face when he tries to argue. “I will continue not to but if you do this justice for me then I will grant you an army of love.” The mischief still holds on her tongue after all this time. The gentle mocking of his salvation and he smiles. He smiles as water pricks his eyes. He can’t speak. He won’t make it so, not if it is only going to claw at him.

Daemon Targaryen, Rogue Prince, Lord of Flea Bottom, wielder of Dark Sister sits upon Caraxes and watches as the ivory moon lowers before him. He watches as gold forgives the darkness and they embrace. The twine of beauty and misery thread together in a beautiful seal. A seal of love and beauty. He twists a ring in his hand, one made of Valyrian steel and shattered promises. He sits upon a red cloth. Parchment is strapped to his thigh, awaiting acknowledgement, a web of bluebells encapsulates it. A letter of hopes, a letter of dreams unfulfilled. Daemon Targaryen, Rogue Prince, Lord of Flea Bottom, wielder of Dark Sister sits upon Caraxes and watches the sun rise and with it, his future. He has felt his slippery girl slip from him and now it is time for him to breathe new air. He is only left with the remnants of her but that is enough for him to resume his newfound duty. A duty to her, to her memory and to her desires. As he watches the night close, he finally takes acceptance. He accepts peace. Her love is not red, it is not blue. It is in what she has left behind and it is in what she has gifted onto him. Finally he understands what she meant that fated day. She does not own him. He belongs to her.

Her love is her remnants. And he has an army of it.

Remnants Taglist: (if your name is in italics and bold, that means i couldn't tag you, you will need to check your settings) @chompchompluke @eyelinerandcigarettes

HOTD Taglist: (if your name is in italics and bold, that means i couldn't tag you, you will need to check your settings) @wrendermedone @hopelesswritergall @blackdreamspeaks @its-actually-minicika @gettheetoanunneryimmediatly @adelusionalwriter

#daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x fem!reader #daemon x you #daemon smut #daemon targaryen x female reader #daemon targaryen x fem reader #daemon x reader #daemon x fem reader #hotd x reader #daemon targaryen x reader smut #daemon targaryen smut #daemon targaryen x fem smut #daemon targaryen x you #daemon targaryen x reader angst #angst

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nicoline1998enilocin · 7 months

Text

The closet of desire

PAIRING | Civilian!Ari Levinson x Avenger!Female!Reader

WORD COUNT | 3.3K

SUMMARY | Ari and you are at the afterparty of Tony's famous Halloween Party, and you're being roped into a very alcoholic game of truth or dare. You accept the dare of ''7 Minutes In Heaven,'' but the closet you step into becomes a gateway to a place where you never thought you would find yourself.

WARNING(S) | This is your official trigger warning. Do not proceed if any of these topics upset you. Swearing, age gap (Ari is in his mid-40s, Reader is in her early to mid-30s), use of pet names (Bubbles, Kitten), smut { public sex (in a sex club), voyeurism kink, exhibitionism kink, daddy kink, multiple orgasms, finger sucking, fingering, oral (m receiving), face fucking, threesome, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), spit roasting, squirting, cockwarming, implied aftercare }.

A/N | This one shot is written for Jamie's Halloween Challenge 2023, hosted by @jtargaryen18. I had an absolute blast writing this one, and I hope you will all enjoy it as much as I did when writing 🖤

Likes, comments and reblogs will be very much appreciated 🧡

Divider is made by @firefly-graphics | Header & 18+ banner are made by yours truly

Main Masterlist | Ari Levinson Masterlist

Tony has invited you and your fiancé Ari to his annual Halloween party with a costume competition. You may not have won first prize, but coming in second dressed as Morticia and Gomez Addams still felt pretty damn good.

Ari looks stunning in a black pinstripe suit tailored to the gods, his hair dyed black and slicked back, and a black mustache found its home on his face. You're wearing a tight black dress, a long black wig, and the signature Morticia make-up look to finish it all off.

The party was wild already, but you always joined for the afterparty, which was even better. Fewer people are in attendance, making it much more intimate, which you like.

You and Ari are seated on a loveseat, cuddled into his side, his arm around your shoulders protectively. The other Avengers and their significant others are spread out over the rest of the couches and seats, with Tony standing as he proposes a game.

''What do we say to a few rounds of Truth or Dare... but with a twist?!'' he says with a devilish grin, and that alone was enough to send shivers down your spine.

Everyone agreed, but he explained it wouldn't be a typical game but a drinking game. Obviously.

''One of you chooses either a truth or a dare, but if you decide not to want to answer, you must take two shots. If you do answer the truth or perform the dare, the rest of us must take one shot,'' he says, and you can already feel your hangover coming on, but that would be a problem for future you.

Tony immediately turns to you and Ari, seeing you're the newest couple in the room. Tonight is the first time they've met Ari, after all.

''Let's start with you two lovebirds!'' Tony exclaims, and you can already feel your stomach drop, closing your eyes in the hope that Tony changes his mind, but he doesn't.

''Are you okay, Bubbles?'' Ari asks as he looks at you, worry visible on his face as he goes to sit up a little more, allowing you to get a little more comfortable.

''Yeah, don't worry. It's not my first rodeo,'' you say, and you give Ari a soft but passionate kiss on his lips, which is met by a lot of cheering from other Avengers.

When you pull away, your lips are slightly puffy from the kiss, and Ari has a very content smile when he sees it.

''Right, back to me now,'' Tony says, grabbing everyone's attention.

''Truth or dare?'' he asks, and you choose dare, knowing he probably won't go too crazy now that it's still relatively early if you don't count the drinks he's already had so far.

''Dare,'' you sigh and smile, hopefully making it look like you're enjoying yourself to the rest of them.

''I dare you two-'' he says, pointing towards you and Ari, ''-to 7 minutes in heaven in the closet,'' Tony tells you.

''What are we? Fucking teenagers? You have to be kidding me, Tony,'' you raise your voice, but Ari stops you as you get up and walk away.

''Bubbles, it's only 7 minutes, and it's not like we've never had a make-out session before,'' he says, which has your heart beating faster at the thought, and a smile tugs on the corners of your mouth.

''Okay, I'll do it,'' you say, pulling Ari up from the couch, and he gets up gracefully before walking after you and towards the closet. It's a short walk since it's in the same room, and when you open the doors, you step in, but Ari has to lean his head down not to hit his head.

It's a squeeze, and when you try to make a little room for Ari, you hit a panel behind you with your elbow, which opens the back of the closet like two doors swinging open.

Both of you turn your heads to the opening and the sight before you take your breath away for a few seconds.

''Is that-''

''A sex club? Absolutely,'' Ari answers before you can even finish your sentence.

Ari stepped through the portal after grabbing your hand and pulling you in with him. Suddenly, he was wearing tight-fitting jeans without a shirt, and you wore a short skirt, a crop top, and thigh-high boots, leaving nothing to the imagination.

Everywhere you look, you see people talking or making out; in the darker corners, you can see people having oral sex or being worked open with fingers, and in the middle of the club are multiple couches, chairs, and tables used to have sex on.

From just two people and threeways to an orgie, your eyes scan past everyone in the room, and you can feel your panties growing wetter with the second.

The music is drowned out by people moaning and whining, skin slapping against skin, and dirty talk here and there. You need to figure out where to look since this is your first time in a club like this.

''Are you liking what you see, Bubbles?'' Ari whispers in your ear as he stands behind you, and you can feel his erection pressing into your back, noticing how he's fully hard.

A soft whine escapes your lips as his big hands slide from your waist up to your breasts, which he cups gently, enveloping them with his long fingers.

The slick between your thighs only grows as you feel his fingers on your body, his lips trailing kisses on your neck as he leaves a small trail of goosebumps in their path.

''A-Ari,'' you gasp, but he immediately stops his kisses.

''You know that's not what I want you to call me, Kitten,'' he says sternly, and you close your eyes as a shiver runs down your spine, leaving full-body goosebumps.

''Sorry, Daddy,'' you say, and Ari's cock twitches at the word, serving to make him even harder, not that you thought that would be possible. You also get off on it, and you feel your panties dampen as he walks you forward to an empty armchair.

You can't tear your eyes away from everything happening around you, and you can't help but feel aroused. You didn't know you had such a thing for being a voyeur until now, and it only feeds the exhibitionism kink you already know you have.

If there's one thing you and Ari love doing is having sex in (semi-)public places; the thrill of possibly getting caught only makes it hotter, but you never considered a place like this.

Ari sits down in the armchair with a soft grunt after letting his hands slide off your body, and he turns you around so your ass is pointed at him.

''Sit down for me, Kitten, and spread those beautiful legs for everyone to see,'' he says, and you do just that, hooking your legs on the outside of his so you're spreading wide for him.

Your skirt is hiked up and is now on your waist by the motion, showing your blue thong to everyone wanting to look.

''Hmm, this color looks perfect on you, Kitten. Too bad it's all soaked and ruined now, huh?'' Ari teases, and his hands ghost over your inner thighs, making you whimper softly when he comes closer to your pussy, but avoiding it each time.

''Daddy, please don't tease me,'' you say with a pout as you lean your head against his shoulder, but he doesn't look at your face, instead focussing on the blue lace between your legs.

''Alright, Kitten, but only because you asked so sweetly,'' he says, and his fingers glide to the edge of your panties, pushing them down and discarding them in front of you both before making you spread wide again, showing your glistening cunt for the entire club to see.

''Hmm, such a perfect pussy for everyone to see,'' Ari groans softly, and his long, thick fingers rub through your folds, gathering some slick before he brings them to your mouth, letting you suck all of your slick off them.

You moan around his fingers, and your eyes fly shut, your pussy clenching around nothing at the taste of yourself on his fingers. He shoves them deeper into your mouth, and you keep sucking on them, and you feel Ari's cock twitch slightly in his pants.

When you've lubed them enough for his liking, he pulls them out of your mouth and repeats the same motion, but this time he finds your clit and rubs small circles while you moan loudly, making several people turn their heads to you.

''Daddy, please! Want your fingers,'' you beg, but he doesn't listen yet; he wants you to beg just a little more.

''You want my fingers? You need to beg louder so everyone can hear what you want,'' Ari says with a mischievous smile, and you immediately obey.

''Please, Daddy, can I have your fingers in my pussy? Am a good girl for you,'' you beg, and this time, Ari gives in, pushing two fingers into your entrance with a loud squelching sound that has you moaning loudly.

''Fuck!'' you force out as he bottoms out with his fingers, and he sets a steady pace, driving them in and out of you repeatedly as his other hand rubs your clit, working you towards your first orgasm of the night.

''You're such a good girl for me, letting everyone look at how good Daddy makes you feel. You're the perfect slut for Daddy tonight,'' he tells you, and his words make you preen.

''Yeah, 'm Daddy's little slut'' you reply, and Ari works his fingers faster until you're eyes roll back into your head, and the squelching sound is so loud it's all you can focus on as your orgasm washes over you.

With a loud whine, you let Ari work through your orgasm until you're bordering overstimulation, and you push his hands away, which he then brings to your mouth so you can clean them.

''T-Thank you, D-Daddy,'' you pant as you've come down enough, and Ari smiles as multiple pairs of eyes are on the two of you, but you don't even attempt to close your legs; you just want to spread them wider so they can get a perfect view of your glistening folds.

Ari lifts your shirt over your head to expose your bra, but that is also swiftly taken off, and now you're entirely bare for everyone to see. Your nipples are pebbled to total hardness, and Ari can't help but tug on them to tease a little.

''Daddy!'' you say in a bit of a scolding tone, but it makes you feel good.

''How about you make Daddy feel good now, huh? Be a good girl for Daddy and get down on your knees so you can suck me off with that perfect, tight mouth of yours,'' he says, and you immediately get off his legs and find your place between his legs, your back arching, and your legs spread slightly.

Your fingers undo the button and zipper of his jeans quickly, and he lifts himself a little so his pants can slide off, only to reveal he's wearing nothing underneath them.

A soft whine leaves your throat as his erection springs free, but it's so big and heavy it doesn't stand upright; instead, it points forward, with a slight curve to the right.

''C'mon, Kitten, make Daddy feel g-good,'' he stutters as your hand wraps around his base; your lips immediately find their home around his tip, and you suckle softly.

''Fucking hell,'' Ari groans out as you take more and more of him in your mouth and down your throat, working past your gag reflex.

His breathing gets more erratic, and when you look up, you can see a small layer of sweat forming on his chest and face, showing you how good you make him feel right now.

One of your hands is softly squeezing the base of his cock as the other massages and rolls his balls just the way he likes, his hands clutching the arms of the chair to not cum right away.

Your hips involuntarily rut into nothing, and you feel yourself clenching around nothing, but you can tell Ari's close to his orgasm.

''You want to swallow my cum like a good cumslut?'' Ari asks, and you look up at him as you nod so he fists one of his hands into your hair before holding your head still and setting the pace with his hips, fucking your face with loud groans until he shoots every last drop down your throat, forcing you to swallow it all.

When he lets you go, you let go with a wet pop, and your jaw is already sore, and your mascara is running down your face from the tears you've shed as he fucked your face.

After Ari's come down from his high, he got up and pulled you over to an empty couch, where he placed you on your hands and knees to fuck you the way you like.

''I've got a little surprise for you, Kitten,'' Ari says as he pulls you up to his chest, and you feel his cock poke you in your back.

He turns your head with his hand to show you who's walking over to the two of you, and you see none other than Tony Stark himself walk up to you, completely naked, his cock standing at attention against his belly.

He's shorter and less thick than Ari, but it would still be a stretch, no matter what hole he would get to use.

''Do you want us both to make you feel good?'' he asks, and you nod enthusiastically, slick dripping down your thighs and onto the leather couch beneath you.

''Are you going to let Tony fuck this amazing mouth while I fuck your tight pussy until you can't stop cumming for us? We're going to fucking ruin you, Kitten, and you'll enjoy every second of it if you say yes,'' Ari whispers in your ear, and you're getting only more excited.

''Please, Daddy! Please ruin me,'' you say confidently, and he lets you drop forward, catching yourself with your arms before your face hits the couch.

Ari pulls your hips up a little, and you wiggle in his grasp to show you're ready. And he lines up with your entrance while Tony takes his position before you.

''Look at you, such a perfect little slut who just wants to be fucked from all sides, huh? Does that make you feel horny to be treated like a cumslut for us?'' Tony asks, and you say a soft yes before Ari pushes into you, the stretch feeling like a pleasant burn like always.

You lift your head, letting Tony line up with your mouth before pushing in, and he tastes so vastly different from Ari but not unpleasant.

Both men slide into you simultaneously, and the pleasure almost becomes too much, your orgasm creeping closer quickly.

When Ari bottoms out, he lets you adjust around him until you're not clenching around him, and when he starts pulling out and thrusting back in, Tony does the same, and both men are making you feel like you're not even inside your own body anymore.

They set a different pace - Tony being a little sloppy and rough, Ari being slow and passionate, almost as if he's making love to you. This is precisely what sends you over the edge the first time, and Ari throws his head back with a loud groan as you clench around his cock.

''Jesus, Kitten, you squeeze Daddy so good when you cum,'' he grits out as he thrusts again, picking up his pace while Tony keeps the same speed, his hands in your hair as you let him fuck your face for pleasure.

Both men groan and grunt as they use you as their fucktoy, and with the way Ari keeps hitting your sweet spot inside you repeatedly, it doesn't take long for you to cum again, this time with more force, and Ari is determined to pull one more from your body before even thinking of cumming himself.

''Fuck, she's squeezing me so good,'' Ari tells Tony, and you hollow your cheeks to make Tony feel fabulous too, and it works because before he can stop himself, he's shooting his seed into your mouth and throat while you swallow every last drop.

He doesn't pull out once he's done but instead lets himself soften in your mouth as Ari sets a relentless pace, but his fingers find your clit this time. He rubs them just a little, but you're already bordering overstimulation, and you cum again, this time squirting all over the couch, his legs, and his cock.

''Fucking hell, such a perfect little slut when you squirt for me. Good girl,'' he emphasizes as he thrusts back in, this time chasing his own high with rapid thrusts.

You moan around Tony's soft cock, and the vibrations make him feel good, and you feel little beads of pre-cum drip onto your tongue.

''Gonna pump you full of my cum, Kitten. Got so much cum just for you and your tight cunt,'' Ari growls, and with a few more sloppy thrusts, he comes with a roar, and many people in the club look at the burly man fucking into you while you're cockwarming another man with your mouth.

You've never felt so good, and when Ari pulls out, Tony lets go too, but you have never felt this empty before. Tony doesn't say goodbye before walking away, but you're too far gone to notice it.

Ari pulls you into his lap and whispers sweet nothings as you both come down from your highs before he feeds you some bits of chocolate and lets you drink some water.

You want to stay in your spot forever, but you know that's not an option, so when it's time to go back, you let Ari carry you to the portal back to the normal world.

Before stepping through, he puts you down and pulls you in for a deep, passionate kiss to thank you for everything that happened.

When you pull apart, you surprise him with one last question, which he never thought he'd ever hear you say.

''What do you think, shall we visit a club like this in the real world, too?'' you whisper in his ear, and Ari wholeheartedly agrees before the two of you walk through.

In that world, you were still naked, but once you're back in the closet, you're both wearing your Halloween costumes, although they look messy now.

Ari grabs the back of your neck and pulls you in for one more deep kiss, his tongue instantly working into your mouth when the closet doors open, and the sight of Tony greets you in his Halloween costume.

''Alright, lovebirds, 7 minutes are over!'' he says, but it feels like you two have been gone for hours, not just 7 minutes.

''Are you sure it's been 7 minutes?'' you ask, confused, and Tony lets out a deep, rumbling laugh.

''Why did you want us to lock you into the closet for the rest of the night? You can always go to your bedroom if you want to climb your tree,'' he jokes with a wink, and you slap him against his chest sternly.

''Behave yourself, Stark!'' you say, but you look over at Ari and see him shooting you a wink. You two might have had the time of your lives in that closet, but no one would ever find out, and you've got a new tradition for the two of you.

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bucknastysbabe · 2 months

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Rating: Explicit

Tags: College!au, modern!au, nerd loser baby Criston, loss of virginity, hot stem computer partner girly, older girl, Alicent for the win, short n sweet n smutty, pnv!sex, first dates, Criston’s inner dialogue, subby lil baby

Taglist: @bambitas @fallingintoyourlilaceyes @aemonds-holy-milk @targaryenbarbie @starogeorgina @moncherrii @valeskafics @arcielee @lovelykhaleesiii @sugarpoppss2

A/N: shout-out to @fairysluna “he looks like a loser who jacks off to hentai but I’d fuck him.” I made the divider :)

Criston knew he was a fucking incel. Maybe at some point in his miserable life he could’ve done a sport and use his decent height and muscle tone. But no, he was cripplingly shy and had a stutter that took forever to get rid of— sometimes rearing its ugly head when he was angry or flustered.

He spent his time studying, playing league of legends, and jerking off obscenely to hentai. Yes, the Japanese porn comics. It was easier to ignore how pathetic he was reading those or talking to a chat bot that thought everything he said was hot.

Criston thought best to keep under the radar, head down and attentive in his classes. One day he’d be a rich computer scientist Silicon Valley type and then he could just, like, have the girls come to him. Because he’d be rich. No longer weird, ugly, and a huge VIRGIN. He felt like it was stamped on his forehead. Or perhaps his was the Star Wars buttons on his jacket— that’s a big cue.

He tucked a dark hair behind his ear, shaking his head. Another year, but one less until he could move on in life. Cole was glad he was in college, it was scores better than the constant bullies in highschool. It was his second year now and he was ahead of schedule. He’d be in an upper level compsci class with some juniors or seniors.

Scary.

Maybe there would be some other weirdo girl like him that would take pity and they could fuck, then go to Thursday’s Dungeons and Dragons like it never occurred. He’d like that. Swift and easy. Erryk Cargyll and Elinda Massey did that. But the only girl he considered ‘friend’ was Alicent and he was pretty sure she was a lesbian. Also totally not a nerd, Ali was very cool and involved.

He sighed while ducking into a seat. Criston carefully placed his stuff down at the two person desk, focusing on getting the PC ready. The instructions on the board were simple enough.

A waft of perfume and the presence of another body startled Criston. He jumped in place, brown eyes glancing over at the girl- no- woman. She was fucking hot. Like why was she sitting next to him type of hot?

“Hi,” she extended a hand, eyes roving, “Criston!”

“H-how do you know m-my name?,” he echoed stupidly, shaking her dainty hand, eyes comically wide.

She gently let go of his hand after shaking one second too long and giggled, “It’s on your backpack.” Criston blushed bright red and nodded, “Yeah, you’re right, ha-haha?” Oh God he was going to self combust. She was so hot. Like she had these patent leather boots on, a little red plaid skirt, and some tight-ass high-necked white tank.

“What’s your name?,” he managed, grateful the stutter wasn’t making too much of an appearance. She smiled and told him, baring white teeth and cherry red lips. The teacher droned from the front, “Glad you’re acquainted now, that will be your partner for the rest of the semester.”

Cole was going to jizz himself. Not in the fun way? Maybe the fun way? He was terrified. He had to tell the boys on Thursday. The beauty next to him raised her brows and flicked one of his errant curls. She whispered, “Can’t wait, Criston!”

Oh God. Oh God! He wasn’t going to make it.

“Hnghhhh, fuck yes, I am your sempai, mmm,” Criston flopped back from his hentai and laid on the bed, “Fuck. This sucks.” His cock was still hard and nothing was cutting it recently. The twenty year old’s mind was settled on his computer science partner. Who was obscenely beautiful and sexy and smelled good and so so so smart.

Oh. He was jacking off again. Maybe this was what the missing piece was. Criston closed his eyes and began to pump his cock some more, imagining her perky tits bouncing as he fucked her over a desk. He gasped sharply, prick twitching excitedly at something tangible.

He thought about the cute way she’d laugh at his dumb jokes. Or when he’d fix something in a faulty program and she’d purr, “Oh! Smart boyyyy.” He whined through his nose, squirming in place, imagining her breathing that in his ear. Criston cried out sharply, cumming so damn hard spunk reached his collarbones.

