#they sleep in silk and wake up to cashmere

[darlingeames]

‘You’re Blackbeard?’

Ed – Blackbeard, for Christ’ sake – pops his head out of the wardrobe into the cabin to see if whoever called for him left, then turns back to Stede.

‘Yep. Blackbeard. That’s me.’

Stede, still holding the stupid fucking pants, openly gapes. He thinks for a split second that he should be careful what he says next, how he acts – he knows the man in front of him is incredibly dangerous. But he doesn’t feel it. So it doesn’t matter.

‘But I just asked you, and you said you work for him.’

Ed. Short for Edward fucking Teach.

He vaguely remembers seeing all that leather surrounded by smoke before he lost consciousness, Ed’s voice saying I’ve heard all about you.

‘Techincally, that’s not not true, you know,’ Ed says, and he looks a bit smug. Like he’s proud of his little trick. ‘You could say that being Blackbeard is my job.’

This man is incredibly peculiar, Stede thinks. He grips his pants tighter, which Ed seems to notice.

‘Since you already got up, even though really, you should take it easy, or your guts will spill out, take it from someone who’s been stabbed countless times before, you probably want to get dressed, I’ll leave you to it–’

And Ed starts to get out of the auxiliary closet, but then he turns back.

‘Wear those pants, the colour’s gorgeous.’ And, to Stede's absolute dismay, Ed winks at him.

Left alone in his secret closet, Stede thinks that any rational man would probably at least entertain the possibility that Blackbeard would lock him in said secret closet and steal his crew and ship – but then, Ed was so kind, and he could have killed Stede in his sleep anyway if he would have so desired, so the thought passes so fleetingly through Stede’s mind that it leaves behind no trace.

Stede does indeed put on the pants, and a white shirt and the black cravat, because he felt the need for something to counterbalance the redness of his flesh where the noose had choked him.

He barely stepped out of the closet when Ed turns from looking up at the chandeliers. 

‘What other cool stuff do you have in here?’

So Stede shows Blackbeard his library.

Stede has a feeling, the moment an unknown man, with incredibly kind, large brown eyes wakes him up from his feverish nightmare. He feels, more than he thinks, that of course, this is exactly the way it should be. If it had been Lucius or Olwande sitting on his bed, warning him not to get up too fast lest his guts spill out, he would have felt disappointed, and he would not for the life of him been able to pinpoint exactly why. But Ed, who works for Blackbeard, and who looks exactly like someone who would work for Blackbeard, assures him that he might be a decent pirate since the Spanish didn’t manage to kill him yet, and takes an interest to Stede’s best robe and he can’t tell silk from cashmere but he keeps rubbing it between his fingers, and Stede knows nothing about this man, and the part of him that has been reading pirate stories all his life yells that it might be a trap, they are pirates, for fuck’s sake, they screw each other over all the time, he could be lying for all you know and your crew is either dead or imprisoned and you’re this close to being thrown overboard – but it’s such a distant tirade, and Stede can barely hear it over the sound of his robe rustling between Ed’s fingers, and he’s been dying to tell someone just how much fun he’s had while having the Revenge built. 

So really, it’s no choice at all.

‘Can you keep a secret?’

It turns out that pirates do lie and do screw other people over, even if it’s such for a bit of fun – Ed says No, I’m Blackbeard, and Stede thinks Christ alive, did I really bring the actual Blackbeard into my auxiliary closet that nobody but us knows about and showed him my fucking summer linens, how has this become my life, and stares in horror at the back of Ed’s head, at the unruly mess of salt and pepper curls, and thinks of the worst. But Ed shows no sign of it meaning anything at all – doesn’t call back to whomever it was that was looking for him, and doesn’t start laughing at Stede –

In seconds, quick as silver, the two images in Stede’s head become one – this is Blackbeard, he knows he is, just as he knows he’s not in any real danger, just as he knows the sparkle he saw in Ed’s eye when he opened the secret door was real.

He’ll never look at him and think Blackbeard. That word still conjures up the fantasy version of Black Pete’s stories, the one in his books, the smoke and the glowing eyes and the nine pistols, and the ruthlessness and bloodthirst. That Blackbeard has never had anything to do with his Ed, the man that woke him up and seemed thrilled with all of Stede’s idiosyncrasies, from his clothes to his two chandeliers and his books. In this world, it’s one of his biggest failings – he’s never been able to look at Edward Teach and see what he should have seen. What his crew saw. What Izzy had tried so hard to preserve. He had taken one look at the man and Stede, in his feverish, incredibly embarrassed state, hadn’t seen the leather and the tattoos and the years upon years of having the sea as a home, he saw kind eyes, he felt a warm hand, and he didn’t meet Blackbeard, he met a man that made the simple act of breathing easier.

#ofmd ficlet #ofmd fic #gentlebeard #blackbonnet #going back to their very roots<3 #wrote this as a warm up to get into the feel of it #sometimes i just like dipping into stede's head. i think it's fascinating in there. #the way he perceives ed is so <333 to me #my writing #my fics #our flag means death #mine.txt #ofmd #ed teach #stede bonnet

[greenandhazy]

I just queued up a post about sustainable fabrics and started to write something in the tags before realizing that it was drifting away from the point

but PSA: with the caveat that the most sustainable item of clothing is the one that's already in your closet, I would suggest that if you are someone who struggles with temperature regulation, you should seriously consider adding more linen and wool to your wardrobe. determining the "true" environmental impact of various fibers is v complicated, but for a start they both use significantly less water than conventional cotton, and imo the improvement they've had on my quality of life is well worth the substitution.

linen and wool are by far the best fabrics for temperature regulation--the former is lighter and more breathable than cotton and will keep you cooler in the summer, the latter is breathable but heavier and more insulating and will keep you warmer in the winter, even if it gets wet. (there's actually a saying among people who hike/do winter sports that "cotton kills" because you are more prone to hypothermia in cotton undergarments