He laid there breathless, a dopey smile across his face. She was so perfect. He laid in his post-nut bliss and pondered his partners actions. For a girl older and way cooler than him, she sure did enjoy talking to him, even had his number, and they met outside of class to work on their project.

Could there be? No, no. Totally not.

The nerd thought about the times she blushed or would bat his shoulder. Or the time they nearly kissed putting together a PC. She’d merely laughed and said, “Just have to ask me!” He had a meltdown and awkwardly laughed it off. Criston did the same when she was wearing a low-cut top and she breathed, “I wore this for you today, I know you wanna look Cole.”

He sat upright with a bolt.

“Wait what?” he shouted.

“Shut the fuck up loser!,” came the reply of his apartment roommate. Criston rolled his eyes and blinked a couple more times. He still had cum drying on his shoulders from jacking off about the girl of his pathetic dreams and she might be into him? He needed a long shower and help from Ali— stat.

She came through quite quickly after he sent the SOS message. First Ali wrinkled her nose at his room and complained, “Ugh, I’m glad I brought my candles. It smells like man in here. God.” He gave her puppy eyes until the redhead exclaimed, “What?”

“You gotta help me!,” he pled, “I uh- someone likes me back?”

It was a flurry of cinnamon scented womanly magic after his admission. Bless Alicat.

The auburn haired girl swished through Criston’s wardrobe. She raised a brow at him and asked, “Is there anything in here that doesn’t have a logo or some strange wording on it? I can’t believe you just realized she was into you, I could smack you!”

He sat on the bed, freshly showered and in his briefs. Alicent and him had known each other since childhood— this was nothing new. Ali helped him type out a witty way to ask her out tonight without being too dorky. Criston eked, “I think I have some button downs my dad gave me, but they’re probably shoved somewhere.”

“Aha! Found them, still pressed too. I think this darker tan will look good,” she said while stepping out of the closet. Honors college had nice digs. It did pay to be a nerd. Criston eyed the polo shirt, leagues away from his usual t-shirts and jackets.

Alicent narrowed her eyes. He hopped up and sighed, “Fine, fine, I’m putting it on. Just lemme get the undershirt.”

Now he was clad in a nice top, some not worn-to-death jeans, and his rarely used church loafers. He was a pretty shitty Catholic. Alicent styled his wild curls, giggling, “Look at you go, who would’ve thought, you two are going to be some lookers!”

Criston rolled his eyes and mumbled, “Yeah, hoping she doesn’t mind the big neon-lit ‘virgin’ sign over my head.”

Ali snickered, “Or the nasty cartoons you jerk it too, might wanna get rid of that evidence if you’re planning on getting that far, yeah stud?”

He blanched, stuttering up a storm as she laughed. Criston grabbed all and any evidence of his…prior predilections..and hid them under the bed. In a big lockbox. Then completely wiped his browser history and any suspicious downloads. Fire walled it or whatever.

He sighed again, getting jittery, reading a text from the cutie.

‘Hey handsome, still see you in 30 on the plaza? I’m excited for the pizza and games! 💋’

Criston immediately squawked, “Ali!”

She ‘tsked’ and looked at the text. Then looked back at him with a funny look. Alicent deadpanned, “You’re such an idiot for being smart. I wish half the girls I texted were this forward. Just tell her yes, you can’t wait, you know she’s gonna look gorgeous and throw some emoji in!”

“So you are a lesbian?”

“And you’re not telling a soul!”

They pinky promised, Ali giving him a warm hug and pat on the cheek. She teased, “Luv yaaaa Nerd, don’t forget to wrap it!” He blushed and waved her off. Criston rubbed the back of his neck, glad he had such a good friend. He quickly typed back.

‘Hi- yeah I’ll see you there. I know you’ll be gorgeous, can’t wait xx’

The date had gone great. They didn’t ID either. So beers, pizza, and dumb arcade games they played. Criston probably had her up-down look at him sketched into his mind. She was in a cutesy dress herself, cut mid-thigh and a heart shaped window in the front to show her…assets. Not to forget some Doc’s he would gladly be stomped by.

“Criston, oh my god, you look so cute, who dressed you up,” she pulled him into a tight hug, whispering, “Should I be jealous?”

He sheepishly smiled, “No, just my childhood friend, she’s kinda, we’re not, you know.”

His class partner giggled, patting his chest, “No need, I gotcha. We all need those friends. C’mon let’s go!”

He couldn’t help but goofily smile down at her as they held hands walking to the pizza joint. Sometimes Criston would get so lost in his head and self-conscious, it would seem like he was always underfoot. But tonight, with her, he felt his right size. She grabbed their interlaced hands and pecked his skin, giggling.

Christ have mercy, lord have mercy. He was so down bad.

But as he said, the night went awesome. Conversation never lulled, he taught her the secret to ski-ball, and she schooled Criston in pac-man. He got his first kiss on the walk back, paused at the stoplight, waiting to walk. She pulled back and murmured, “You’ve been the best date.”

Criston, likely all moony eyes now, gushed back, “God, same, really, you’re great you know that? I’m just a bit clueless.”

She shrugged, “That’s okay. We don’t have to know everything.”

They walked near the honor’s college. They both chirped at the same time, “You uh-“ then burst into laughter. Criston grinned and ran a hand through his inky hair. He shuffled his balance and gestured, “Do you want to come back to my room? It’s all clean and female verified.”

“Lead the way handsome.”

Criston was glad for the bit of liquid courage still in his system, kissing and hugging on his ‘friend girl’? She was so sweet and touchy, it was driving him mad. He idly wondered if she was all sweet and adorable like that in bed. Thankfully his dick was tucked away.

The brunette keyed into his room, her arms around his waist, face smushed into his back. The junior cooed, “You smell good, you’re the cutest thing I swear, can’t believe this.” Criston eyed her nervously as he stepped in, replying, “You’re a catch, I can’t believe anyone wouldn’t go for you.”

She straightened up, looking into his dark eyes as she admitted, “No, it wasn’t that I was lacking…just searched for the wrong attention I suppose. You’re actually respectful.”

Criston smiled at that, snorting, “Catholic boy values I guess.”

“Or you are a good boy like I said,” she teased, thumbing Criston’s now-flaming cheeks.

“Can I kiss you again?” he eagerly asked.

They locked lips again, her arms around his neck, Criston tilting his face so his damn nose wouldn’t get in the way. His hands were politely shaking at her waist as they made out. Her tongue softly lapped into his mouth, the man gasping and returning the favor.

She moved his shaky hands down to her ass with a snicker. Criston groaned between kisses as he groped her pert ass— fuck, this was heaven! Cole walked her backwards towards the bed, pushing her back onto the freshly made covers. She smiled up at him, lips plump, the led lights from his room casting a neat glow.

“Come on then, can you get the shoes?,” she teased while shucking off her tight black dress. Criston eagerly dropped to the ground, whimpering as his hard cock painfully brushed against the fly of his pants. He quickly undid the thick boots and neatly placed them to the side.

Coming back up, he got an eyeful of pretty fucking titties and manicured hands on his waist. She purred, “Heard you down there, all good babes?” Criston nodded with a swallow and pathetic noise. She cooed while undoing his belt and pants, reminding him of the button down.

Now Criston’s lean body was on display with her own, only underwear between the two. That was perfectly dandy for him as he clambered over her perfect form, now playfully making out on their sides. Every single time his cock would graze the random throw pillow between them he’d whimper into her wet mouth, growing flustered. The front of his briefs were getting sticky.

He tried to not to rut against it, but he had a handful of fucking tit and her soft lips and noises, and Criston was only a weak little bitch! She pulled back to laugh, “You know, I’d much prefer you fuck me making those cute noises. But that’s up to you baby.”

He blinked owlishly, hand moving up her thigh to ask. “You don’t want me to uh- touch you first?”

“Sweetheart, I’m wet enough as is and we can worry about alllll that other stuff later hm?”

Criston made a gutted noise, nodding. She was right, he’d blow all over himself if he got to feel around her pussy for a bit. He rasped, “Yeah, okay, good- lemme get the condom.” He reached over her smaller frame, digging around the side table for the damn condom, trying to put his bravest face on.

Criston made a little ‘aha’ as he snagged the packet, settling onto his haunches and ripping the packet with his teeth. Meanwhile she undid her bra and shucked down wet panties, the slickness hitting his lean thigh. “Hng-fucking shit!,” the brunette accidentally moaned.

“Yeah babes? That’s all for you, here, lemme help.”

She grabbed the tacky lubed condom, rolling it on Criston, her teeth biting into a plump lip. He shuddered through the movement, taught tummy tensing and rolling as he tried to calm down. “There we go, you’re alright, just breathe sweeatheart,” the girl cooed.

Criston nodded haphazardly, easing himself onto his elbows, staring wide-eyed into her own. He wanted to blab about being a virgin, how he was scared of fucking up, how damn pretty and sweet the brunette thought she was. The beauty pecked his lips and cooed, “I know, take it easy, s’fine Criston.”

He jerkily nodded again, lashes fluttering against the faint neon lighting. Criston grabbed his cock and began to ease it into her, gasping wetly. His computer partner took over from there, wrapping soft legs around his waist, murmuring sweet nothings.

Soon he was seated inside her tight, warm, velvet pussy. Criston buried his face between her tits, sniveling and gasping as he tried to fight off every single nerve in his body screaming to let go. He tried to speak, more of a plethora of strangled whines and whimpers escaping his raw throat.

“Shhh, don’t think so much, s’okay Cris, you’re okay,” she hummed while petting soft hands down his heaving flanks and sides. Plush lips planted a kiss on his suddenly wet cheeks. God he was a mess. A whiny, flimsy, wet mess. The way she was squeezing around him made the rational part of his brain realize she enjoyed the pitiful sex still.

“Hn-okay? I- uhohgod- okay?”

She smiled and kissed him, the heels of her feet ushering Criston on. He began to pump slowly, liking the way her soft moan made his chest puff in excitement. The brunette began to build a decent rhythm, panting and moaning between sloppy kisses. He got lost in the feeling, truly.

Soon the cutie was gasping and begging, “Don’t cum yet, j-just, Criston, touch my clit, it’s the nub at the top, yes!, right there!” He listened carefully, thumbing at her swollen nub, panting like a racehorse between suckling at budded nipples. He’d ended up at a breakneck pace, completely over any pretense he was going to make a manly noise tonight.

Criston fought off his orgasm, although it was on top on him now. He moved his lips to hers again, swirling his thumb, thrusting his slim hips into perfect goddamn pussy. He gasped, “Oh, oh, oh God, m’gonna cum baby, m’gonna cummmmm!” The boy would definitely never admit he somewhat squealed.

His cutie whined excitedly under the loud sounds of the bed creaking, lean hips clapping into her softer flesh. She begged, “Right there sweetheart, mm, good boy, good boy! Right there with you!” She clung to his shoulders and tightened down, chanting Criston’s name like a litany.

Criston Cole was pretty sure he saw God when his balls drew up and he slammed back into her welcoming pussy. Sure, there was a condom, but the sophomore’s ears still rung with the choir of angels and he probably sounded like a slip of a thing getting her cunt pounded but it was worth it. So very worth it.

He kept playing with her clit until she milked him, again, crying out happily, throwing her pretty hair back and groaning throatily. “Ohhhhh, f-fuck, oh my god, mmm!,” he eloquently replied to her, feeling another little peak pass through his overstimulated system. He collapsed against her soft frame, panting softly, whimpering every other breath.

Oh god he was crying, this was not the time to be— oh she kissed it away.

“That’s alright baby, you did great, Mhm,” she hummed and nuzzled against his face.

Huh. Maybe he was in love now. Fuck hentai.

#hotd fanfic #hotd smut #criston cole #ser criston cole x reader #Criston cole imagine #Ser Criston cole imagine #criston cole x reader #criston cole smut

102 notes · View notes

odyssean-flower · 7 months

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The Winding Path of Fate Chapter 2 - Spring: Three Meetings and a Proposal

Masterpost Pairing: Neuvillette x Female Reader Summary: Somehow, you keep running into Neuvillette. When something unexpected happens, he offers you an unexpected proposal. Warnings: None except for restrictive gender roles, also for some reason Fontaine’s regency england (sort of) now? Note: I update this story on AO3 first so please go over there if you'd like to read it faster

Have a picture of neuvillette standing next to the skull of Oroboshi

Previous | Next

A month had passed since that unexpected encounter. You hadn’t told anyone about it, because it felt unreal even to you. Maybe you really had drank too much champagne.

In any case, the events of the ball were quickly forgotten amidst the immense preparations you had to do to obtain your governess license. It was a long, grueling process that involved leaving your hometown and moving all the way to the city, but it was about to bear fruit at last. After one last history exam, you would finally obtain your license and be able to advertise your services in the newspapers and bulletin boards.

And then, you would finally be blissfully freed from all those marriage-hunting obligations. No more balls, no more disappointments...

It was those thoughts that kept you going as you stared at the tiny words in your history textbook while being surrounded by people who seemed determined to scream their lungs out today.

“Get him, get him!” your sweet, adorable sister shouted next to you.

“Send him to jail!” her new beau also shouted from next to her. I’m pretty sure one can’t be sent to jail for hoarding ashtrays, you thought, but said nothing. He probably couldn’t even hear you, anyways.

Today, you were forced to chaperone your sister and the viscount’s son on their “romantic engagement.” Said “romantic engagement” happened to be attending a trial at the Opera Epiclese. Apparently, this was a popular date spot for young couples. It was things like these that made you feel dreadfully old and out of touch sometimes.

The seats were packed for today’s trial, for good reason. This trial was just one part of a lengthy divorce proceeding between a celebrity couple, in which they were trying to figure out how to divide their many, many assets. It was akin to a serial and even had its own dedicated column in the newspapers.

You glanced over at your sister and the young lord. They were whispering together and giggling. Even though the viscount’s son seemed a bit, for the lack of a better word, dopey, from your short interactions with him you could tell that he was a good-hearted and generous young man. Plus, there was a certain charm in watching him and your sister getting closer, the same feeling one would get from observing two cute puppies playing together. Perhaps your mother would live to see one of her daughters get married after all.

You looked back down at your book. You were on the chapter about Remuria, one of your favorite subjects. You loved reading about that long-deceased God King and his drowned empire of music. You knew that there were extensive ruins from that period near the town of Petrichor, but it was much too far and dangerous (without shelling out the exorbitant amounts of money for protection) to go there from the Court of Fontaine, so you could only ever dream of visiting there.

The cacophony faded into the background as you became engrossed in the topic.

It felt like no time had passed before you felt your sister shake your arm. “Sister, Sister! The trial’s over! Let’s go.”

You looked up to see people walking past you towards the exit. Judging from their chatter, the wife seemed to have won. What she was going to do with a vault of ashtrays, you had no idea.

You snapped your book closed and followed everyone else out. “I don’t know how you can read that boring book when there’s such an exciting show going on,” the viscount’s son commented, eyeing the thick textbook.

“Oh, that’s one of Sister’s special powers! The ability to read anywhere, no matter how loud or unsuitable the place is. I don’t know how she does it,” your sister chimed in.

“You can learn it too, you know, if you apply yourself to it,” you informed her.

“Ugh, you’re already talking like a governess,” your sister pouted.

“A governess? You want to be that?” the viscount’s son said, sounding incredulous. Seriously, why does everyone sound so shocked when they hear about it? “I had a governess once. She was always alone and wasn’t even allowed to eat with the family. Seems like a rather miserable job if you asked me.”

“Yeah, that’s what I told her, but she won’t change her mind! She kept talking about how it’s ‘her role in life’ and her ‘fate.’”

You tuned the two out. You had heard variations of this conversation too many times over the years.

Once the three of you reached the main hall, the darling couple decided to go get some refreshments while waiting for the rain to subside. You decided to sit on one of the comfy stuffed couches under the stairs and resume your studying.

The words on the pages flowed into your brain. Remus...Sybilla...harmosts... what would it be like to live in that era? Or at least, to walk the places where these words were once part of everyday life? To touch the artifacts—the once-cherished, once-used items—of the people from back then?

You shook your head. Sometimes, your mind would drift to things that weren’t anywhere on the horizon of your life, just like how you would sometimes indulge yourself by reading romance novels and light novels from Inazuma. No, you needed to hone your mind and focus on your reality. You were in no position to move off your pre-determined path. You needed to think about how you were going to teach these concepts to children—

“Good day to you, Miss [Name].”

You nearly jumped at that voice. A very familiar voice. Knowing who you were going to see, you stood up with your head bowed.

“Good day to you, Monsieur Neuvillette.”

You lifted your head. The man himself was standing in front of you. You had only ever seen his face in the papers and only met him once (in the dark, no less), but you thought he seemed a bit fatigued. You couldn’t blame him, though. You were sure you would feel the same if you had to preside over such a ridiculous series of trials.

“I do apologize for disturbing you,” Neuvillette immediately said upon seeing your face. Maybe your poker face wasn’t as good as you thought.

“It’s alright, Monsieur. I don’t mind.” You tried your best to sound like you meant it.

“May I sit down?” Neuvillette said after a pause. You nodded, and he proceeded to sit next to you. You moved all the way to the other end of the couch. It didn’t seem like anyone had noticed you two, considering how this couch was somewhat hidden away from sight, but you couldn’t take any chances. A governess’s job prospects hinged on having a spotless reputation, after all.

“Are you here with someone?” Neuvillette asked.

“Yes, Monsieur. I’m chaperoning my sister, who has been invited on a date here.”

Speaking of your sister, you glanced out of the corner of your eye to see how the two lovebirds were faring. They were currently in the process of choosing from a large menu, giggling and nudging each other as they did so. They probably weren’t going to be finished any time soon.

“Date...” Neuvillette mused. “Yes, I’ve heard that it has become quite a trend among young people to have romantic engagements at the Opera. I must admit, I don’t quite approve of having the sanctity of trials be used for such purposes.”

“I agree,” you nodded. “Although since trials are already spectacles, I suppose this isn’t so preposterous.”

“You certainly don’t mince words, Miss [Name].” there was an amused note in his voice. All you could do was shrug and smile. It wasn’t like you could refute him.

Another awkward silence. Maybe you had offended him with your comment? You didn’t really know why he would be offended though, considering that trials in Fontaine were like performances.

“What did you think of the trial, Miss [Name]?”

You had to think about it for a minute. It felt like you were being quizzed on something you hadn’t studied for. “I think they are both idiots, Monsieur. They would save everyone’s time by dueling it out between themselves.”

Neuvillette blinked for a minute, and then a small laugh slipped out his mouth. You took that to mean that he agreed with you.

His lilac eyes moved to the thick textbook in your hand, seeing it closely for the first time. His brow furrowed. “Were you reading that during the trial?”

Under his puzzled gaze, you felt like you had done something wrong. “Um, yes. Not out of disrespect for the proceedings, I assure you, Monsieur. But I have an important exam for my governess license coming up, so I need to grab any chance I have to study for it.”

“Studying in such a chaotic environment... you’re very dedicated to your goal. I can think of a few people who might be able to learn from you.”

You didn’t hear any sarcasm in his voice. He sounded genuinely impressed. You felt your shoulders relax. It had become an unfortunate tendency of yours to become defensive when you talked about these things. “Thank you, Monsieur.”

“What are you studying?” He leaned closer to you. How long is he going to stay here?

“History, Monsieur. I was reading about the older periods of Fontainian history like the Remurian Dynasty,” you opened your book and flipped to the chapter.

He tilted his head to the side as he looked at all the underlined passages and marginal notes on the pages. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t believe that the subject of Remuria would make up such a large portion of the exam that it would warrant all these notes. Is it a personal interest of yours?”

The idea that Neuvillette knew what was on the exam was surprising. You didn’t think it was something he would have much knowledge of, but since he was the head of the Maison Gestion, which administered the governess exams, maybe it wasn’t so surprising?

“...I suppose it is,” you said at last.

"What do you like about it?”

That question caught you off guard. "I just...do,” you said at last. “The story of that civilization is very fascinating to me, so I couldn’t help but read more about it.”

No one had ever asked you about this, so you didn’t know how to answer it.

Neuvillette looked down at your notes again. Was he reading them? You had the urge to close your book. Somehow, it felt like a violation of privacy, like he was reading your diary.

You were saved by the footsteps running up to you. “Sister! Sorry we took so long! We got the—oh Archons, is that Monsieur Neuvillette!?”

Your sister and the young master were both holding boxes of Conch Madeleines in their hands, staring at the Chief Justice with identical expressions of shock. You might have laughed if the atmosphere ’t so serious.

Neuvillette stood up. “Good day to you both,” he nodded towards them, then to you. “I hope you enjoy the rest of your day.”

The three of you watched as he left. Once he was out of earshot, your sister turned to you excitedly. “Sister! You know the Chief Justice?”

“I don’t,” you said, which was a half-truth. You really didn’t know him. “He just came up to me and started chatting.”

“Really?” she lifted an eyebrow. “The Chief Justice, who is so notoriously private that he rarely even does interviews, just randomly struck up a conversation with a stranger?”

“Look, I wish I could give you a good reason, but I can’t.”

Your sister continued to stare at you with narrowed eyes. You were usually pretty good at lying to people thanks to your excellent poker face, but your sister was one of the few people who could see right through you.

“Hey, it stopped raining!” Luckily, you were saved by the viscount’s son’s shout. “That was quicker than I expected.”

With snacks in hand, the three of you left the opera house and headed towards the aquabus station.

The exam day came, and in your honest opinion, you performed excellently. The questions were so easy that you could answer them in your sleep. The results would be finalized next week, and you knew for certain that you had qualified with flying colors. You handed the exam to the invigilator and left the Palais Mermonia with a spring in your step.

Now that you had the rest of the day free, whatever shall you do? Well, since the weather was so nice out, you thought you’d go to the Café Lucerne and get some Conch Madeleines as a celebratory snack. You had brought along your treasured copy of The History of the Decline and Fall of Remuria Volume 1 as well. Just the thought of spending the day eating sweets and reading your favorite book in the warm sunshine brought a smile to your face as you walked towards the elevator.

The thought distracted you so much that you didn’t notice the other occupant in the elevator until they cleared their throat. You spun around. It was as though fate was playing some kind of sick joke on you, since it was Neuvillette—who else could it be—standing in the tiny elevator space with you.

You thought about excusing yourself and leaving the elevator, but it was already descending.

“We do seem to meet quite often, Miss [Name],” he said. “My apologies.”

“Yes, we do indeed, Monsieur Neuvillette,” you said, resigning yourself to your fate. Why did he apologize just now?

“Did you have business at the Palais Mermonia today?” he asked.

“Yes. I had to write a history exam for my governess license.”

“Ah, I see. I wish you luck in passing.”

“Thank you, Monsieur,” you smiled and nodded.

An all-too-familiar silence fell. Couldn’t this elevator go any faster? It felt as though this shaft was going on forever.

You racked your brain for something to say but came up empty. You and Neuvillette simply lived in two completely different worlds. In situations like these, it was better to stay silent and pretend to be invisible, in your experience.

“So, Miss [Name], what do you think of the fall of Remuria? Do you believe it was truly predestined?”

“Huh?” That was the last thing you expected to hear.

Neuvillette repeated his question.

“I heard you the first time, Monsieur...I was just confused as to why you asked me that.”

“I simply want to know what a scholar of history like yourself thinks about it. I’ve asked this question to several others, and I’ve always received different answers. It’s very fascinating.”

A scholar of history? You felt embarrassed at how your heart lifted at hearing yourself described as such.

“Well, if you don’t mind listening to the opinions of an untrained layman like me, Monsieur...”

You cleared your throat and began to launch into the theory you had been brewing inside your head for several years. As you talked, the two of you walked out of the elevator and into the main hall, where people gawked at the Chief Justice listening attentively to a plain-looking woman prattling on about Remus and Boethius.

You noticed none of these things, for you had gotten too carried away with the excitement of finally having the opportunity to express your opinion on things that you actually cared about. You also didn’t notice the soft amusement in Neuvillette’s eyes as he observed you.

“...And so, I believe that Remuria might have lasted for much longer if those in power didn’t covet the things that weren’t meant for them, and instead focused their energies on preparing for their inevitable fate,” you concluded as the two of you neared the Café, then smiled up at him triumphantly. It was then that you realized that you had been the only one talking for the past fifteen minutes. “Oh, my apologies, Monsieur. I got carried away. It must have been dreadfully boring to hear me talk on and on.”

“Not at all. I was the one who asked, and it’s fascinating to hear such long-ago events from the perspective of a modern young lady. Have you ever considered becoming a historian or an archaeologist?”

Your good mood immediately faded upon hearing that. “No, Monsieur,” you said, sounding curter than you meant to. “I have not. Being a governess is my sole goal in life.”

Neuvillette seemed to sense your shift in mood, and the corners of his eyes lowered in regret. “My apologies. I have overstepped my bounds. But still, I do believe that the academic world is missing a brilliant mind like yours.”

You knew he was just being kind, but you still couldn’t help but feel a bit proud. And guilty. Your personal issues weren’t his problem. “Thank you, Monsieur.”

“I must admit, I had a very different impression of you from when we first met.”

“You did?” What he said baffled you. You always considered yourself to be a straightforward, “what you see is what you get” kind of person.

“Yes. I assumed you to be much more somber and cynical, but you’re nothing of that sort. You’re much livelier and passionate than you seem.”

“No, I’d say you were right the first time, Monsieur,” you said, amused. Lively and passionate were not words you had ever heard yourself associated with. “I think everyone acts different when they’re talking about the things they like, because they’re really talking about themselves. For instance, my sister loves to tease most of the time, but she gets deathly serious when it comes to shoes. I’m sure even you have moments like that, Monsieur.”

“No, I’m afraid not. My emotions are not so mutable or varied as yours.”

“Hmm…” you stared at him. It was true that his face wasn’t very expressive, but many people had said the same thing of you and assumed that you were unfeeling, which you knew wasn’t true. Perhaps it was the same for him.

The scent of coffee caught your attention as you realized that you were standing in front of the Café. “Ah, this is where I was heading, Monsieur. Would you like to, ah, join me?” you said awkwardly.

“I would be delighted to, but I am in fact invited to the opera house for a special performance, so unfortunately, I must decline.”

“A performance, huh. That sounds wonderful. Well, I mustn’t keep you then. Goodbye, Monsieur Neuvillette.”

“Goodbye, Miss [Name]. Have a lovely day.”

You watched him as he left. You had been looking forward to your reading time, but now you couldn’t help but feel a little lonely.

“Congratulations, Miss [Name], you are successfully qualified as a Court of Fontaine-licensed governess.”

The Gestionnaire’s monotone voice did little to dampen your excitement! You did it! After all your hard work and perseverance, you had finally obtained what you longed for.

“Now, you will be placed on the waiting list.”

You felt your smile drop off your face. “Waiting list?”

“There is a large volume of applicants whose applications are waiting to be processed before yours. Not to mention, there is currently a surplus of governesses in Fontaine. You need to wait for the older ones to retire before taking their spots,” the Gestionnaire dropped their voice to a whisper. “I would advise you to reconsider your career aspirations. If you want, you can also be placed on the waiting list for schoolteacher licenses.”

You frowned. School teachers were a somewhat less respectable profession for noble ladies than governess. It wasn’t as bad as laborer or factory worker, but it was still cause for other nobles to gossip about your family behind their backs.

For poor, low-ranking nobles, a spotless reputation was as valuable as gold. Any perceived blemish could attach undesirable labels that would take generations to erase. You thought of your beautiful, angelic sister, smiling so happily with that viscount’s son. That fragile relationship could be so easily snuffed out by a single bad rumor.

There were other jobs open to you, such as lady’s companion. However, you knew yourself well enough to know that you wouldn’t last very long in a role like that.

But on the other hand, you were desperate. You needed to fulfill your role for the sake of your family’s future and your own.

“Okay, put me on that list too,” you nodded tightly. “How long is it?”

“For both lists, it would take at least a year before we reach your application.”

“A year!?” you said. You hadn’t intended to sound angry, but the Gestionnaire recoiled. You forced yourself to calm down. Getting angry wouldn’t help your case.

A year was far too long. You lived in a boarding house in the centre of the city, and your savings were running out quickly. You didn’t even know if you would be able to pay next month’s rent. As a governess, you were supposed to receive a stipend for the first few months after obtaining your license as you searched for work, but those hopes were now dashed.

You thanked the Gestionnaire and left the Palais Mermonia with heavy steps, eventually ending up at the Café Lucerne. You considered going to a tavern to drown your sorrows in drink but decided against it. You were angry and frustrated, yes, but not to the point of doing something so foolish.

So, instead of a nice bottle of alcohol, you ordered five bottles of Fonta. Maybe you could drown your sorrows with their refreshing taste instead.

You slumped in your chair as you guzzled down the first bottle. You didn’t get it. You had worked so hard to fulfill the role granted to you by fate, and yet an obstacle was inexplicably placed on your path. It was such an inoffensive, unassuming role, so why...?

And what were you going to do from now on?

You could go home. Your family lived in a small town that was some distance away from the Court of Fontaine. But you would rather not. You had moved out in the first place to alleviate the financial burden on your family, and if you did move back, you would have to endure your mother’s tireless attempts to find you a husband.

You tilted your head back and stared up at the sky. It was a clear blue, not a single cloud in sight. It felt like it was mocking you.

Just then, a pale face framed with long silver hair blocked your sight. Lilac eyes looked down into your own.

Of course he would be the one to witness your current state. You wouldn’t be surprised if you went home and found him in your sitting room at this point.

“Hello, Monsieur Neuvillette,” you stood up and curtseyed half-heartedly. “As you can see, I’m no state to keep you company today. Please feel free to converse with someone else."

Neuvillette did not leave, but instead surveyed your surroundings. His brow furrowed at the bottles of Fonta.

He sat down across from you.

“My apologies for being so presumptuous, but I simply cannot stand by and watch you in such a state. Please, tell me what is distressing you.”

You stared at him. He was leaning forward, his eyes brimming with concern. Even though you barely knew him and was still considering just excusing yourself and leaving...

You sat back down and told him what just happened and your current circumstances. As you did so, you felt hot tears building up at the back of your eyes. You squeezed your eyes in a desperate attempt to stop them from coming out. You prided yourself on never crying, on taking what life threw at you without complaint. But there was also another reason, something you were surprised to admit even to yourself.

You didn’t want Neuvillette to see you cry.

It was a pathetic wish, but you wanted to show your best side to him. You wanted him to keep being impressed by you.

You didn’t know if Neuvillette picked up on your feelings. You hoped not. If he tried to comfort you, you would really lose control.

It felt colder than it did a few seconds ago. The area darkened; the shadows of clouds casted onto the ground. You could hear the people around you discussing if it was going to rain. Perfect. You would welcome rain at this point.

Neuvillette didn’t say anything for a while after you finished talking. You wondered if he understood what you told him. Surely the Iudex, the highest authority figure in the land next to the Hydro Archon, would find the concept of financial issues foreign?

You decided to grab another bottle of Fonta. But just as you reached for it, Neuvillette’s hand blocked yours and gently placed it down on the table.

Unaware of your reeling, he spoke in a quiet voice. “I can see that you’re in an extremely difficult situation, Miss [Name]. It troubles me greatly.”

You simply nodded. What else was there to say.

“I would like to propose an... unorthodox solution to your problems. One that would be beneficial for both of us.”

You looked up at him at that. You had expected him to tell you to go back home and tell your parents what happened and obey their wishes. But Neuvillette himself was offering a solution? What could it be?

Every nerve in your body was telling you that this could lead to nothing good. You usually trusted your instincts, as they were always right, but currently you were desperate enough to listen to anything.

“What do you propose, Monsieur?”

“Marry me.”

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#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x female reader #my works #the winding path of fate

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mysteria157 · 3 months

Text

Chapter 12

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Black Fem Reader

Word Count: ~13k

CW: profanity, explicit sexual content, minor character death, angst

Summary: A vulnerable moment with each other. A baby shower. An accident that puts Nanami's life in shambles.

Notes: This is an emotional chapter, so just be ready. Reblogs, likes, or comments are always appreciated but not necessary <3 I hope you enjoy reading!

Divider: @cafekitsune

Previous Chapter | Ao3 | Next Chapter

It Had To Be You Masterlist

The vibration of your phone under your pillow rattled your ear, pulling you out of sleep to blink blearily into the cool air of your bedroom. The moonlight cut through the open spaces between your thick grey curtains, shining on your hardwood floor and part of your own face as you buried your head into the pillow, groaned around the constant vibrations of your phone and reached over to the space next to you.

Which was warm, but without the tall man encompassing the space. You rolled over to face the empty spot, cradling your stomach as you sat up.

Had he left while you were sleeping?

The thought of him sneaking out in the middle of the night like he did almost six months ago, filled your stomach with a heavy sense of dread.

No, he wouldn’t. This was just your anxiety talking, whispering evilly into your ears as you looked around your room for any sign of him.

Your phone vibrated again, yanking a low growl from your throat as you dug harshly beneath your pillow for the device.

Omelia: Where are you? [8:33 pm]

Omelia: Nevermind, Gojo just said Nanami took you home. I hope everything is okay. Call me if you need to please. Don’t try to handle your anxiety on your own. [9:15 pm]

Omelia: Okay still no response which only means Nanami is with you since you would have called me otherwise. I’m sure he’s putting in work right now so throw that ass back like I taught you. You better be wobbly legged like a whore the next time I see you. [10:03 pm]

You snorted as you read her messages, shooting off a quick text to say you were fine and that you would talk to her tomorrow before noting the time and closing your phone. Two am.

You stretched your legs over the side of the bed and padded out of your room and down the hall.

Your thigh muscles bunched and stretched as you walked, the ache only reminding you of the thorough fucking you had received just a few hours ago. You really thought the baby would hinder a lot and only make things uncomfortable, but you were just as flexible as you were that night with him at the hotel, drunk out of your mind and moaning like you were being paid for it.

But maybe you were too much for him? Maybe your forwardness had scared away a man as confident and self-assured as Nanami Kento and he had no choice but to slink away when you were sleeping. Those familiar tendrils of anxiety began to slide up your naked legs, poking you harshly and making your irrational thoughts so much more plausible as every stretch of house you uncovered was dark, silent, and empty.

The low light of the kitchen and the sight of his tall and broad body hunched over the counter made those tendrils evaporate immediately. Your heart slowed back to its normal pace, stomach unfurling and settling in your abdomen as you realized he hadn’t gone anywhere.

“Kento?”

Your voice was soft and slightly hesitant as you called out to him, pulling him from his ministrations at the counter and whipping his head to look over at you. His face softened as he gazed over at you; you were standing in the darkness of your living room, the low lights from the kitchen showing yourself to him dimly. Long white t-shirt covering your body and stopping in the middle of your naked thighs, bonnet askew on your head, brown eyes bleary with sleep and holding a flickering sight of worry.

You were beautiful.

“Did I wake you?”

You shook your head at him as you padded into the kitchen, bare feet sliding on the cold floor as you looked over at what he was doing. Your counter was littered with utensils and a greased baking sheet along with a few small bowls of ingredients of flour, melted butter and salt. Kento’s large hands were buried in a ball of dough, the soft uncooked mixture billowing between long fingers as he watched you walk closer to him.

“I woke up and you weren’t there. I thought that maybe you had left.”

You bit the inside of your lip almost as soon as the words slid from your throat, chastising yourself internally as he looked down at you with his typical straight face, his eyebrows furrowing fractionally. Saying the words out loud made you feel absolutely stupid and you could practically hear your anxious thoughts snickering in victory in your ears.

Kento wordlessly pulled his hands from the dough, running them under the tap and then wiping them clean before he was turning to you, wrapping both hands under your thighs and lifting you gently to rest on the counter next to him. You watched him silently as he pulled a glass from one of your cabinets, your teeth holding your tongue to the point of pain to prevent yourself from speaking again. He walked to your refrigerator, pressing the glass to your ice and water filter and procuring a glass of water for you. He offered you no words of reassurance, no snickers or teasing remarks to your outburst; he simply took one of your hands to wrap around the glass and guided it to your lips, silently demanding you to drink.

You obeyed, reveling in his care of you without question as you took a few sips of the ice cold water and pulled the cup from your lips.

“Thank you.”

Kento didn’t respond to your statement and you held in the snicker as he lifted a light brown eyebrow, his expressive eyes darting down to your unfinished glass before you caught on and rolled your eyes before obeying his silent demand and downing the rest of the contents.

“All done. Happy now?”

He took the glass from you and set it in the sink before he leaned down and pressed soft full lips to yours, kissing you smoothly before pulling away and smirking.

“Very. I never have a reason to leave, so stop saying trivial things.”

He slid back over to his spot on the counter, fingers dipping into the bowl of flour and sprinkling the dust onto the counter before he began to knead again. You admired the muscles of his naked chest, bunching and twisting with each movement of his hands as he worked. His hair was loose and flopping in front of his eyes, brushing against his eyebrows with every press and pull. Those sharp eyes that had always mystified you were now directed onto his task at hand, serious and calculating.

“It’s two am, you’re baking awfully late. What’s on the menu, chef?”

The serious disposition of his gaze cracked just a little, flickering with humor at your words as he pressed a thick fist into the dough.

“Croissants.”

You hummed in approval, kicking your legs back and forth from your perch on the granite countertop. The thought of freshly cooked bread by his hands made your mouth water and the sight of him working intently only made the thought of what was to come all the more enticing.

“My mother taught me.”

The admission cut through the silent air, piquing your interest as he kept his eyes on his work even though his entire demeanor was beginning to relax around you.

“When I couldn’t sleep, I would find her in the kitchen late at night cooking whatever she wanted at the time. I think it helped her take her mind off of things. When I was younger, my parents were trying for another child and the more they failed, the more despondent she became. Cooking and baking helped…and it brought us closer together.”

Of all the times you had been around Kento and his family, you could see that bond clearly. He got along with his father swimmingly, but he gravitated more towards his mother. Even with his silent nature, he was always by her side, letting her fuss without complaint, hovering and doting on her when he could.

“She taught me everything that I know; how to sear a pan, the right way to boil water, how to know the texture and taste of your ingredients before you cooked them. What she did not know, I learned through videos and reading.”

Kento picked up your rolling pin, rubbing the wood with flour before pressing the dough flat with each roll of his wrists. You kept your attention on him, listening and letting him have the floor. Besides the few moments you both had shared together, Kento had never been this vulnerable and forthcoming about his own life and you were going to soak it all up like a sponge.

“So…you never wanted to make a career of it? Be a chef and have a Michelin star restaurant?”

You had meant for it to be a joke, a small effort to watch his lips curl and give you that rare soft smile, wanting to see the sight of the cracks of his serious demeanor splinter with every teasing gesture you cast his way. You were only trying to tease, but the hard glint in his eyes returned as he picked up a pizza cutter and sliced the thin dough into long rectangles and cut those pieces diagonally to form triangles.

You opened your mouth to apologize, to only show you meant no ill will, but stopped when you caught the movement of his lips opening and closing, faltering in an effort to grasp at the right words he wanted to say. And as quick as that troubled expression colored his face, it left and was replaced with relaxed resignation.

“I wanted to be a baker.”

The revelation was surprising to you, your eyebrows raising just a little in response before you relaxed and remained impassive. He needed this; he needed you to be just a little quiet so that he could speak and get out what was on his mind. And if it meant you could get closer to his hard exterior, if it meant you could help break that shell even a little bit, you would do whatever it took.

“I loved everything my mother taught me and everything I learned on my own. Cooking comes natural to me, but baking was always something that I loved more. It’s a challenge; a type of chemistry that requires you to be precise and accurate or else your entire dish will fall apart. I thrived in how I learned and eventually, it grew close to my heart. But…I got older, high school was more demanding, it became a hobby as opposed to a lifelong dream and I never really indulged in it…until I met Yu.”

Kento pulled the small bowl of melted butter close to him, dipping his fingers in the dish and rubbing them together before he smoothed them along one long triangle of uncooked dough. His long and nimble fingers rolled the triangle with a practiced ease, curving the finished dough to look like a croissant before he placed the concoction onto a greased baking sheet.

“Yu was just as he is now; imposing, overwhelming, cheerful to a degree that would make most nauseous. But he meant well, and he saw the good in everyone. Our sophomore year of high school, he brought cupcakes for Gojo’s birthday to satisfy his sweet tooth. Gojo of course swallowed them down like the unmannered swine that he is. But I…told him that he needed more vanilla and Yu swore that I would never be able to make any better than his. And I—”

He paused, a sharp and rare laugh shooting from his full lips as he completed another croissant. Your chest fluttered from the sound, pulling whatever you could from this moment to keep with you forever. Even though his eyes were not on you, the fondness in his irises bled from his face and permeated towards you.

“I ate it up like a fool. He challenged and goaded my baking time and time again until I found myself doing it for fun, waking up in the middle of the night to perfect what I learned, watching Great British Baking Show episodes he would send me even though I swore up and down I hated the show. Yu is a friend that cherishes life and loves to do what he is good at; cooking and baking and making people happy. And like my mother, we bonded over a shared interest until he was everywhere I went. I’m sure that sounds asinine—”

“It doesn’t.”

Your interjection was rough and a little loud, your hands curled into your lap as you watched him place the last croissant on the baking sheet and turn around to slide the pan into your preheated oven. When he made his way back to the counter, brown eyes glanced at you for a second before he was bending down to pull cleaning spray from under the sink, clearing his throat and trying to ignore the slight ruddiness of his cheeks.

“Our senior year, he brought me an application for culinary school in Tokyo and suggested we both apply at the same time and I…couldn’t do it.”

You couldn’t help the slight furrow of your eyebrows as you watched him wipe down your counter.

“Did you not apply out of nervousness? Were you just not ready?”

“I didn’t apply out of fear.”

The sound of your dishes clinking against the metal of your sink as he washed them gave him just a little time to collect his thoughts. Just standing in your kitchen right now and speaking about something he never liked to freely admit had his nerves frayed and his stomach in knots. He had planned to never bring this up unless he had no choice, but the moment you asked him, he couldn’t bring himself to shut down or lie. Not to you.

“I was afraid of failing. It sounds almost hypocritical. But you didn’t pursue your dreams because of childhood trauma; you needed to stick with something you did not like but were good at because you felt it would give you the love and attention you should have never had to earn in the first place. I did not pursue my dreams simply out of fear. I was afraid of not making it through culinary school, afraid of opening up a bakery and having to deal with others not liking my baking and what I had to offer. This—”

He gestured to the counter and oven; eyebrows furrowed as he willed himself to keep talking even though it felt as if his throat was closing.

“This is personal to me, something that requires others to see who I really am and pick and prod at and I couldn’t—I wouldn’t expose myself and risk being judged and let down by others. I wasn’t strong enough then and I barely am now. I was content to get by the easy way; coast through university and major in marketing and finance, advance in my career and get a high paying job using skills that were valued but came almost natural to me, earn enough to retire early and live the rest of my life in relaxation. It’s simple for me, obtainable and I knew I wouldn’t fail. And if that meant that I would have to sit back and support my best friend as he lived out a dream I wanted but was too afraid to pursue, then I would do it—will continue to do it.”

It was the most you had ever heard him speak to you in such a raw way. You could smell the disappointment and shame in his voice, could see it with the subtle purse of his lips as he dried the small mixing bowls he had used, could taste it in the air.

“Do you think differently of me?”

You frowned instantly.

“No. Why would I?”

“Because I’m a coward—”

“No you aren’t.”

You didn’t hide the anger in your words or cloak the way it coated every syllable as they punched from your mouth. He had never shown an ounce of self-deprecation towards you. Kento was always calm and collected, sure of himself with his steely gaze and natural nonchalance. But this was new and refreshing to experience, another barrage of emotions to lock away in your memories forever.

“Being afraid of failure and of how others perceive you when you’re not used to opening yourself up, doesn’t make you a coward. At least not to me, or your family, or anyone else important to you. But…I know you won’t be happy with just coasting through life forever.”

He walked over to you, slotting himself between your open legs and brushing hot hands up your naked thighs. It was without any heat; you could feel his desire to just have something to tether him into the present and not feel as if he was drowning in himself. You placed your small hands on his broad chest, smooth pectorals really showing just how tiny you were compared to him.

“What if I do? What if I want to coast through life forever?”

You dragged your fingernail across a pink nipple in retaliation, the sharp touch making him jolt closer into you.

“You don’t. Besides, you and I both know you would never tell our daughter to disregard her dream because of fear and take the easy way out.”

You were right, he would never do that. Just the thought of telling your daughter to ease through life filled him with a sense of anxiety that made his stomach crimp in on itself. The sound of the oven beeping pulled him from his thoughts as he turned around and used a towel to take the hot baking sheet from the oven and set it on the counter to cool. You waited until he was back in the space between your swinging legs before speaking again.

“That fear will only take you so far, Kento. The last thing you want is to be at the end of your life, regretting every last step because you took the easy way out. I just don’t see that in you.”

The fluttering in his chest was hard to ignore as he watched you speak, eyes focused on the skin of his chest, brows furrowed in frustration in concentration. You believed in him wholeheartedly, cared for him in a way he would have never anticipated. He had seen just how kind you were with Ome and her harsh demeanor, how loving you were with Yuji even though he fawned over you, even fussing over Gojo’s wild hair when he sat still long enough. He never thought the fierce and angry gazes you sent his way and the sarcastic but intelligent words you shot at him would have morphed into care and humor. After only a few months, you had shown him just how intense of a giver you could be to others and he only hoped your daughter would be the same.

Kento hummed a noncommittal noise, using one of his large hands to catch a swinging leg, fingers wrapping along your calf before he smoothed it up your bare skin.

“What do you see me as then?”

You lifted an graceful brow, humming teasingly in thought, pursing your lips and tapping a finger to your chin as you pretended to think it over.

“I see you as someone who shouldn’t waste his life away. For crying out loud, you’re thirty—”

“I’m twenty-nine.”

“My god you’re right around the corner.”

He chuckled softly, the sound whirling in the air between the space of your chests before he reached over to grab a croissant and break it open. You watched as the steam from inside floated through the thin flaky layers of bread, the smell of butter and salt hitting your nose and making your mouth water.

“I see you as an owner of a very modest bakery; not too small, not too large. Maybe in downtown Nakameguro next to the river, you could get so much business during Sakura season.”

Kento grunted in concession, pushing his hand that held the steaming piece of croissant towards you, and eyebrow lifted in impatience as you looked around the kitchen and continued to ramble.

“I can do the interior design! I could paint the walls and even do some marketing for you.”

You felt the hot bread hover just inches from your lips, even though you were doing your absolute best to cheer him up, he really wanted to know what you thought of his baking.

“You shouldn’t have long hours though; keep the bakery open from seven to three and—”

You yelped in surprise as he shoved the bread into your mouth, cutting you off completely. You glared at him, narrowing your eyes at his indifferent expression as you began to chew the hot and flakey perfection in your mouth. It was delicious, soft and airy with the right amount of butter and salt without being overwhelming. You plucked the other piece from his hands before he could eat it, throwing it into your mouth and marveling at the small curve of his lips that he shot you. You flickered your gaze over to the tray of cooling croissants, raising your eyebrows in expectation before he chuckled softly and followed your silent command, grabbing another piece of bread and handing it to you. You took a large bite, unashamed of the boisterous smile you shot his way as you chewed.

He sighed dramatically, trailing both of his warm hands sensually up your thighs, his long fingers brushing the edge of your panties by your hips, begging for entrance. You spread your legs wider for him, granting him access and holding back a moan as those firm fingers dipped beneath the fabric of your panties and pressed hard against the pulsing of your iliac vein on the inside of your hip.

“You would look really sexy wearing one of those white baker shirts.”

“That’s just an apron, baby.”

The nickname had you throbbing immediately, your core filling and permeating heat that you was sure he could feel. Now that you had him sober and free of any doubts, you couldn’t get enough. It had only been a few hours and you were already dripping for him, begging for his fingers to brush over your clit and give you something.

Instead you shoved the other half of the croissant in your mouth, using the warm and buttery texture to distract yourself from forcing his fingers inside you of your own volition.

“Thank you. For listening to me.”

His gaze hadn’t left yours, analyzing every inch of your cinnamon skin as you shrugged playfully and smirked at him. He hadn’t expected to open himself up to you in your kitchen at two in the morning, but like most things that pertained to you, you were a constant in his life. Present always and fierce, in his thoughts even when you weren’t around and taking up space when he was with you. Growing up, Kento was very self-aware of his own emotions and knew when to use them and who he would show them to. There were only so many seats that he left open for people in his life; Yu and his family by choice, Gojo and Geto and the rest of his friends by their own volition. There were no more spaces and he was content to keep it that way. But you had pulled up your own chair, slid it across perfect hardwood floors and plopped yourself down with a vicious glare, an intelligence that made him shiver, and an uncanny ability to care about anything that you touched. And even after treating you the way he did, you had still forgiven him and gave him nothing but kindness, humor, and a child of all things.

And here you were, legs spread with him in between, bonnet askew with a few thin curly baby hairs sticking out, a cheek decorated with the imprint of your pillow from sleeping, the swell of your belly showing behind the soft fabric of your t-shirt.

You were all his.

He found himself sliding closer to you, fingers hot and heavy as they pressed into the skin of your hips.

“How did the croissants taste?”

You squinted at him, your core throbbing at his eyes that were flooding more and more with lust and heat. The way he had fucked you earlier had given you a new well of confidence and you dipped inside, wrapping your legs around his waist and locking your ankles before you yanked him to you. He shook out a harsh breath against your skin, buttery air sliding over your cheeks and neck, fingers digging into the skin of your ass as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Like you should be a baker.”

A rare show of pearly whites clouded your vision as he smiled at you and smashed your lips to his. You moaned softly against him, carding your hands into the small hairs of his undercut before you buried them higher up in the longer blonde locks. You smacked your lips when you pulled them from his, the burning desire to tease rearing its head. He took advantage of the skin of your neck, trailing his wet lips up the bruised skin, worrying the sore blood vessels with his teeth before licking over his work.

“Oh! You can be open four days a week.”

He dug his teeth into the skin of your neck, pulling a gasp from your mouth, your cunt fluttering over empty space.

“Stop talking.”

Kento pulled you off the counter, tongue sliding along the skin of your clavicle as he carried you from the kitchen.

“A small menu, the sweet bread you like can be a daily special. Obviously Yu seeing your success will finally give you the recipe—”

“Hush.”

He smacked the exposed skin of your ass, the action stinging your skin and pulling a satisfied shriek from your lips, giggling from his ministrations as he carried you down the hall to your bedroom and made sure the only words you said for the rest of the night were his name.

***

“Okay open!”

Chiyo was oozing excitement as you opened your eyes in the living room of the Nanami home. The warm living room had been transformed only slightly. The unlit Italian Fieldstone fireplace was lined with sage, lavender, and white balloons and a modest streamer sign that read ‘Congratulations!’ hung at the top. A table had been placed next to the fireplace, covered in white cloth and already holding a few gifts.

You could hear the voices of Ome and Santo bustling about in the kitchen but your eyes gravitated to the dining room table instead. The long antique wood was covered with a white tablecloth, a sage runner decorating the middle and falling down each edge of the table and onto the hardwood floor. Small clear vases were spaced at equal intervals on the dining room table, lavender carnations inside each one. The table was built to seat almost fifteen and each seat had its own respective faux gold silverware and white glass plate, the center of each decorated with loose eucalyptus.

“I wanted to keep it simple just like you wanted! I added just a few touches that I hope are okay.”

The happiness in Chiyo’s voice was hard to ignore and you turned around to smile at her. She was radiant, her small form was dressed in a long dark brown dress, her black straight tresses hung loose, swopping at her collarbone. Her smooth skin was without makeup, eyes shining at you in pride as she looked to you for approval.

“I love it so much, Mrs. Nanami.”

She gasped, her eyes flashing with remembrance before she took your hand and led you back to the living room.

“Your throne of course.”

The two long and comfortable sofas you remembered from the holidays was still decorated with neutral throw pillows and blankets, but Chiyo had added a white lounge rocking chair with a lavender throw blanket draped over the side.

Originally, you didn’t want a baby shower. You were perfectly capable of buying everything you needed for the baby and never had been comfortable with being showered with gifts. But when Chiyo took a look at your 3D ultrasound from your six month checkup, and asked you just once to plan the shower, you conceded immediately. It was a gut reaction that had surprised you at the time, but deep down you couldn’t see anyone else doing it. Ome for all her love for you was brash and demanding and you didn’t feel like being uncomfortable with inane baby shower games because she wanted you to ‘get out of your comfort zone.’

Chiyo had treated you like a daughter, given you love and attention in a way you wished your mother did and you knew that if she was in charge, she would get it right.

Seeing the modest decorations without taking away the comfort of Kento’s childhood home, it felt right. And the sight of this fabric rocking chair, a small statement to show that you were to be the celebrated person for creating a life, it filled you with a warmth that you were beginning to love.

“Thank you.”

She pulled you into a soft hug in reply, the freesias from her perfume cocooning you in a maternal love you only hoped you would be able to give your daughter.

“And call me Chiyo…please.”

Kento was hunched over a space at the kitchen island, a large hand piping icing onto the two tiered cake he insisted on baking. He had chosen to only be involved in the cooking and baking, opting to make the cake and a few appetizers ahead of time so he could spend the rest of the day at your side.

You walked over to the kitchen island, cradling the larger swell of your six month belly as his eyes met yours from over his piping bag. He had pulled his blond tresses back for the occasion, gelled them and parted in his signature style to show off the sharp cut of his eyebrows and deep brown eyes. You glanced down at his black khakis and white short sleeved ribbed knit shirt. Your mouth watered at the sight of his exposed arms, the lower half of his biceps stretching the cuffs of his shirt, his pectorals pulling the fabric across his chest, veiny forearms flexed over the tendons of his wrist as he piped icing on the cake, his silver Cartier watch winking at you. You willed the heinous thoughts away. It would be a shame to push him against the counter and drop to your knees, open your mouth and beg for his cock. A real shame.

“You look beautiful as always.”

The deep and sharp timbre of his voice pulled you from the lustful haze in your head and you offered him a small smile in thanks, smoothing down the curls that hung down your back and secured from your face with a black headband. You had decided to go with a long baby blue maxi dress with long sleeves that hung off both shoulders and a sweetheart neckline. It was airy and comfortable and showed off the prominent bump of your child. You had opted for simple diamond earrings and a single chain gold necklace. Your shoes were a little racier, a clear block high heel sandal with an open toe crisscross strap wrapped around your ankle and lower leg.

You hadn’t planned on wearing them, but Kento had saw you trying them on one day in your closet and made you leave them on while he fucked you on the rugged floor of your walk in. His hands were hot on your skin, caressing and gripping you while whispering the dirtiest things into the air of your closet as you came twice around him before he even managed to have release.

If you could repeat that today, preferably in his childhood bedroom, you could check a fantasy off your list. Even with the beginning of your third trimester, your libido was still a raging inferno.

“Stop eye fucking each other.”

You thanked the heavens that Santo had left the kitchen minutes ago before Gojo had opened his mouth. He slid next to Kento, invading his personal space to such a degree that it made his eyebrows twitch in annoyance. Gojo’s snow white hair hung loose over his face, his bright blue aliens eyes gazed at you, peering through your soul and pulling everything from you. He flashed white pearly teeth in your direction, his sharp and Adonis carved jawline flexing with the movement. He looked almost unnatural.

“You look marvelous, y/n. How is my godchild?”

He didn’t wait for a response, his attention already distracted by the sugary promise of the icing Kento was spreading onto the cake in front of you. He reached for it, a long finger making its way to carve a swipe. Kento smacked his hand away, eyes flashing with indignation as he glared at Gojo and then looked back at his work.

“Hands off, you beast.”

Gojo yelped, grabbing his hand and throwing a pout between full lips.

“I just wanted a taste!”

“And yet the mother of my child has yet to have the first piece. Go away before I cut you.”

Gojo gaped at his friend, eyes wide in alarm but still colored with mirth.

“Nanamin—”

“Omelia. Please come and get him, you’ve given him far too much of a lead on his leash.”

Ome sighed from her spot at the sink, scrubbing a pan absentmindedly before she glared at Gojo over her shoulder without the usual heat.

“I thought he would behave.”

You bit your lip, holding in the snort at the interactions in front of you. Since the date Ome and Gojo had at the gallery a few weeks ago, she had tolerated him more and even entertained a second date where she took joy in beating him three times in bowling. He was still his annoying and obnoxious self, but for Ome he had shown nothing but honesty with his actions. The innuendos would never leave, they were practically ingrained in his DNA, but only a firm and steadfast woman like Ome would be able to make him behave.

Gojo grumbled, rubbing his smacked hand as he gravitated back to Ome’s orbit.

To say you weren’t having fun would be a lie. From your perch in your soft rocking chair, you watched everyone talk and laugh and joke with one another, hovering by you occasionally to dote on you but not crowd into your space.

Yuji stopped to sit next to you one too many times, adjusting your foot stool even though you had told him you were fine.

“I just want to make sure! Nanamin says that women have lots of water retention at this stage, I know that’s not comfortable.”

You ran your hand through his pink locks, patting the side of his cheek happily before you watched Megumi drag him away once again where he would be distracted for only twenty minutes before making his way back to you.

Kento was never too far away, always checking in on you and even circling the room with you when you wanted to get up and move. That familiar hand on your lower back kept you grounded, your anxiety taking a back seat for once as you soaked in the attention you were getting. Even when you all sat at his parents’ large dining room table, he stayed next to you, stroking the covered skin of your thigh as he sipped from his small glass of whiskey and conversed with Yuji.

All of the food was delicious and Kento deflected the praise, his face indifferent as he slid a piece of cake into his mouth even though you could see the slight coloring of pride in his irises.

You were overwhelmed but thankful for the presents. Shoko had gifted you with packs of cotton onesies for every stage of growth during the baby’s first year, Gojo had surprised you and Kento with a fully paid subscription to a very expensive diaper company that he refused to name. Yuji had even pulled out all the stops with a Montessori activity walker to the shock and appreciation of Kento as he rubbed his mentee’s shoulder in thanks. Geto for his quiet personality had gotten you something incredibly useful, a first aid and care kit for your daughter designed to help with almost every ailment and issue she might have. You received so many clothes and toys, enough diapers than what you knew to do with and a rather expensive stroller from Santo that he refused to listen to your protests about. Chiyo opted to give you your gift privately and you ignored the way your throat squeezed at the thought.

You were so loved, so incredibly loved to the point where people you had only known for half a year had gotten you such meaningful gifts for your baby that had yet to be born. You silently thanked Chiyo’s forwardness when she asked for a baby shower, you couldn’t have imagined saying no.

The baby shower was still in full swing, music playing softly from the speakers on the walls when Chiyo whisked you away upstairs and to the sitting room at the top of the steps. It gave you both privacy even though you could easily look over the banister of their home to see everyone a floor down. She sat you down on a small sectional before joining you, pulling a bag from her side to set onto your lap. She beckoned you to open, smiling gently at you, her cheeks shining and encouraging.

You smiled brightly at the expensive diaper bag, complete with compartments for bottles and pacifiers and even extra clothes; compact enough to carry with you everywhere but equipped enough to hold almost everything you could think of for an emergency.

She had also gotten you a care package specifically for you; lactation tea, cooling packs for aches and pains, a cotton nursing cover and even a free week of cleaning services for the house when you and Kento would be too tired to do anything.

The last gift had your stomach tightening instantly, your tongue drying in the back of your throat, eyes prickling with stinging to signal the coming of fresh tears. It was a large baby book; pages made to document every stage of your daughter’s life, small pouches for mementos like her first lock of hair and her first tooth, square sections carved out for photos, and even a page to write down everything about her first day of life. Her name, her weight and length, the date and time she would be born.

“I’ve always felt it was important to have a baby book, I had one for Kento and I love to look at it from time to time. I’m not sure if your mother would have gotten you something like this—I hope I’m not inserting myself, but I just felt—”

“It’s perfect.”

Your voice was wet as you spoke, a small smiling gracing your features as you clutched the book to your chest. Your mother would not have gotten you something like this, in fact she hadn’t given you anything or spoken to you since that night you were packing your house in Sendai. It was painful to think about and you pushed away the thoughts before they could fester, you wouldn’t let her ruin today for you.

“You will want for nothing as long as I’m around. I want you to feel loved, not just because you’re bringing a life into this world but because you deserve it. Your mother may not see you as one but, you are like a daughter to me. I hope you know that.”

She pressed a hand to your cheek, rubbing the skin with her thumb affectionately and you had to blink away the tears before they could come. It was a losing battle as you felt a few escape and you set the gifts to the side before pulling her into a warm hug, taking in her soft freesia scent as she rubbed small hands across your back.

“I do see that…thank you, Chiyo.”

“Why are you making her cry?”

Kento’s voice rung softly in the space of the sitting room, pulling you and Chiyo apart to look at him at the top of the steps, his arms crossed, and a brow lifted as he admonished his mother.

Chiyo scoffed, patting your cheek before she stood from her perch next to you and swatted at her son’s muscular chest.

“We were having a private conversation, stop fussing Kento. Show her around and help her freshen up.”

There was not much to see of the upstairs, it was equally as warm and inviting as the first floor; the walls were littered with more family photos and paintings, the doors to all rooms were closed except for two bathrooms, the hardwood floors even held a slight squeak when you walked on them, signaling old age from a well-used home.

Kento brought you to a closed door at the end of the hall, away from the commotion of the first floor. You held in a small gasp as he opened the door to what you assumed was his childhood bedroom. You were expecting a small bed decorated with racing cars, stickers of cartoons on the walls and a chest of toys. But instead, it was simply a room only someone like Kento would have as a child. A king bed with black sheets and pillows, light brown walls decorated with paintings and even more photos from his childhood, a dresser with a large mirror attached, the counter of it complete with bottles of cologne and watches, he even had a telescope by one of his windows, the lens peeking through black curtains.

You were mildly disappointed, and it showed on your face judging by the soft chuckle from Kento next to you as he closed the bedroom door, casting you both in silence.

“Expecting something more sinister?��

“A racecar bed. Maybe pictures on your walls of half-naked women. Mickey Mouse bed sheets.”

Kento walked past you, sitting down on the edge of his bed and crossing his arms before throwing you a heated look.

“I had a racecar bed when I was six, I kept all pictures of women locked in a safe under my bed, and I have no idea who Mickey Mouse is.”

The string of admissions shocked you to the point where you had no choice but to belt out a laugh, throwing your head back and chuckling into the soft smelling air of his room. It was too much to comprehend at once, too much to possibly imagine without giving you a headache. A teenage Kento, day one of hitting puberty, gawking at a magazine cutout of boobs under his sheets.

“Stop laughing.”

His slightly annoyed tone rang into your ears, making you laugh a little harder as you walked to him and placed both of your hands on his shoulders. He was glowering up at you, brown eyes playfully glaring as your chuckles died down.

“I’m sorry it just sounds so…normal coming from you. I expected it and even when you admitted it, I was still shocked. Imagining Nanami Kento, Director of Strategic Partners, as a six year old with spiderman pajamas and a racecar bed—”

“I wore normal pajamas.”

“Do you still have the safe under your bed?”

He narrowed his eyes at you, flustered already from only two minutes of your teasing and scrambling for purchase to remain ahead of the conversation. One wrong move from him and you would be on him fast and as much as he reveled in the way you picked him apart, too much of it and he would be bending you over the edge of his bed in a matter of minutes.

“I guess I’ll have to investigate myself then.”

You made to bend down under his bed, but he stopped you instantly, grabbing an upper arm with a large hand and sitting you on his bed with a little force that had you clenching your thighs together. He got onto his knees, looking underneath his bed before procuring a small black safe, a single opening in the front fitted for a key. Your eyes widened as he pulled a taped key from the side of the box and held it out to you, serious eyes meeting your nervous gaze as you took the key from him and opened the safe.

You held your breath, fingers gripping the edges of the box before you yanked it open and looked inside to see.

Nothing.

“You think I would keep pictures of beautiful women in my parents’ home? Especially when I no longer live here? You’re smarter than that.”

You glared at him, your face flustered and red, eyebrows furrowing in embarrassed frustration.

“How does it feel to be teased?”

“Fuck you.”

He barked out a laugh, hot and large hands suddenly on your thighs and smoothing along the fabric covering your skin. Your annoyed gaze faltered, eye twitching fractionally and refusing to widen as he pulled one of your hands closer to him, kissing the skin of your palm.

“Have I upset you?”

You tried to ignore the immediate ignition of fire in your core, your thighs flinching and begging to part for him and let him in between. You nodded curtly, unable to speak over the sudden dryness in your throat as he flipped your hand over, kissing the inside of your palm before trailing soft lips up your sleeve covered arm, brushing the exposed skin of your shoulder, the thin part of your neck before kissing you fully on the lips. You ached to melt into him, to turn your brain off and just let him lay you down and take you where you wanted. But there were people downstairs, no doubt asking where you were.

But he didn’t care, clearly if the way he was kissing you was any indication. His pupils were blown completely when he pulled away to look at you, thin rings of brown staring at you with heated intent.

“Shall I make it up to you then?”

You had him right where you wanted him, on his knees and ready to service you in the way that only he knew how. But you were gaping like a fish, fighting with the lust slowly frying the veins in your body with the logic of not being in the privacy of your own home.

“What would you like, hmm?”

His deep voice rumbled in your direction, rattling your nerves as his fingers trailed down your thighs again, sliding against the naked skin of your legs and pushing the fabric of your dress up nice and slow, exposing your skin to the cool air of his room. Your chest was heaving slowly with deep breaths, arousal pumping through your veins and boiling in your gut as you felt the logic of the situation slowly begin to fizzle away.

“You want me to lick that pretty pussy of yours?”

God.

There was hardly ever a build up with his words. He was almost always nasty, always vulgar and condescending. You loved it, thrived off it.

Your fingers curled into the sheets of his bed, nails digging into the fabric and scratching along the material as you tried to not tremble as his fingers lingered on the hem of your white panties. He hummed, the tips of his fingers breaching the hem just slightly, pulling a gasp from your throat.

“That’s not enough is it? Want me to fuck you?”

“I-I…”

You were blushing furiously, cheeks red and inflamed as you let your embarrassment take hold and mix with the flooding lust in your bones. You wanted both, wanted him to bury his face in your cunt and then fuck you until you were sobbing with pleasure. Based on the dark chuckle that vibrated from Kento’s chest, he must have read the want on your face.

“Use your words for me, baby.”

You swallowed thickly, pushing down the desire just enough to help you think on your own without any influence. Wordlessly, you pulled a pillow from the head of his bed and propped it behind your back. His eyes widened as he watched you slowly pull your heeled feet up to rest on the bed, your dress pooling at your hips before you slowly opened your legs for him.

“I want all of it. Please?”

The sound of you begging nicely had him hissing slowly through his nose, brown eyes locked on the dark spot of your clothed cunt. His mouth watered at the sight, drool pooling in the back of his throat and threatening to choke him as you pulled your white panties to the side to show your cunt already dripping down your slit, eager for him.

“For you? I’ll give you anything.”

You didn’t have time to respond before he was lapping at you, swiping a thick tongue along the length of your slit, collecting your slick before circling his tongue around your clit. You whimpered harshly, ignored the nagging thought of your volume as you watched him flick his tongue against your clit, wet and sloppy with arousal trailing down you before he dipped his head down and collected the escaping slick with his thick tongue before he was dipping it inside of your fluttering hole.

“Yes, Kento.”

The thick muscle slid along your walls, pulsing and curling, brushing against that spot in you with practiced ease that had you whimpering, biting your lip hard to be as quiet as possible.

“Please—please, I need.”

You were begging as quietly as you could manage, the hot embers of an orgasm licking to life, coiling in your belly and heating the base of your spine. You needed him in you, had to have it before people downstairs began to catch on. His stoic eyes looked up at you expectantly, twinges of a question flickering in the thin brown color as he ate you out with a slow precision intended to drive you mad on purpose. You had to use your words, had to speak or else he would stay exactly where he was, throbbing cock or not.

“Need you inside of me.”

He hummed in approval, the vibration drumming against your clit and pulling a choked moan from the back of your throat as you watched him slowly slide two fingers into your sopping hole with ease. You bit your lip harshly, licking along the small cut your teeth had drawn, tasting the slight pang of copper in your mouth as he stroked his fingers inside of you, curling and hitting that spot on the roof of your walls instantly.

It wasn’t long before he gently worked in a third finger, stretching you deliciously and pulling a satisfied hiss from the back of your throat. He wouldn’t tease you, clearly acknowledging the shortage of time as his tongue worked harshly at your clit, flicking at just the right pressure that had your hands burying in his hair, your toes curling in your open sandal heels, your jaw dropping and your chest panting into the air as he pulled you closer and closer, his eyes never leaving yours as he latched his lips onto your clit and moaned, yanking your orgasm from you, your eyes blinking in shock.

You jerked harshly against him, biting both of your lips closed as you muffled a shriek into the air, your muscles pulling tight as your orgasm pulsed through your body, intensity waning slowly as Kento continued to lick you through it, admiring your blissful face before he kissed your clit and chuckled at the way you relaxed back into the pillow behind your back.

He raised himself from his knees, leaning over you and wrapping the hand that wasn’t covered in your juices around the side of your neck before he was craning you up to him in the way he wanted and slotting his lips to yours. You moaned softly at the taste of yourself, your pussy already throbbing at the prospect of being filled. He pulled away from you, your lips smacking apart before he licked your bottom lip and smiled softly down at you.

“That’s my girl.”

You smiled up at him, eyes hooded and head beginning to cloud over again as you let the praise from him lips drive through your veins. He was hard as soon as his hands had touched your thighs only minutes ago, throbbing as he ravaged at your cunt and made you cum, but now he was straining against his slacks, painful and begging to be wrapped up in you.

His eyes didn’t leave yours as he unzipped his pants and pushed them down along with his underwear over the muscular swell of his ass, his thick cock smacking his abdomen. Patience suddenly wearing thin, he was quickly pulling your hips to the edge of the bed, smoothing large hands along the soft skin of your cinnamon thighs and groaning under his breath as he watched you lean down to circle your clit and use your index and middle finger to spread your folds apart.

“You have to be quick.”

He didn’t offer you a response, his brain was barely functioning at this point as he stroked his cock, using your slick on his fingers to coat himself before he was pressing a knee into the bed and guiding himself to your dripping hole, sliding into you slowly. He clenched his jaw at the feel of you, hot and wet and tight walls still fluttering from your dying orgasm. You took him like a champ, biting into your bottom lip and holding back a moan as he filled you to the brim, stretching you in a way that you had become familiar with but still struggled to take every time.

You clenched around him purposely, eyes widening in delight as you watched him groan in the back of his throat, Adam’s apple bobbing and eyes fluttering before he looked down at you harshly, annoyed. He spared no more extra time, pushing in the rest of the way in a smooth stroke, your hips smacking together as he slid home.

There was no time for buildup and slowness, and he took the lead immediately, fucking you at a steady pace that was hitting you deep in the spot that you loved but not too harshly to hurt you or make you uncomfortable. It was a struggle to keep your mouth closed, quiet whimpers leaving your throat as you tried to gain purchase from his thrusts that were pushing you higher and higher up his bed. A scalding hand grabbed your calf, caressing between the straps of your heels before throwing the ankle over his shoulder, opening you up and allowing him to sink further into you. You couldn’t help the broken moan that tumbled from your lips, your cheeks coloring in embarrassment as you prayed to whatever god that was listening that no one had heard you.

“You better be quiet.”

He hissed the words to you, low and harsh as he brushed his lips along the skin of your ankle and bit down, the sharp pain pulling a yelp from the base of your stomach, cunt quivering in response. Your mind was reeling, struggling to gain a semblance of control as the fat tip of his cock began to poke the spongy walls of your g-spot. Your fingers dug into the black sheets of his bed, curling and pulling to keep yourself anchored to reality as more moans slipped past your lips, free flowing and warbled.

Kento hovered over you, lips an inch from yours, cock still thrusting, the cologne from his clothes invading and dulling your senses.

“You want them to hear?”

You shook your head quickly, mouth parted and panting whimper after whimper as drool collected in the back of your throat.

“You want your friends to realize you’ve been gone? They all think you’re taking a breather, but in reality, you’re laid out on my bed, in the room I grew up in, thighs open and moaning and taking my cock like the naughty, needy little thing you are.”

Your cunt throbbed around him at his words, pleasure pumping the blood faster down to your core, engorging you to the point of pain as you felt your arousal leak from you with every thrust. His eyes were steeled with a determination that excited you, lust and arousal oozing from every pore on his skin and onto your panting body.

You moaned at the sudden intrusion of his fingers in your mouth, the taste of your slick from earlier falling onto your taste buds.

“Be quiet, baby. Imagine how mortified you’ll be if my mother were to open the door right now. Imagine how horrified she would look to see her only child fucking his girlfriend and the mother of his child into the sheets he slept in as a kid.”

The sound of the word girlfriend falling from his lips, verbal proof that you were his, the implication that he probably hadn’t even locked the door, and the taste of yourself on the fingers in your mouth had a part of you shaking in satisfaction, unearthing a kink you never thought you had. You felt your eyelids droop, the coherent thoughts leaking from your ears almost instantly as pure lust took over. The smiling and soft woman that you showed to everyone else had been pushed to the side, allowing the sinful one to take her place that had you wrapping the leg that wasn’t on his shoulder around his waist, your tongue twisting between the spaces of his fingers inside of your mouth, and your cunt fluttering incessantly as another orgasm crept around the corner.

The actions made him hiss, cursing harshly under his breath as he felt the telltale sign of an orgasm make itself known.

“When we aren’t pressed for time, I promise I’ll fuck you just the way you love; nice and deep with all the time in the world. I’ll give you everything you want. I’ll whisper those dirty slutty words you love so much, bend you over and smack this pretty ass until its nice and red, I’ll make you cum over and over. I’ll give you this cock anyway you want it, anytime you want it, in the way you deserve until you’re sobbing and howling my name just the way I like.”

You were absolutely gone; eyes cloudy and unfocused, ears red from embarrassment of the nastiness of his words, lips wet around his fingers and a trace of drool trailing down the side of your mouth, the cleavage of your breasts bouncing under the fabric of your sweetheart neckline with each thrust, whimper after whimper leaving your throat and vibrating on the skin of his fingers in your hot mouth.

The sight of you had his balls drawing tight, pace increasing as he fucked you with abandon, the thought of your comfort always present even in the haze of his pleasure addled mind.

You didn’t care if they caught you, didn’t care if his mother walked in; all you cared about was falling over the edge of the mountain you had finally reached the top of. You needed it, had to have it now and the desperation was pounding in your skull.

Another brush of his cock at the right angle inside of you had you moaning sharply around his fingers, cunt clenching him impossibly tight as your orgasm hovered over the precipice. He could tell immediately, dark eyes lighting up in satisfaction before he leered down at you.

“Do you want to cum?” You nodded harshly, eyebrows furrowing deeply as the pleasure squeezed and teased you to the point of pain. “Show me that you want it.”

Your hand flew down to your clit immediately, fingers circling your bundle of nerves, zipping pleasure up your spine like electricity. His eyes were locked on the act, watching your manicured fingers rub at your clit and his own cock sliding in and out of you, wet with your slick and splitting you open in a way that drove him insane.

“Fuck. Go ahead and cum, darling. Be good and give it to me.”

It only took his voice and another swipe of your fingers before you were seizing against him, cunt locking around him like a vice as your orgasm punched from your gut. You shrieked against the fingers in your mouth, trying not to bite down as you twitched and spasmed beneath him. The feeling of you locked around him had him barreling towards his own end, swearing into the space between you both, punching one, two, three thrusts into you before he was groaning into the skin of your breasts and spilling inside of you.

The sounds of panting was the only thing filling the room, the noise of people talking and laughing from downstairs echoing in the distance and drifting from beneath the door. His fingers slid from your mouth as he sat up a little to look down at you, hair still immaculate besides a few strands that had escaped and were plastered to his forehead, brown eyes filled with contentment as he smiled down at you, a trace of his teeth peeking between parted lips.

It was probably just the endorphins still pumping wildly through your veins. Or it could have been your proximity. Regardless, that weird feeling in your chest that you had been trying to decipher for weeks now and peel your way through had returned tenfold, pushing at the edges of your vision and curling the muscle of your stomach.

So you did, what you did best.

“Excellent form given the circumstances and time crunch. We can go over notes later tonight.”

He took the bait and rolled his eyes dramatically, smacking the flesh of your ass beneath your dress. You smiled up at him, biting hard into your bottom lip as he sat up fully and kissed the ankle that was still on his shoulder, the touch licking heat up your skin and making your already erratic heart from fucking flutter for an entirely different reason. You moaned gently as he carefully slid out of you, your muscles contracting from the waning intrusion. His eyes held no shame as they locked onto your fluttering hole, small traces of his cum leaking out before he was subconsciously using a finger to shove it back inside. He ignored your playful growl as he slid your panties back into place and lifted an elegant brow in your direction.

“You better not waste it.”

“I’m already pregnant.”

“I don’t care. Keep it in.”

You stifled a giggle at the seriousness of his words, reaching for his outstretched hands as he gently guided you up and onto your feet.

He wordlessly fussed over you; smoothing down your curls, sliding away the wrinkles of your dress, wiping the perspiration from your forehead and neck. It was a common thing with Kento, for as much as he fucked you like it was his last day on Earth, he was back to his normal caring self afterwards, doting on you until you would giggle and slap his hands away.

As he zipped up his own pants and fixed his clothes, you smoothed the loose blonde strands on his head back into place, soaking in the softness of his hair before you rested that same hand on his cheek and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

He opened his mouth, hesitating only for a second before the odd look was gone from his face and he was offering you a gentle smile instead.

“I’ll go down first. You join after a few minutes.”

You nodded softly, the weird feeling returning and twisting your stomach again. You refused to show him your inner turmoil, one odd look from you and he would refuse to leave altogether until he figured out what was wrong.

“Thank you for showing me your room.”

Kento scoffed, the sound rumbling from his broad chest before he smirked down at you with a sinister gaze.

“You were looking at the ceiling most of the time.”

You gawked and smacked his chest, cursing inwardly at the heavy blush of your cheeks and flipping him off as he sauntered from his room.

“Oh honey, how are you feeling?”

Chiyo was the first person to reach out to you as soon as you descended the stairs minutes later. She fussed in exactly the way her son did, pressing a palm to your forehead to check for a fever or perspiration, smoothing down your curls, giving you more of that motherly attention in small doses.

“I was cramping just a little, so I sat down for a bit.”

She waved you away immediately, ushering you to your rocking chair, propping up your feet and laying the lavender throw blanket over your stomach. You held in a giggle, letting her dote on you in her own way before disappearing back into the kitchen.

You could feel Ome’s gaze from across the room before you caught it, silver eyes locking onto yours and filling with delight before she wiggled her eyebrows. You glared at her in reply.

“Y/n!”

Yu’s voice boomed from across the living room before you saw him. His brown bowl-cut styled hair was slightly wind swept, cheeks a little red which told you he had probably just arrived. He was carrying a large Tupperware container, the sides of the plastic steaming from the inside and hiding what was in it.

You offered him a gentle smile as he leaned down to press a kiss to your cheek, apologizing profusely for arriving late.

“I was making a fresh batch for you and the baby. Kaya is sick and she has your gift. I forgot to pick it up from her before I left, so I’ll make sure you get it tomorrow.”

He pulled the lid off and your mouth watered at the sight of the steam wafting from inside, hitting your nose with butter and sweetness of whatever magical concoction he had cooked up.

“My famous sweet bread. This is only for you, Kento can only have one.”

Kento glared at Yu’s back from his spot on the couch across from you, his arms folded over the back of the seat.

“What have I done to warrant that response?”

You held your tongue as you took the container from him, thanking him gently before you were plucking a piece of bread from inside and biting into the hot texture. Kento glared harder at the way you rolled your eyes in satisfaction, his body shifting on the sofa as Yu plopped down next to him and snickered.

“If you get more than one, you will eat the entire container. Why deprive your girlfriend and daughter of my hard work?”

You hummed happily to yourself as you took another bite, the steam billowing inside of your mouth and melting the butter and cooked dough further onto your tongue.

“If you tell me the recipe, I will not have to constantly harass you—”

“Nope.”

Yu enunciated the ‘p’ in his word, his nonchalance making Kento’s eyes flash with indignation and fold his arms across his chest.

“I have most of the recipe down. I’m just missing one thing.”

Yu smiled up at Chiyo’s approaching form, accepting the plate from her hands and a kiss to his cheek before he was fluttering pouty eyes at his best friend.

“Why don’t you ask me nicely for the secret ingredient? Maybe I’ll tell you if you’re right.”

Kento sneered at his antics, face coloring with annoyance before he was immediately conceding. He paused for a few moments, eyes looking down thoughtfully before he spoke.

“Vanilla.”

“It would make it too sweet.”

“Molasses.”

“That’s more for fruitcake.”

“Brown sugar.”

“Eh?! Do you taste brown sugar, Kento! Your palette is failing you already, and at the ripe age of twenty-nine.”

You soaked in the warmth that filled your chest as you watched them bicker, admiring the soft smile that graced Kento’s lips as he argued with his best friend. You took another bite of Yu’s sweet bread and steeled your shoulders for an interrogation as Ome made her way over to you.

***

The days following your baby shower were busy. If you weren’t fixing up your studio at your home and working on the stencil in the nursery, you were at Rory’s studio teaching classes. Today specifically would be jam packed as you would be meeting with your first client, the woman from Rory’s exhibit almost a month ago. You had painstakingly put every step of your process of throwing and crafting on paper; describing every step, how long it would take, and even pictures of what to expect during every phase of the process. Rory had helped you use his own work to put together a modest list of quotes based on what clients might want and Kento had already enlisted Yuji’s help to create a website for you.

You had expected to be nervous about it all. Well, you were nervous, but you still somehow felt…ready. It all felt right, being able to finally put a stamp on your work, letting others absorb and ask more of it. It filled you with a sense of accomplishment that had you smiling widely as you scrolled through texts on your phone while you stood in Rory’s studio.

Omelia: You’re going to fucking kill it, babe. Be confident. I love you!

Gojo: Obviously you’re going to do great because you’re the best at what you do. If you do well, text me immediately. Something tells me that if Ome is happy, she will finally put her hands on me.

Yuji: Y/n! Good luck today! Geto says good luck as well and to wear blue, it makes you look more powerful and compliments your skin tone. I miss you!

Kento: If she makes you uncomfortable, tell Rory immediately or call me. Do not doubt yourself and if at any moment you need more time, that is completely okay. You’ll do great, darling. Let me know how it goes.

The woman, who introduced herself as Hina, was cordial and nice, agreeing with almost everything you had presented and even respectfully offering her own suggestions. Your nerves had vanished almost as soon as she squealed at pictures of what you had put together. It had gone so well even if it was only an initial meeting to figure out what she wanted and give her a quote, she had agreed with everything immediately and your mind was already ruminating with timelines and how that would fit in with your rapidly advancing pregnancy.

You were also set to teach three advanced classes today; anything at a beginner level would cause you to slouch more to show the basics and put too much strain on your back. The pro would be that you could rest more frequently and not have to worry about being over a shoulder constantly, the con would be the length of each class. Because it was an advanced level, each class usually lasted around two and a half hours. It was lengthy but to see everyone’s hard work and know you had attributed to that was all the more rewarding to push through.

So you rode off your high of texting your friends back with status updates as your first class filtered into Rory’s studio for the day, your eyes smiling down at Kento’s reply of the promise of freshly baked brownies tonight to celebrate.

But that high came crashing down not even an hour into your first class as your phone rang for the third time in the span of two minutes. You allowed the class on a small break and pushed down the alarm when you saw that all three calls were from Kento. He picked up immediately when you dialed back.

“I’m sorry, I know you’re teaching and—”

“What’s wrong?”

He paused, pulling the sound of a running car in the background before he spoke again.

“Yu is in the hospital. I don’t know what happened, Kaya called me in hysterics so me and Gojo are on our way there now.”

You felt your blood run cold, your hand clutching the sides of your phone tightly as you spoke.

“O-ok. I can end early and Rory can take over—”

“No. I can handle it, truly. I’m sure it was not anything serious and you have a lot on your plate today. I just wanted to let you know. Focus on your classes and I promise I’ll call as soon as I know more.”

You swallowed the growing lump in your throat, your anxiety beginning to fester in the pit of your stomach as you wrestled for the right thing to do or say. You should be there at his side. Even if you couldn’t do anything, you should be there. But you had no idea how Kento would react. Besides that late night talk in your kitchen a few days ago, you had yet to see any other serious emotion plague his face that was too deep in vulnerability. You didn’t want to push him away completely.

“I promise. Worry about classes right now. Can you do that for me?”

You found yourself nodding even though he couldn’t see you and squeaking out a small reply before he said goodbye and hung up the phone. The sounds of your students filtering back into the studio kept you from thinking too much further about it, their questions and need for a steady eye had managed to pull your worry back within itself for the time being.

Kento had sent you a text by the time your second class was starting.

Kento: He was hit by a car. I don’t know the details of how it happened, all I know is that he’s in surgery now and the prognosis is good. They caught the internal bleeding early and expect there to be no lingering damage.

Thank goodness. How are you? I can come there and be with you, I just finished up at the studio.

Kento: I’m doing fine, I promise. It’s late and I don’t want you sitting in these atrocious chairs. Go home, relax and get some rest. I’ll call you with any updates.

You texted him every hour, asking about the status and how he was doing, and he responded quickly with the same words; he was perfectly fine, Yu was still in surgery, please get some rest. It brought you some semblance of peace and it helped that Ome showed up to distract you with shitty movies. But you couldn’t laugh at the lines you had memorized as they played on the screen of your television, your eyes constantly looking down at your phone, wondering and worrying about Kento. About Yu.

When he didn’t respond to your text at midnight or the one after that at one in the morning, the anxiety that you had tried to keep at bay had made its way back inside the pit of your stomach, twisting and turning your guts to the point of pain.

When he didn’t answer your phone call at two am, you rang for Gojo instead who picked up instantly.

“What’s happening? Kento isn’t answering. Is Yu—”

“No. Yu’s not.”

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, your mind rattling with the implications of his words.

“Yu’s not…what?”

Gojo sighed heavily on the other line, his breath wet.

“Yu’s not…okay. He’s not okay. He didn’t make it.”

Ome’s hand on your arm made you pull in a sharp breath, eyes fluttering through the jolting feeling of ice water being doused over your body, soaking through your skin and freezing over your veins.

“What—"

“He was stable for a while but then his body just couldn’t keep up. It was just too much trauma and he—well he didn’t make it.”

You shook your head, eyes filling with tears at his words, disbelief clenching at the stuttering of your heart as you tried to grasp the reality of the situation. From your expression, you could see Ome sagging into your couch, the breath leaving her body as she curled her knees to her chest and buried her face in between them.

You had just seen Yu. Just a few days ago at the baby shower. He was smiling and loud, laughing and fucking just fine—

“Nanamin is on his way over. I had to send him away, he was just—he had to go. I don’t want him by himself, not right now.”

“I’ll take care of him. Get home safely…please.”

The silence of your living room was deafening, the movie on the tv still playing, voices lost to you and Ome in the background as you both tried to get ahold of something to tether yourselves to the present.

It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense. Did he get hit on accident? Was it malicious? You couldn’t imagine a harmful bone in Yu’s body, not one. And the thought of someone targeting him on purpose had nausea curling into the back of your throat, hot and acidic.

The sound of Ome’s phone ringing into the room made you both jump, your spine zipping in shock and forcing you out of thoughts that were only growing darker.

“It’s Gojo.”

“You should be with him. He grew up with Yu too and I know he doesn’t want to be alone.”

She was nodding almost to herself, for once not arguing with you as she slipped on her shoes and gave you a warm hug before disappearing from your home.

You were cleaning up the living room when the doorbell rang, the sound bringing the festering feeling in your stomach with it as you pulled open the door to your home to the sight of Kento.

His hair was windblown and free of gel, his eyes free of his glasses and it was the first time you wished they were there.

The Nanami Kento that looked down at you was one reminiscent of your time when you both worked together, serious and blank without any of the other emotions you had grown to decipher masterfully. There were no traces of crying, no red rimmed eyes or puffy skin. He looked serious, unmoved, and unbelievably tired. The sight made the nausea from earlier bubble in your chest, your heart thumping in a way that was almost uncomfortable.

You opened the door wider for him without another word, your mouth too dry and mind too jumbled to speak just this moment. He walked in silently, toeing off his shoes at the door and shrugging off his coat before he hung it up in your coat closet next to you.

“Are…are you hungry?”

You hated the words as soon as they left your mouth, but you couldn’t help it, you hadn’t expected this demeanor from him, at least not from losing a best friend, a lifeline. You were scrambling.

“No, not really. But I thank you for asking.”

Always so polite even when his world had been ripped in two. His voice was just as cool and blank, devoid of any inflections of heartbreak or sadness and it made the odd thumping of your heart return.

Kento lingered at your kitchen island, his tall form almost out of place in the house he so frequently visited as he ran a large hand through his locks before sighing slowly, his breath vacant of any sort of tone.

You were quiet as you approached him, mouth fumbling for the right words and willing yourself to be gentle so you wouldn’t push him too far.

“I called Gojo and he…told me what happened. You weren’t answering so—”

“I did not mean to worry you.”

He turned his head to look at you, a quick smile that didn’t exactly connect with his eyes gracing his features before it fell from his face. You tried to peel through the layers of him, tried so hard to see if there was something in his eyes, on his face, a twinge of his mouth, something.

But his eyes were just as blank as the first day you met him. He turned to look back at the clean countertop vacantly, the room falling silent and your body twisting in discomfort.

You reached for him carefully, your hand resting on his arm as you spoke.

“Kento do you—”

Your words fell short as you watched him pull away from you, arm curling away as if it had been brushed with something slimy before he was turning to face you instead and grabbing the hand that was still hanging in the air from where it had touched him.

“I’m sorry,” his voice was abrupt, almost dry as it burst forth from his throat. He smiled at you softly, hoping the expression was enough to atone for his abrasiveness. “I don’t mean to be short with you, but I’m just—I’m very tired. Is it alright if I stay the night?”

You nodded profusely, blinking away the sting in the back of your eyes.

“Of course. You go ahead, I’ll be there soon.”

His face held nothing as he leaned down to kiss the hand that he held and then the side of your mouth, eyes unchanging as you watched him walk away and down the hall to your room. He was right there, only a few doors down, but even with the heat of his lips still on your face, you had never felt more further away from him.

57 notes · View notes

bigtreefest · 23 days

Text

Chapter 1: Fix Your Shoelaces

From: The Rainmaker Series

Pairing: Mob! Steve x Forensic Scientist! Reader

Summary: Two simple pleasures in life include sleep and chocolate milk. You just never thought they’d both be ruined in one weekend.

Word count: 3,862

Content/warnings: Swears, curdled milk, riding a horse, alcohol consumption, suspicion, dancing

Author’s Note: This takes place at the same time as chapters 5 and 6 of YCMBWH.

This is the first installment of The Rainmaker storyline in the Outta Nowhere AU. This is also a very different environment from where we will usually see this pairing, but that’s the fun in it.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Outta Nowhere AU | Series Masterlist | Next >

You were awoken from your deep sleep to someone pounding on your door. As you put on your robe and shuffled through the living room, you caught a glance at the clock on the stove. 10:43pm. Who in their right mind would be at your door this late? A better question: why were you on your way to answer it? You didn’t even answer calls from unknown numbers.

You opened the door and immediately squinted at the bright fluorescent light of the hallway as it hit you in the face. Standing there in a full suit was a man with tall, broad shoulders and kind blue eyes under a tuft of blonde hair you assumed had lost its styling from a long day. If you asked your best friend, her evaluation would be ‘totally your type.’ He was a gorgeous, pretty boy….yeah….pretty seemed like a fitting description. Good looks or not, though, he woke you up hardly two hours into your sleep schedule.

“What do you want?”

“Um, good evening. You’re…” he looked down at a sticky note in his hand. “…Decks, right? I’m here to talk to you about a matter concerning Honeybee-I mean-“

You cut him off, grabbing his arm to drag the handsome man into your apartment and out of the hallway so you wouldn’t get another noise complaint from the old lady next door. Although, it was probably already too late for that since he had been banging on your door for who knows how long. “Yeah, yeah, that’s me. I know what you’re talking about, come in.”

Steve gently closed the door behind him as you moved to turn on a lamp by the couch. You flopped down in an arm chair while he perched himself on the couch cushion closest to you. Even with your messy hair in the dim light, there was something intriguing about you to him.

You leaned back and squinted at him. “So what’s going on? Are you Bucket? I’ve been told about you.”

Steve straightened in his seat. Bucky was going to love that he was the topic of one of Bee’s conversations outside the farm.

He smiled and shook his head. “No, actually. I’m Steve. I work very closely with Bucky, though. I was sent here to take you over to the farm. There’s been an emergency and we need all the closest people there to help out.”

You looked at him skeptically. “Why didn’t anyone call first? Why were you sent here?”

“Well, from what I’ve heard, you probably wouldn’t have picked up if I called, and time is of the essence. I can explain more on the way there.” He shrugged.

You looked at him with confusion. “Listen, I love my friend and all, and I’m willing to be there for her, but I’ve got work tomorrow. What am I supposed to do about that?”

Steve waved his hand and closed his eyes in reassurance before speaking softly. “It’s already been taken care of. Just, if you could go ahead and pack a bag, grab only essentials because we need to get going.”

You groaned. At least you’d heard of Steve before, your bestie had described him as pretty decent, and you hated that she was right, in more ways than one. You grabbed a bag off the back of your door and tossed it at Steve. “Okay, fine. Pack some snacks, it’s a long way to go at this time of night.”

He simply nodded and walked to your pantry, packing up everything that could easily be eaten on the road, along with a few bottles of water.

You emerged from your room with a duffel on your shoulder to see him waiting for you on the couch, food bag in his lap.

When Steve saw you, he was captivated. You’d changed into an old college sweatshirt and sweatpants, hair in a messy bun, but your face looked like it was ready to take on the world, despite the premature rise from sleep.

He got up and followed you to the door, turning off the lamp on the way over. As you locked your apartment, you whispered over to him. “What did you bring here? Let me see your keys.”

Steve dug into his pocket, pulling out the keychain with a jingle. “Range Rover.”

You grabbed them out of his hands. “Perfect. I’m driving.”

It had been awhile since you’d been all the way out to the farm. You used to come and help out over the summers during college, mostly baling hay and feeding animals. It was fun, but it wasn’t your life. Your degree and passion had drawn you to the city and kept you there for all these years.

You explained that to Steve on the drive over, in between the times you made him feed you the snacks. You noted that you were proud you could still drive this route by heart, too. Steve told you a little bit about how he did business in the city and how he knew Bucky, along with a story about why Bucky was out here in the first place. You had already heard the story from your roommate, so it wasn’t a surprise, but you were confused as to why they hadn’t called some sort of law enforcement to help. Something didn’t quite add up, but if someone you trusted so much trusted these men, that was good enough for now.

As you were nearing the end of the drive, Steve continued in his attempts to make conversation. “So how did you get the nickname ‘Decks?’”

You laughed dryly. “It’s a-“ you cut yourself off. “Hold on, I need to make sure I make this turn. It’s kind of hard to see at this time of night.”

You heard the wheels hit gravel as you pulled into the driveway and in front of the house, the headlights briefly lighting up Curtis leading a couple horses and tying their reins to the posts of the front porch in the darkness of the moonlit night.

Your eyes adjusted as you moved to get out of the car and watched Curtis jog over to the passenger side of the vehicle where Steve had just stood up, sticking out his hand.

“Hey, I’m Curtis, you must be Steve. Buck hasn’t left her side yet, so I’m gonna take you on back.”

Steve shook his hand “Yeah, good to meet you.”

Curtis gave him a slight nod and patted his shoulder, then ran around the other side of the vehicle to greet you by the driver’s side door. He reached his arms around your shoulders to give you a big hug with a tight squeeze. “Good to see you, Decks.”

“Yeah, you too, Curtis. Steve told me what’s going on. We should probably get back there.”

You rubbed his back before Curtis freed you from the hug and nodded in response, then looked back at Steve.

“You know how to ride?”

Steve couldn’t help the scoff that came from his lips. “Not one bit.”

Curtis sighed and looked between the two of you. “Okay, no worries. You’re with Decks, then. I’ll help you up. We’ll talk over all the details on the way there.”

Curtis led you over to the porch and helped you up onto the bigger of the two horses, then helped to prop Steve up behind you before getting onto his own horse and leading you toward the mines.

As your hips swayed back and forth with the horse’s footsteps, you could feel Steve clinging onto you for dear life. “You can ease up your grip a little, ya know. We’re not even going that fast. And you’re like, five feet off the ground. I promise you won’t get hurt.”

You could feel Steve nod in acknowledgment, his head resting against your shoulder, but nothing changed. If anything, his hold tightened. You laughed through the vice of his arms that was squeezing your diaphragm and continued on to the caves in the distance.

“So Steve told me one of the caves collapsed, and I’m not surprised because I know how old these things are, but why were you guys even back there? How did it fall so suddenly?”

You looked over at Curtis and he met your eye. “I want so badly to say it’s Bucket’s fault, but I know it’s really not. Your dear bestie insisted we go for a walk to show him the mines, and when he kicked one of the supports, the whole thing came crashing down. Could’ve happened to anyone at any time, though.”

You nodded. “Well, I’m glad she’s okay at least, but being trapped in there must suck. Either way, we’re happy to help with whatever’s needed.” Steve hummed against your shoulder in agreement.

You stopped the horses at the mouth of the cave and yawned from the early hour, stretching as Curtis helped Steve, then you, down from the horse. A man with brown hair and broad shoulders sauntered over to the three of you, greeting Steve with a hug and you and Curtis with a handshake. He wore a hard look on his face, but you could see the lace of concern through his forehead and eyes. Ah, this was Bucket.

“I’d take you guys in, but it’s sort of unstable right now. I’ve got direct orders from Honeybee, though, as to what we’re all supposed to do.”

He went through the plan, but in your tiredness, you barely caught his words. “I’ll go back over it in the morning, but the general gist is that we need to keep everything running smoothly and draw as little suspicion as possible.”

You looked between the men. None of them had caught on to one important detail. “I’ve still got Steve’s keys, but Buck, you’ve gotta tell your guys to move their cars, then. I’ve never seen that many in the driveway. People will notice. Move them into the hay barn. It should be empty enough this time of year before the next round of bales gets made. Can probably fit most of them.”

You all looked at Curtis and he nodded in agreement. “Yep, just as she said.” Bucky snapped his fingers and a young kid in a suit came running over to him, ready to take the command. What an odd interaction. You shrugged it off, though. Your brain hardly had any power at this point. It was just enough to ride back to the house and move the Range Rover into the pool barn behind the garage before flopping down into one of the guest bedrooms.

You woke up with a jolt to one of the roosters crowing. You forgot how loud those little bastards were, but something about it was comforting. You got dressed and brushed your teeth before making sure your hair was out of your face. You could smell breakfast and followed Curtis down the stairs to see Bucky making plates already.

That was surprising. As far as you knew from your conversation last week, he was struggling to get out of bed, and now he was up early enough to gather eggs and cook for everyone? Weird.

The steps creaked behind you as Steve matched them with his own groan, flopping into a chair. He wore a set of farm clothes you believe he’d borrowed from Curtis and his hair was a floofy mess. It was kind of cute, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy the casual wear in juxtaposition to his suit from the night before.

Bucky pulled out a sheet of paper and explained your tasks again. You were so excited to be put on animal feed duty. You loved petting the little goats and sheep, they were so adorable.

As Bucky explained Steve’s tasks to him, you watched an almost unreadable expression grow on his face. He looked almost scared, daunted, intimidated? Maybe it was just dread? Eh, he’d probably be fine.

You finished up your plate and set it in the dishwasher before getting on with your day.

At mid-morning, you rolled up to the farmers market to help run sales with Bucky. You caught the sight of Steve carrying in his last wagon load of produce crates. His biceps bulged as he placed them all in the right places, and you couldn’t help but drool a little. Not only did he look good while being put to work, but he didn’t complain while doing it. Sure, you knew Bucky was technically his boss, but something about his willingness to help out did you in. Made you feel warm.

You watched as Bucky gave him a final set of instructions, and Steve walked back into the field. Man, did his ass look good in those jeans.

Hours passed by running the market with Bucky. You could see that a few repeat customers were happy to see him, some even trying to go in for hugs and offer him free drinks. You could see the charm you’d been told about.

As things began to slow, you found yourself standing next to Bucky, the both of you watching an older customer leave with some produce and a small jar of honey.

“Mrs. Jensen is definitely a talker. I think she needs someone else around.” He leaned towards you to say it lowly.

You laughed in response. He demeanor now was the same as when he was dealing with her, but somehow she was still so happy with their interaction.

Bucky continued. “Maybe I’ll let Jake see his mom later if he’s good.”

That caught your attention. “Wait, Jake is here? Why? Like, the Jake that broke my best friend’s heart? I thought they haven’t talked since before college.”

You could see Bucky trying to avoid eye contact with you. He was hiding something. Why would Jake be here?

“He’s done a lot lately that has made business difficult for both me and Bee. Since we are business partners after all. My people reached out and he came to apologize. Also happens he’s able to run some pretty complex calculations on his computer. He was more than happy to help out down at the mine when he heard she was in danger.”

You looked at him skeptically. “Okay…”

After you and Bucky had finished cleaning up the farmers market, you headed back to the house to relax some. You slipped off your boots and laid down on the couch, pulling a blanket up to your chin.

You were shaken awake and opened your eyes to see a pair of blue ones before you. It was Steve. He smiled.

“Hey, Decks. It’s time for dinner. You want some?” You nodded, stretching to sit up, seeing Curtis and his cousin, your best friend, bringing food to the table. You scrambled to toss the blanket off of you and ran over. You’d never hugged her so tight.

“You’re not dead! I’m so happy to see you.” Was muffled into her hair.

She laughed and rubbed your back. “It’s good to see you, too, Decks. Now let’s get some food. I’m starving.”

You nodded your head, still not letting go, as she waddled you to your chair next to Steve. He looked at the two of you, noticing you felt for each other the same way he felt for Bucky. There was a deep trust and appreciation that could rarely be matched.

As you were eating, you hardly realized Bucky wasn’t at the table until it was brought up in conversation. After a long day, and frankly, a long week, you all went upstairs and straight to bed.

You woke up to the sunshine, somehow sleeping through the roosters, probably from sheer exhaustion, and changed into your college hoodie and sweats. You walked downstairs to search through the fridge and find something decent to eat. As you were making toast, Steve came down and pulled out the pitcher of milk along with chocolate syrup.

“Ooh! Can you make me one, too? It’s been forever since I’ve had chocolate milk.”

He leaned up into the cabinet above you, abs brushing your back to grab another glass. You shivered slightly at the touch. You weren’t around people much, let alone people who looked like that.

“Sure thing, Decks, as long as you promise to make me toast.”

Your eyes narrowed, looking at him for a second. “Deal.”

After eating, you sat on the couch with Steve, sipping your chocolate milk and making small talk. He stayed vague about his everyday business dealings, and you felt like you didn’t have much to add since a lot of your work was confidential, and you didn’t have much time to do things outside of it.

You watched Bucky run down the steps and peek his head in the office before closing the door behind him.

You were about to offer to play a card game to pass the time with Steve since Curtis was due to be done any minute and could join, but there was a knock on the door.

You opened it up to see a ridiculously large vase of hydrangeas and a delivery driver already retreating back up the driveway. Oh great, what sorry guy sent these? She’s gonna hate them.

You picked up the vase to bring it inside, not expecting the sour smell that came off of it. You held it at arm’s length, fast walking to the office before knocking on the door with your foot. You held the vase in one arm to quickly open the door, showing the flowerpot, your face blocked by the large bouquet.

“Ugh! Decks, get that out of here. Where the hell did those come from?”

You ran back towards the front door, where Steve was holding it open, to set them on the porch. “Just got delivered. Don’t worry, I’ve smelled worse. There’s a card here.”

It’s true, you had smelled worse at work before, but it still didn’t mean it was very tolerable after some time. Everyone else stood back, hands covering their airways as you plucked the small piece of paper from the petals and read it out loud.

“Peach, can’t wait to milk our deal together. -Cole”

Everyone exchanged glances, disgusted by the weirdly suggestive statement, as you pulled the hydrangeas out of the vase and tossed them into the yard. You peered into the vase and gave it a sniff. In the bottom was a white goop, which you assumed had once been a liquid before a chemical reaction took place.

“He put the flowers in milk…and,” you sniffed again, “lemon juice?”

You fought a gag while you carried the vase out into the yard and did your best to get all the chunks out of it, eventually opting to spray it out with the garden hose. It still was a nice vase.

In your attempts to clean it, though, you knew some of the spoiled milk had splattered back on you and you’d need to get it off as soon as possible. So much for enjoying chocolate milk with Steve, because you were going to remember that smell for months.

You turned off the hose and grabbed the vase, stomping back into the house and slipping off your shoes.

Now frustrated with the situation, even though the mess was partially your fault, you were done. Most of it was probably due to the fact you couldn’t finish sipping the delicious beverage Steve had made for you. You shoved the vase into Steve’s chest and he cradled it with an oof.

“Finish cleaning that. And dump out my glass. I won’t be able to drink milk again for months.” You grumbled, moving towards the steps.

“Where are you going?” You heard behind you.

“To take a shower.” Your head whipped back around.

You continued to stomp up the stairs before gesturing aggressively with your arms above your head. “WHY DO GUYS ALWAYS SEND YOU WEIRD SHIT LIKE THAT!?”

You could hear Steve as you reached the bathroom. “I think I’m gonna need a shower, too, after this.”

Steve and Curtis chatted while they waited for you. “So like, what’s the deal with the trucks?”

Curtis shrugged as he opened the back door for Steve to get in, seeing you coming from the house. “Good for hauling stuff. You’re not gonna see many people out here without trucks, so it’s a good thing your fancy SUV is hidden away.”

Steve nodded, thankful you were on your way to end his awkward conversation-making skills that were not working very well on Curtis. Well, either that, or Curtis wasn’t very talkative, however, he never saw that same issue when you were around.

After a nice long, hot shower to remove the scent, you were relaxed and ready to go. Steve could smell your perfume, causing him to smile to himself.

Curtis opened the passenger door for you to hop in, and the two of you talked in the front seat on the way over as Steve sat in the back, watching and listening.

After spending hours at the bar, you were standing near the edge of the dance floor, chatting with Bee.

“So what do you think of him?” She tilted her head to gesture toward the blonde, wearing a hat that looked entirely too good on him.

You thought for a second before answering. “He’s a charmer, alright, in a really weird, awkward way. Kinda reserved, but very helpful. I respect it.”

“Yeah, I thought so.” She nudged your shoulder with her own.

“Well hold your horses, there, Honeybee. Some of us need a little more time to see what’s going on under the surface. Not everyone seems to fold so fast like your tall, dark, and handsome Bucket. Steve’s got something to him I just can’t figure out.”

“You will. I’m sure of it. That’s why you’ve got your job and I’ve got mine. You’re meant to be a scientist. An investigator.”

You laughed and rolled your eyes. “Yeah, okay.”

The music began to blare up above your conversation. Well, that’s a familiar tune.

“Oh! You love this one! You remember the dance I showed you in college? I think you’ve got some new guests to teach!”

You looked over to the pool tables to be greeted by Steve’s gaze directed right back at you with a dopey grin. Must be the alcohol, you thought to yourself. Bee had already left your side to go get Bucky.

“Do you want to dance?” You mouthed to him across the bar. He shrugged and mouthed back “I don’t know how.”

You gestured your arm for him to come towards you “I’ll teach you. Come on.”

Steve set down his cue and made his way through the crowd, only able to see your hat through the sea of people. He crouched down to reach your ear so you could hear him in the loud bar. “Don’t make fun of me if it’s bad.”

You laughed and shook your head at him as you set him up to stand in front of you. “No promises,” you yelled back.

Next >

Bonus A/N: Thank you for reading! Comments, likes, reblogs, and asks are soooo appreciated.

What do you guys think of Decks? I love imagining her take the vase out to the yard, so fed up with the shenanigans that always happen around Bee.

Series Taglist:

@evie-119

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hybeboyenthusisast · 8 months

Text

Better Than You / psh

post dividers by @cafekitsune

"Why do you act like you're better than me?" "Because I am better than you."

pairing: park sunghoon x afab!reader

genre: ice skater au, rivals to lovers, car sex

rating: 18+

warnings: oral (m and f receiving, m and f giving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, sunghoon is kinda an ass but it gets sorted, also hoon is pervy, marking, biting, public in private sex, car sex, their coach is the driver, both yn and Hoon are pervs, nicknames, innocence and corruption kink, degradation,cum eating, probably more that i cant think of (let me know if i need to add anything!)

permanent taglist (open): @junnmizz @ashxxgyu @igotkpoops @xiaoderrrr @alyssajavenss @mintxts @fanfangying1304 <3

wc: 4.7k (the longest I've written!)

if you like what you read, please consider leaving a comment and/or reblogging! it helps so much!

You stood up from your crouched position, your choreography for your next competition slowly being perfected the more you practiced it. Your coach cheered you on as the speakers cut out, the upbeat song coming to its end. You skated over to the exit to the ice rink, grinning at your coach as she applauded you wholeheartedly.

"You get better each time! It already looks so good," Coach Lee grinned at you, patting your back gently as you stepped off of the ice and back on the rink's normal flooring. You smiled, your chest puffing out a bit with pride after hearing your coach's compliments.

You could basically hear the eye roll Park Sunghoon did, or maybe it was just because of his very audible scoff. Your self-proclaimed rival on the ice, and the biggest pain in your ass. Despite having been training under the same coach for years, the two of you never could seem to get along.

You blamed it on him, though. He was stuck-up and snooty, and always made these little comments to undermine your progress and accomplishments. He must have thought he was perfect; maybe because you didn't point out his mistakes like he did to you. It was true that he had more experience, having trained for two years before you, but you had enough natural talent (as your coach said) that you were on the same skill level as Sunghoon within a single year.

"Hi, Hoonie." you cooed, knowing no matter what you said, it would piss the tall man off. Might as well have fun with it.

"Yn," he greeted you curtly, ushering you out of the way so he could have his turn on the ice. Your coach was used to your bickering, and had long given up on trying to make the two of you friends. "Move, damn it, you're so slow."

"I'm not slow! I just don't wanna move for you," you rolled your eyes at Sunghoon, leaning on the railing of the entrance in such a manner that kept your body blocking it entirely.

Sunghoon made a grumbling sound, perhaps he had even said something, but you weren't paying attention, and frankly, you didn't really care. "Yn sweetie, Sunghoon needs to practice today, too," Coach Lee gently coaxed you to ease up and move out of the way. She gave you a small smile and said her goodbyes before scurrying off to the bleachers, where she could get a proper view of Sunghoon while he practiced.

You slowly made your way to the bench where your stuff sat, grateful that today the ice rink was closed to the public. Nobody would be there to touch your stuff or steal anything, unless Sunghoon decided one day to become even more of an ass.

You sat down with a heavy sigh, your mind finally resting after being so caught up in the thoughts of your choreography. 'Okay, arms must be gentle, core must be tight- don't spin too fast.' 'You're a bird, flying, act like it.' You hadn't been able to just figure skate for fun in so long, but you had a serious training schedule and couldn't afford to play around and injure yourself.

No matter how much you disliked Sunghoon, you had to admit he had a good taste in music. His chosen song for his choreography for the next competition was actually one of your favorite songs, and you always found yourself humming along while he was practicing and you were getting ready to leave for the day. You hated to admit it, too, but he was very talented and moved so smoothly on the ice. You deeply admired his dedication and how good he has become over the years, but you would never tell him this.

Perhaps if he didn't spend nearly every moment making your life just a little bit more miserable, you would, but, alas. With the next competition rapidly approaching, you were dreading having to spend the 3 hour drive stuck in your coach's van with him. Most competitions the two of you participated in were more local, but as you were getting better and better, you began to compete in more popular events; which meant traveling.

Your coach always drove the pair of you to these farther away competitions, but it was never more than an hour, until now. Sunghoon always made those hour drives feel like hell, and you knew it would just be even worse with these longer drives. As if you weren't nervous enough before competitions, Sunghoon always managed to say something that made you doubt yourself; with an increased time frame to do this in, you were honestly very worried how he would affect your confidence and ability to perform.

You just had to ignore him.

Time flew by way too fast, and before you knew it, the day of the competition had arrived, and your coach was helping you load your gear into the back of the van. Sunghoon was already in the van, not bothering to help, of course. You would have refused his help, anyway. He'd probably find a way to break your skates or rip your costume.

"Are you nervous?" Your coach asked you, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. You shrugged, not wanting to be too obvious, but yes, you were very nervous. You didn't feel like you had practiced enough, and you could already hear Sunghoon telling you that and telling you that you'll do terribly.

"I can do this," you responded, trying to convince not only her, but yourself. Your lips quirked up in a smile, moving to the side of the van and opening the door. Sunghoon sat, leaning back and already comfortable. He didn't even spare you a glance as you sat down next to him.

"Good morning, Sunghoon," you cheerily grinned, hoping a faux happy mood would turn into a real one. Sunghoon merely grunted in response, too engrossed in playing a game on his phone.

With any luck, this car ride would be quiet, and his stupid game would keep him entertained.

He was entertained, but not by a game on his phone like he pretended. You were wearing a skirt that showed off your thighs, and his eyes kept drifting over to them. You were too busy staring out the window, listening to music, to even notice his constant glances. Your skin looked so soft, so plush, and he just wanted to spread your legs and bite into your sensitive flesh.

It wasn't always like this; he genuinely disliked you for three years, until one day.... he didn't. He didn't even know when it had happened, but one day he was wishing you would quit ice skating, and the next, he was captivated by you as you skated around on the ice. Your choreographies were never sexy or sensual by any means...but he found himself so turned on when he watched you.

You looked so innocent, so pure, skating around and using your body to tell a story of hope and longing. Your face was always so soft when you were skating, contrasting the hard expressions you always wore when you were around him. He wanted to see you smile at him for once, but he couldn't bring himself to be nice to you. Even though you were his junior, you were so talented and expressive, always doing an excellent job of getting the story behind your choreography across. He refused to believe you were just as good as him, if not better, and so he continued acting like he always had.

He was just waiting for the day you realized you wanted him too- and hoped you would make the first move. He had always been so mean to you, there was no way you'd take him seriously if he asked you on a date or made a move. So he watched you from afar, mostly. It was always exciting being in close proximity to you, even when you had a scowl on your face because of him, but he loved watching you skate. He had secretly recorded videos of you practicing, watching them late at night when he jerked himself off and called out your name.

Sunghoon had done that last night, actually, and this morning before his coach had picked him up. This was a very, very bad mistake. The goal was to get all his horniness and desire for you out of his system, so he wouldn't lose his mind or go feral upon spending so many hours sitting next to you in a moving vehicle where you couldn't escape.

But he kept thinking about how the van had one of those panels separating the driver and the passengers, which your coach always used to give you both your space to mentally prepare for the competitions (really, it was so she wouldn't hear the arguing). If he started touching himself right there in the van, his coach wouldn't know, and you might not even notice.

Oh god, he was such a pervert.

You were minding your own business, letting your mind wander as you zoned out, staring out the window as the van drove along. You nodded along to the beat of the music you were listening to, not giving any attention or care as to what Sunghoon was doing.

Until there was a lull between a song ending and a song starting, and you heard him moan. At first you had no idea what to make of it; maybe you were just hearing things? Maybe he was watching a movie and the characters were having sex, and it was so loud you could hear it through both your headphones and his? You unlocked your phone, pausing your music.

You still weren't sure what was happening, but you could definitely hear heavy panting and quiet groaning. What if he was sick, and you did nothing to help him? Maybe you shouldn't have cared, given how he treated you, but you did. You turned to face Sunghoon and your jaw dropped.

His eyes were closed, thankfully, so he couldn't see you as you stared at him. His pants were pushed down his thighs, his boxers with them, and his hard cock was in his hand. He was jerking off, right next to you.

Your thighs unconsciously rubbed together, searching for some friction as you found yourself getting wet, watching your rival masturbate. Any normal person would freak out, call the cops maybe, do something other than what you did. But of course, you being you, instead undid your seatbelt and sank to your knees in front of Sunghoon.

Your movements must have scared the crap out of Sunghoon, as his eyes flew open and he immediately went to pull his pants back on, his cheeks blushing a deep red. You placed your hands on top of his, stopping him from redressing. Your face was crimson, too, as you stared up at him from the floor of the van.

Sunghoon froze as he stared at you, watching; waiting to see what you were up to. His eyes fluttered shut and a groan left his plush lips as you took his cock in your hands and playfully licked his red mushroom tip. The salty taste of precum made you moan, setting Sunghoon off again with another groan. He threw his head back as you slowly began to suckle on his dick, your mouth opening to take more and more of him.

Your tongue ran along his veins, enjoying how he tried to keep from fucking up into your mouth. His hands wound through your hair, pulling you down on his cock, as far as you could go. You breathed through your nose, squeezing your thumb into your palm to calm your gag reflex. You gazed up at Sunghoon as your nose brushed against his pelvis, your hands on his thighs, his cock poking at the back of your throat.

He was going wild the second you started bobbing your head and sucking on him. Your eyes sparkled in the sunlight that came through the windows, staring up at him with the most innocent expression while you were doing something so dirty. He thought you looked so sexy, sinful and pure all at once.

You just thought he looked hot as hell, strands of his black hair falling over his eyes, but you could still clearly see how much he was enjoying this. His hands massaged your scalp, helping you as you bobbed up and down along his aching cock. He was resisting the urge to just let go and fuck your throat, but he was so scared to take control; he thought it was a miracle you were even sucking him off in the first place.

As your eyes connected with his as saliva escaped your lips, creating a wet mess, you gave him a slight nod; you knew what he wanted. He was still hesitant at first, eyes widening as he realized you had stopped you movements and were pushing on his hands in your hand, trying to get him to take over. Your mouth full of his cock, saliva getting everywhere, he wouldn't even mind if he had died and this was his heaven.

He gently thrusted up into your mouth, eyes watching you carefully as you gagged around his length. You showed no signs of wanting him to stop though, so he began thrusting more, and more. You were moaning around his cock, gagging every so often, tears streaming down your cheeks as he began fucking your throat roughly.

His hands were pulling on your hair; not pulling you off, but pulling to keep you under his control. He loved seeing you like this; totally at his mercy as he ruthlessly fucked up into your mouth. The messier you got with every thrust, the better you looked, and the closer he was to cumming. You were sure you were literally dripping onto your thighs, your panties soaked as you let your rival fuck your mouth.

"Shit-" Sunghoon panted, his voice deep. "You take my cock so well, hm? Fuck princess, I'm gonna cum. You gonna be a good girl and swallow it all?" He gently pinched your cheek, cooing at you as you looked up at him with wide eyes.

With sloppier thrusts, he did exactly what he had promised; soon he was cumming, holding your head still, your nose pressed against his pelvis as he came in ropey spurts down your throat and in your mouth. He was muttering praises to you, pushing your hair out of your face and wiping away your tears as he pulled his now-soft dick from your mouth.

Your jaw was aching so much, but you found even the pain was enjoyable; as long as he kept looking at you like this. You wanted to hear more praises from him, swallowing his load, using your fingers to wipe up any cum that had escaped. Opening your mouth, you sat up on your knees and poked your tongue out so he could see you really did swallow it all.

His hands were gently as he pulled you up, so you were sitting on his lap, his lips connecting with yours. You moaned at how soft his lips were, pressing yourself into him, trying to taste as much of him as you could. He moaned into your mouth as your tongues fought against each other for dominance, tasting the remnants of his salty release in your mouth. You didn't want to pull away from his addictive kiss, but you did need to breathe.

And thank god you did. It was when you pulled away for air, that you noticed the van was driving off the highway to pull into a rest stop.

Scrambling off of Sunghoon, you helped him pull up his pants. You would just die from embarrassment if your coach discovered what the two of you had just done in her van while she was driving it. You situated yourself back in your chair, wiping at your face to try to remove any remaining evidence of your sinning. Sunghoon was fixing himself as well, sending you a smirk as the two of you locked eyes.

"I'm not done with you."

"You are such an asshole, Sunghoon!" You yelled at him from across the room.

Hours later, you were at the competition location, trying to hype yourself up before your performance. Just like you predicted he would do, here he was, ruining it for you.

It had just been a 'casual comment' that 'didn't mean anything', but you were just so tired of hearing him say such negative things to you, especially after you let him fuck your throat earlier.

The two of you stood in one of the hallways leading to the changing rooms, arguing over how he spoke to you. You really thought that after your steamy interaction earlier in the van, he would treat you differently; but, no. He was the same asshole he always was.

He wasn't even responding to you anymore as you were yelling at him, just staring at you with a blank expression.

"Why do you act like you're better than me?" You asked him, crossing your arms across your chest, trying to look tougher than you really felt.

He smirked at you (this bitch...) and merely responded, "Because I am better than you."

You knew he though this, but actually hearing him say it felt like a knife to the heart. Turning away from him quickly, hoping he didn't see as tears began to well up in your eyes, you hurried down the hallway, desperate to get away from him. His smirk dropped as he watched you run away, his heart dropping along with it.

He had never seen you cry, never seen you run away. You always took his comments in stride, seemingly never letting his words affect you. He didn't even think before he ran after you, following you outside the building to the parking lot. His heart dropped even more as he spotted you sitting on the pavement, leaning against your coach's van. Your arms were wrapped around your knees, your face pressed into your legs. Your body was shaking; you were crying.

You were crying because of him. Despite all his pride, everything he felt that propelled him to act so nasty towards you, he never wanted to be the reason you were crying.

"Yn," he said your name softly, crouching down next to you. He frowned at the sound of your sniffles and heavy breathing, moving to sit next to you and wrap his arms around you. "I'm sorry. It's not true, I'm not better than you. I'm so sorry," he whispered to you, resting his head against yours.

At his words you lifted your head, swollen red eyes locking with his. "Why are so you mean to me, Sunghoon?"

What a damn good question. He hesitated before he answered, knowing he could no longer hide behind his pretend ego to hide his own insecurities.

Sunghoon sighed, giving your body a gentle squeeze. "I'm so jealous of you. You're so naturally talented, and so expressive on the ice. You started training after I did, and you caught up with me so fast. I guess it just made me feel insecure about my abilities."

"I never intentionally did anything to make you feel that way, but you have gone out of your way to make me feel like I'm a failure, that I can't succeed no matter how hard I try," you whispered, fresh tears falling down your red cheeks. Sunghoon moved to wipe them away, and you let him, your eyes holding his captive. "I have wanted to quit so many times, just because of you."

Sunghoon's eyes widened at your revelation, one hand cupping your cheek, pulling you into him. He rested his forehead against yours, whispering his apologies. "My behavior has been awful, and there is no excuse for it. You do not deserve to be treated the way I have treated you. I'm so sorry, yn, for not treating you with respect and with love."

"L-love?" You stuttered, pulling back in surprise.

Instead of responding, Sunghoon leaned forward and pressed his lips against yours so gently that you weren't sure he was kissing you at first. Maybe you should have pulled away and slapped him, but you couldn't bare to break apart from him. Your lips danced against his hungrily, wanting to be as close to him as possible.

Sunghoon's lips never left your own as he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you up so you were standing with him. He pressed you against the door of the van, one hand cupping the back of your neck to pull you into him, the other searching for the door handle. He held onto you to keep you from falling as he pulled the door open, sliding it along before nudging you inside.

As soon as the door was closed behind you, Sunghoon had you pinned on the backseat of the van, his weight pressing into you as you laid down. You tugged at his shirt, helping him take it off as he pulled from the kiss. He shivered as you ran your hands over his toned chest, pulling him in for another searing kiss.

Screw air, you just needed more of him. In between kisses, more and more clothing was removed, until the both of you were bare. Sunghoon's heated kisses traveled down your neck as he pinned your wrists above your head. His lips found one of your pebbled nipples, suckling on it and running his tongue over it, doing his best to pay attention to what made you moan the loudest.

Your hands wound in his hair, pressing him into your chest as he switched to suck at your other nipple, his other hand going to massage your breast. "Fuck, Sunghoon, I need more, please," you whined, rutting your hips upwards, trying to find any source of friction.

"I never imagined you would be this dirty," Sunghoon chuckled, pressing a kiss to your stomach and making his way down, leaving a trail of wet kisses and marks as he found his way between your thighs. "You always look so innocent when you're skating, so pure. I've thought about what it would be like to ruin you, but you're already a pretty dirty girl, hm?"

You moaned as Sunghoon held your thighs apart, leaning in to nudge his nose against your clit, inhaling your scent. He peppered kisses along the insides of your thighs, always getting so close to where you needed him the most, but always skipping right over it.

"Answer me, pretty. You're a dirty girl, aren't you?" Sunghoon's hot breath fanned against your dripping pussy, so close yet so far.

You nodded, your hands holding onto the seat underneath you for dear life. "Y-yes, Hoon! I'm a dirty girl!"

He smirked against your skin, "You're my dirty little angel."

Your hands flew to his hair as he pressed a kiss against your clit, two of his fingers swiping at your wet folds. You moaned out as they entered you, falling into a fast pace instantly. His tongue swirled around your clit, sucking every now and then, doing his best to coax an orgasm out of you. As your moans got louder and louder, he was groaning against you, rutting into the seat underneath him.

You tasted so sweet, he could just eat you forever. He would, actually, if you let him. The sounds he coaxed out of you were just as sweet, something he hoped he would get to hear over and over again for many years to come. Now that he had a taste of you, he wasn't letting you go.

"Hoon, baby, I'm gonna cum," you whimpered, grinding your hips into his face. Hearing your words, he doubled down on his efforts, quickly bringing you to your peak. He groaned against you as you came, his tongue dipping down to your folds to lap up every drop of your essence that you blessed him with. You were shaking, coming down from your high, just barely registering the sound of Sunghoon slurping your cum off of his fingers. "P-please, Hoon, fuck me," you whimpered.

He didn't need to be told twice. The two of you let out loud moans as he thrusted into you, your tight walls squeezing his thick cock so well. He was definitely the biggest person you had been with, and you were loving how well he stretched you out. His lips found yours, gentle as his thrusts turned to a brutal pace.

He was already so on edge from eating you out, he was worried he wouldn't be able to last long with how tight you were squeezing him. He was determined to get you to cum on his cock before he came, thrusts beginning to alternate between a fast and rough pace to a slow and gentle one.

You scrapped your nails down his back, so lost in the pleasure that he was giving you. You were still so sensitive from your first orgasm, and you found yourself getting much closer to your climax with how well Sunghoon was fucking you.

"Baby I'm not gonna last long if you keep squeezing me like this," Sunghoon grunted, hips snapping up into you, reveling in the way your body was starting to shake. His hands roamed the expanse of your body; fingers gliding along your soft skin, twirling your nipples in his fingers, holding you with a bruising grip.

You moaned as he bit down on your shoulder, easing the pain by licking it over and kissing it. He repeated this action up and down your shoulder, leaving a trail of marks everywhere his lips touched. With one bite on your collar bone and his fingers toying with your clit, you screamed as you came around Sunghoon so fast that you couldn't even warn him.

Your orgasm triggered his own, your walls clenching so tight around him that you were basically milking him. His seed painted your insides white, his hips thrusting into yours as he rode out both your high and his. He collapsed on top of you, careful not to put his full weight on you. The only sounds in the van were yours and his heavy breathing.

Your skin was sticky with sweat, making the two of you rub against each other in an almost uncomfortable manner, so Sunghoon pulled out and rolled off of you. He sat on the floor, gazing up at you as you whined at the loss of him inside of you. You were so tired, your body felt heavy, yet you also felt more energized than ever before.

You giggled as Sunghoon kissed your nose, moving to grab your discarded panties and using them to wipe up the cum that was dripping out of your spent pussy. He grinned cheekily at you as he found his jeans and stuffed your dirty panties in his pocket. "These are mine now."

You didn't even realize what you were saying before you said it; you didn't even think these words before they left your mouth. "I think I love you."

Sunghoon froze, hand stopped on its way to gather your clothes for you. He looked back at you, seeing the look of horror on your face as you realized what you said. "I think I love you too."

"Good luck, princess," Sunghoon grinned at you, his arms wrapped around your waist. It was almost your turn in the competition, and you weren't nervous at all.

You giggled as Sunghoon kissed your nose before placing a sweet kiss against your lips, squeezing your waist. "Thank you, Hoon."

"I don't know why you love me, but I am so glad that you do. I promise I will spend every day treating you the way you deserve," Sunghoon told you, his expression serious. He was determined to treat you like a princess from now on; after all, you had agreed to be his girlfriend.

You kissed your boyfriend sweetly as you broke from his grasp, stepping onto the ice. You locked eyes with your former rival, a smile gracing your lips as you got into position.

No matter the outcome of the competition, you were a winner.

128 notes · View notes

pensat-i-fet · 1 year

Text

Wrong player, right time: Part 1 (Pablo Gavi, Pedri x Reader)

Part 2

**Hi! 😊 So...I was asked to write some sort of love triangle and while I liked the idea, I thought I could do something a bit different. Hopefully you like it. And because this ended up being so long, it’s divided in two. The next part will be posted tomorrow so not a lot of waiting 😉 Enjoy!! ❤️**

Word count: 5177

Masterlist

Wattpad

“I got a present for you”.

Your mum’s words made you look up. “Why?”

“For passing your exam. And it kind of is related to that”.

You frowned slightly, smiling at the same time. Last year, you decided to retake a few classes to get a higher grade and study the major you really wanted to study in university. It had been a crazy decision to many but you were sure of it and it paid off. You got the grade you needed and were accepted at the university in Barcelona.

“Ok, tell me!”

“You are going to Barcelona this weekend. I want you to be able to know the city better and to see the area where you’ll be living”.

“Mum! Oh my God!”

Getting up, you ran to hug your mum.

“And…I might have gotten a ticket for the football match too”.

“Stop! You’re the best! Thank you!”

“You’ve worked hard and deserve it. Once you start the uni year, there won’t be time for much fun”.

There was no time to waste. It was Wednesday and your flight was on Friday, so you needed to pack everything and start planning. You had been to Barcelona before but never for too long, so this was a great opportunity to familiarize yourself with the beautiful city.

The weather was supposed to be good, so you packed a lot of cute summery outfits. The sun didn’t bless you with its presence as often in your home city of Santander, so it was also something else you could enjoy during the weekend.

You barely got any sleep the night before your trip and after checking you had your boarding pass and your ID about seventy times, you made your way to the small airport.

The flight was quick and soon you found yourself on your way to the hotel you would stay at the next couple of days. You pretty much threw the suitcase on the floor and went out again to see the city.

And that was how you spent the Friday and Saturday in Barcelona, trying to see as much as you could and visiting the student residence where you were going to live once you moved there.

Sunday was going to be your last full day there but it was also the most exciting. Finally, you were going to visit the Camp Nou. Actually, you visited it as a kid but couldn’t remember being there. But now it was time to fully enjoy the experience.

The atmosphere was incredible. You usually went to watch matches when Racing de Santander played at home but your main team was Barça. And, funnily enough, a former Racing player was now playing for Barça. You had met him a few times but doubted he would remember you. Players met so many people every day.

“First time?”

“Pardon?”, you asked, turning to look at the man on the seat next to yours.

“You look like it’s your first time here. And like a kid in a toy store”.

“Yes”, you laughed. “I’ve been wanting to watch a match here my entire life”.

“Well, let’s hope it’s a good one”.

While it wasn’t the match of the century, it was quite entertaining. Barça went 2-0 up early and got to play a bit more relaxed after a couple of not-so-great results.

The second half meant a few players you didn’t get to see up close before were now playing near the area where you were sitting. One of those players was the famous Gavi. You couldn’t lie and pretend you weren’t one of those girls who thought he was really cute. But the one you liked the most, Pedri, was injured. So it was a bummer you didn’t get to see him play. Oh well, Gavi was a good substitute.

“Gavi! Look at all the space those defenders are leaving near the box. Use it!”

You didn’t even realise you were yelling. You never did. And it’s not as if the rest of the fans were quiet but Gavi was very close to your seat and heard your words.

“Ok, coach!”, he said, looking at you and smiling at your surprised face.

“I…”.

“You’re blushing”, laughed the man that had introduced himself as José. You had been chatting a bit during the match.

“I feel so silly. I never realise they can hear me. I’m too used to screaming at the tv”.

That only made him laugh more.

A couple of minutes later, the ball fell on Gavi’s feet again and the defenders left the same space you had warned him about before. And he took the chance to run to the box and give a pass to Lewandowski that gave Barça their third goal.

Everyone got up to cheer and when you finally sat down, you saw Gavi walking towards you, a big smile on his face.

“Thanks for the heads up!”

“Eh…you’re welcome?”

José’s laugh could probably be heard back at your parent’s house. God, you were so embarrassed.

The match ended with a 3-0 win for Barça and you couldn’t be happier with that result. It was the perfect ending to your weekend. But…there was more that was going to happen before you went back home.

“Someone wants to talk to you”, said José.

“Who?”

You looked at where he was pointing and saw Gavi walking towards you while taking his shirt off. He gestured for you to get closer so he could give you the shirt and you walked almost not believing what was happening.

“For me?”

“Yes. We wouldn’t have scored that third goal without your advice. I’ll tell Xavi that if he needs some help, I know the right person”.

You giggled, blushing. “I’m free for the next match if he needs me”.

“I would love to see you on the bench. You wouldn’t be as far from me then”.

Not knowing what to say, you extended your arm to get the shirt. And once you had it, Gavi left to join his teammates.

“He was flirting with you”, said Jóse, making you blush even more.

You put the shirt on your face, trying to hide. But it was too late. The cameras had seen it all.

Gavi expected you to post something about getting his shirt on Instagram, so he kept checking the photos he was tagged in on social media…but nothing. You were nowhere to be found.

He was used to hearing things yelled at him at the matches. Often insults and usually it was men who did it. So when he heard your voice, it caught his attention a bit more. And what you said actually made sense. He had noticed what you pointed out and was thinking about telling his teammates to try and take advantage of that defensive weakness from the other team. But it was hearing you say it that made him do it before he even told the others. He wanted to impress you.

What he didn’t want was for the entire country to know about the interaction but he should have known better. All eyes were on him at matches and, of course, the cameras had picked up everything that happened.

“El día después”, a football programme that had been created before he was even born was very famous for their section “Lo que el ojo no ve” (What the eye doesn’t see). They usually caught funny moments of the matches and put them together in a video. People loved that. And this time, they found the best clips for it at the Barça match. They filmed all of your interactions with him and subtitled them.

Gavi was rewatching the video in the training ground with some of his teammates, and they all teased him when the guy who was next to you told you that Gavi had been flirting with you and you blushed and hid your face. He hadn’t seen that when it happened and it made him smile knowing you seemed to like him too. But still, no post on social media.

“She’s gorgeous”, said Pedri.

“I know”.

Gavi couldn’t stop smirking and daydreaming about you showing up at the next match.

“What are you all doing?”, asked the other Pablo, Torre, when he got to the dressing room.

“Watching a video of Gavi’s girlfriend”, said Ferrán.

“You have one? I didn’t know”.

“She’s not my girlfriend, Pablo. Don’t listen to them. But come watch the video”.

Gavi played the video again and when the camera showed you, Torre asked him to pause.

“I know her”.

“You do?”, Gavi couldn’t believe that. He might be able to find you after all.

“She’s from Santander, like me. I saw her at all the Racing matches”.

“Do you know her name?”

“No, but….”, he took his phone out and went on Instagram, “I took a lot of photos with her and she tagged me on Instagram when she posted them, so we should be able to find her”.

“I love you, Pablito”, said Gavi, kissing his teammate’s head.

“Save the kisses for her, bro”.

It took longer than they expected but there it was, a post you made on Torre’s final match for Racing. Gavi took a screenshot of it so he could send you a message later. But if you were from Santander…well, that complicated things a bit but it didn’t make anything impossible.

He spent some time looking at your posts and then had to go to training. There was time to keep stalking later. But when he finally got home and went to check your profile, it was private. That was odd.

The last thing you expected after your trip to Barcelona was for a video of you to go viral. When you were sent the youtube clip, you couldn’t believe it. And the comments…they made you want to never check your social media again.

But then you noticed a lot of notifications on your Instagram. How on earth had Gavi’s fans found your profile? It was too much. So you privated your profile and removed all the new followers you got. You were just a normal girl and didn’t want to be involved in any drama.

Your mum found out what had happened and invited you to go out with her to stop overthinking. You turned the wifi and data off and forgot about all of it.

But then you got home and the wifi connected to your phone and one of the notifications caught your eye immediately. Why was Gavi sending you DM’s on Instagram?

[Pablogavi]: Hi! Sorry about all the drama that the video has caused. You ok?

How did he find your Instagram? But it was really nice to see he actually cared.

[You]: Hi! I’m alright, don’t worry. Thanks for asking.

[Pablogavi]: Let me know if you need me to say something on social media or whatever.

[You]: I will, thanks.

[You]: How did you find my Instagram?

[Pablogavi]: Torre recognised you on the video and helped me find you.

[Pablogavi]: Does it sound stalkerish? 😶

[You]: A bit 😂

[You]: But I’m glad you contacted me.

How had your life become so surreal so quickly? All because of a silly comment you couldn’t help but scream.

[Pablogavi]: Feel free to be the one who contacts me if you ever come back to Barcelona.

[You]: I’m moving there soon. For uni.

[Pablogavi]: Best news you could give me 😀

“Who are you talking to?”

Your mum’s voice startled you and made you almost drop the phone. “Nobody”.

“Right. Why were you blushing and smiling then?”

“Just watching some funny videos”.

You didn’t normally keep secrets from your parents but what were they going to think if, after what they saw on that video, you told them Gavi was flirting with you on Instagram?

So you didn’t tell them but kept on speaking with him. And you kept thinking about going to Barcelona before you had to move there…so you could see him. You had seen some comments online about how you had made your account private right before he started to follow you and that worried you. As exciting as talking to a cute football player was, you didn’t want people harassing you because of it. And now it seemed like so many people had already decided you were his girlfriend.

“Will it be ok for me to go to Barcelona this weekend?”, you asked in the middle of dinner three weeks after your previous trip.

“What for?”, asked your dad. “Do you need to do any uni stuff there? I thought you could do it all online”.

“Yes, it’s not uni related. I just wanted to go again and…meet some friends and stuff”.

“You have friends in Barcelona? Since when?”

Your mum was suspicious and for a reason. The way your face got all red while you were lying to them didn’t help.

“Honey, we might not use social media but we aren’t dumb. And when people talk about your daughter, you listen. Is it Gavi that’s invited you to go see him?”

“Yes, but it’s not what you think”, you rushed to say.

“We weren’t born yesterday. Of course it is what we think it is. But…you aren’t a kid anymore. We can’t forbid you from going and you’ll move there soon anyway. But please be careful”.

“I always am”.

“We know”, said your mum, holding your hand. “You are smart and we trust you. Do we trust a football player’s intentions?”

“We don’t”, answered your dad.

“Keep trusting me, then”.

“Someone’s happy…and in a hurry”, said Pedri, sitting down next to an already dressed Gavi. “I’ve never seen you get ready so fast”.

“I’ve got plans”, smiled his friend.

“I can guess which type of plans”.

“My Santander girl is coming to Barcelona again”.

“I still think she’s too pretty for you”.

“Don’t be jealous, Pepi. She’s an only child but we might find a pretty cousin for you or something”.

“Is she staying with you?”

“No, she’s staying at a hotel but we have a couple of dates planned. And she might change her mind about where she stays after that”.

“Or she might run back to Santander after talking to you for more than 10 minutes”.

Gavi laughed and left the training centre to go find you. The taxi was waiting for him already.

Once at the train station, he tried not to be recognized but it was always a lost battle. It was while taking some photos with a kid that he saw you.

“Sorry guys, I have to go”.

You were looking around and smiled when you finally saw him.

“Hi”, you said, hugging him. “So good to finally see you in person”.

“Yeah, same. Should I take you to the hotel so you can leave your suitcase? Then we can go grab some food”.

“Sounds good”.

You did just that and soon found yourself walking around Barcelona, on your way to a restaurant that was great, according to Gavi. Well, at least you were learning about where to eat for when you moved there.

The food was great. The rest of the date…it wasn’t his fault. Or yours. But there was no spark. The excitement you had felt while you texted was gone. And he was feeling the same way. Well, that was disappointing.

Gavi had planned on trying to ask you to go to his place after dinner but what was the point? He wouldn’t be surprised if you actually ran away home like Pedri had said.

And when you got to the hotel, you buried your head in the pillow, feeling so stupid about how wrong it all went.

“Someone isn’t looking so happy today”.

“Stop”, said Gavi, putting his hands on his face.

“What happened?”

“The date was a disaster, Pedri. A disaster!”

“What did you do?”

“Why does it have to be me?”

“You’re more likely to mess up”, he shrugged.

“It’s just…there was no connection. And it’s not as if she isn’t an interesting person”.

"Or gorgeous”.

“Yeah, that too. But we just felt so uncomfortable in each other’s company. It was so weird”.

“Are you seeing her today? Maybe things change”.

“Well, I have to see her. She is here because of me, I can’t just leave her alone. But…could you maybe come with us?”

“I don’t want to third wheel”.

“It wouldn’t be that. Just, I don’t know, maybe having someone else there helps”.

Pedri didn’t want to tell his friend but the only reason why he accepted was a very selfish one. He wanted to meet you. Every time Gavi mentioned you or showed the boys a photo of you, he cursed his back luck. Maybe if he hadn’t been injured, it would have been him who talked to you at the match.

You were waiting for your “date” to arrive, checking your phone nervously. Maybe the second date would be better than the first. There was some hope.

But then you saw he wasn’t alone and that confirmed he had a terrible time with you too. You tried to see who it was he was with and then realised it was Pedri. The player you actually had a crush on.

“Hi. Do you mind if Pedri comes with us today?”

“No, not all. Hi!”

You tried not to be too obvious but could tell Gavi was looking at you funny. And when Pedri smiled at you, you just knew you were blushing.

“Nice to finally meet you”.

“Nice to meet you too”.

Soon, it was Gavi that felt like he was third wheeling but he didn’t really mind. It wasn’t as if his friend was trying to steal a girl he had a chance with from him. It was clear you two were not meant for each other, but maybe Pedri could be a bit luckier.

“Sometimes I feel like I just signed for Barça because of the beach. I wouldn’t be able to live in Madrid or somewhere without a beach”.

“Same”, you laughed. “I can’t wait to visit all the beaches here. It’s going to make me feel less homesick”.

“Pedri can show you his favourite one”, said Gavi, making you both look at him. Had you forgotten he was there? Kinda.

“That’d be nice”, you said.

“The one near his house is really pretty. Why don’t you go today? The weather is great”.

Pedri looked at his friend, a bit confused. But when he saw the way he raised his eyebrows, he got it.

You quickly finished your dinner and made your way to Pedri’s house, where he parked his car so you could then walk to the beach.

“Sorry about today”.

“What are you apologizing for?”

“Well, Gavi sent you to babysit me and you probably had other plans. It’s just…I guess he could tell it wasn’t working between us or whatever. You didn’t have to look after me. It’s fine”.

“I’m not doing anything I don’t want to do”.

You looked down, biting your lip. And feeling all the butterflies you expected to feel with Gavi but that never showed up.

The silence that accompanied you while you walked on the beach wasn’t a bad one. It was nice.

“I like to sit there and just look around. It sounds a bit boring, I know”.

“We could do that”, you said quickly, not finding the idea boring at all.

“Come, I’ll let you sit on the comfiest stone”.

That made you laugh.

“It’s a shame you and Gavi didn’t work. He was very excited about seeing you”.

“Yeah. I guess it happens”.

“You could still be friends when you move here, though. He’s a good guy, he’ll be happy to help you with whatever you need”.

“Can I ask for your help too?”

“Of course”.

Sitting there with him was making you feel a bit more bold. Having a crush on someone you didn’t know personally could lead to disappointment when you got to spend some time with that person. But with Pedri…it was the complete opposite.

“You know. I had a crush on a Barça player but it wasn’t Gavi”.

Pedri looked at you after that comment, frowning.

“Torre?”

“What? No, why would you…”.

“Well, he’s the one who recognized you. And he mentioned you asked him for photos a lot. I just guessed”.

“Do you want to guess again?”

“Can I get a little hint? Blonde or brunette? Spaniard or from another country?”

“I’ll give you the best hint. No way you don’t guess right after that”.

He turned to look at you when you didn’t continue talking and you leaned to kiss him. You could tell he was surprised at first, but he responded to the kiss quickly.

“Can you guess now?”

“I might need another one of those hints…”.

You laughed, moving to kiss him again. Yeah, he didn’t disappoint.

"Does this count as stealing my friend's girl?"

"I don't think so".

"Good".

Your final day in Barcelona was spent with Pedri and it was perfect. You kept making promises to each other but you weren’t stupid. The summer holidays were coming and you wouldn’t be with him. So you decided to not try and date until you moved to Barcelona in August. Mostly to save yourself the heartbreak if you opened Instagram one day to see him with another girl while on holiday.

Your parents didn’t buy that nothing had happened with Gavi when they saw the way you looked when you got back home. And after some pestering, you told them what really happened.

The holidays were pretty uneventful for you. And by the time they were almost over, you just spent your days packing your things and getting ready for the big move.

[Pedri ❤️]: will you be in Santander next week?

What an odd message. You had been texting non-stop but you didn’t expect that question now.

[You]: yes, why?

[Pedri ❤️]: I’m coming to see you 😉

He what?

[You]: you don’t have to. We’ll see each other in Barcelona soon.

[Pedri ❤️]: I want to see you. Is that ok?

[You]: of course. I just didn’t expect you to come to see me here.

[Pedri ❤️]: I’ve been dying to see you since the day you left.

And you had been dying to see him since that very same day too. So you planned his little trip, still not believing this was happening.

“Hey!”, you waved at him at the airport, feeling overwhelmed by his presence.

“Don’t go all shy on me now, mi amor”, he said, hugging you and not caring about the looks you were getting from people. “Missed me?”

“Maybe a little”.

“Liar”.

More people started to look at you, recognising Pedri. So you took him to your car to drive him to his hotel.

"My parents want to meet you", you blurted out, afraid of scaring him.

"Ok".

"You're ok with it? I mean, we aren't even dating officially but…you know, they just want to take the opportunity of having you here to talk".

"Yes, it makes sense. And you keep saying we are not dating but that's not how I see it".

You looked at him quickly before looking at the road again. "How do you see it?"

"To me, we started dating the day we met. We are just waiting until we live in the same city to see each other often and I guess do more couple stuff".

"So should I introduce you to my parents as my boyfriend?"

"It'll probably be nicer for them to hear that than calling me the guy you hooked up with once because you actually didn't like my friend".

The laugh that came out of you scared you and you gripped the steering wheel tighter while trying not to laugh more.

But on that first day, you didn't see your parents. You spent the whole day with your boyfriend and if that was an indication of how life was going to be in Barcelona, you couldn't move there fast enough.

Pedri charmed your parents too when he met them and you could tell they were a bit less worried about letting their daughter hang out with a football player.

"I'll see you in…10 days", you told Pedri when you took him to the airport. He started preseason the next day.

"10 loooong days. I might not survive".

"You'll be fine", you hugged him tightly, not ready to let go. "I'm the one who will struggle".

"We facetime every day, ok? I need to see your pretty face".

You nodded, kissing him before walking to the security area with him.

"See you soon".

Your dad was helping you take the last box from the car to your room when you heard screaming in the hallway. Was this going to be a daily occurrence?

"It's Pedri! And Gavi!"

"Oh no…".

You got out of the room and saw your boyfriend walking towards your room. He had promised to help with the moving but ended up having to stay longer for training. But there he was, and Gavi was there too, making every girl in the building go insane.

"What are you doing here?"

Your dad told them to get inside the room and closed the door, so people wouldn't see you.

"No kiss?", he asked and then looked at your dad. "Sorry?"

But your dad just shook his head and Pedri gave you a quick kiss and hugged you.

"Did you bring Gavi here to see if I had changed my mind about who I liked?"

"So funny".

"I was brought here for my muscles", said Gavi, flexing said muscles.

"You are here because I have to drive you around and I didn't want to waste more time going all the way to your house".

"I can help anyway".

When everything was in place, you decided to leave. Your dad wanted to take you to dinner before leaving. And now both Pedri and Gavi were invited to that dinner.

On the way out, you tried to keep your distance from your boyfriend, not wanting to create rumours on your first day there. But the problem was that it was Gavi who walked by your side and that didn't create a rumour. It only made the one that already existed bigger.

Some of the girls took photos of you two walking together and laughing and posted them on Instagram.

"Ok then. You can't visit me if this is what's going to happen".

"You ok?"

You nodded, not feeling sure about being ok. You were dating one person while everyone seemed to think you were dating his best friend. It was…weird.

And it wasn't the last time something like that happened. You started to go to every Barça match at home, wearing your Barça shirt but not showing the back. So, of course, everyone assumed you were wearing Gavi's.

It got to the point where you didn't want to post about the matches. Your account was private but someone was clearly posting your photos with other accounts and you didn't know who it could be. So no posting was the solution. Every time you posted with Pedri, it was stories for your close friends. And those were never leaked, thankfully.

"What happened?", you asked one of the girls that lived with you when you got there and saw all the people on your floor.

"A pipe burst and we have no water. And the water messed something up and half of us have no electricity".

"Huh…we can't stay here, then".

"Where are we supposed to go?", she asked. "Not all of us can go to our rich boyfriend's mansion like you will".

"Whatever", you rolled your eyes and went to your room to pick up some clothes and your books.

"Say hi to Gavi from me!"

You were still shaking your head when you closed your door.

"Hi! You're on speaker. I'm driving to the stadium".

"Sorry. I've got no water or electricity at my place. Can I stay with you until it's back?"

"Of course", said Pedri, not doubting his answer for a second, which made you smile. "And for the record, it wasn't me who did whatever it's that happened just so you stay with me".

"Don't believe him".

"Hi, Pablito! And don't worry, I don't believe him. I'll see you after the match, ok?"

"Looking forward to it".

"Good luck boys!"

After the match, you waited for the boys near Pedri's car. They didn't take long to get there and you hugged both of them to congratulate them for the win. But your boyfriend got a longer hug.

"Sit behind him", said Pedri when you walked to sit behind the driver's seat, his seat.

"Why?"

"So I can see you while I drive".

"Oh my God", Gavi was rolling his eyes and Pedri glared at him.

But you did as he said and he started to drive. You could also see him better like this so you weren't going to complain.

When you were getting out of the stadium, you saw all the fans waiting. You put your hood on and tried to hide from all of them but they were surrounding the car.

Looking up from your phone for two seconds, you saw all the people trying to get a good look at you.

"It's her", you heard them say, "the girl Gavi is dating".

"See? I told you they were together".

You saw Pedri's jaw clenching and Gavi told him to drive so they wouldn't make you uncomfortable. He turned to see if you were ok and dozens of phones were out to film the interaction.

"Oh my God, he's so sweet looking after her", was the last thing you heard before Pedri drove past all the fans.

"Sorry about that", said Gavi.

"It's ok".

But you knew it wasn't ok. Because your boyfriend didn't say a word the whole drive to Gavi's and barely acknowledged him when he said goodbye.

You quickly moved to the passenger's seat and tried to get his attention but he wasn't in the mood.

"Are you ok?", you asked him when you got home.

"No, I'm really tired. Tired of everyone thinking my girlfriend is dating my friend".

"Who cares what they think? It's just because of that video. But you know the truth. We know the truth".

"What truth?", he said, raiding his voice. You had never heard him speak like that.

"What do you mean?"

"The truth about how you two spent weeks flirting and then you came here to be with him?"

"Are you for real?", you couldn't believe him. "You know how that ended. Why are you bringing that up now? I'm here with you, am l not?"

"Maybe you should just go with him. Everyone seems to think that".

"I don't think that".

But no matter what you said, he wouldn't look at you. It was breaking your heart. So you left…and there was only one place you could go to.

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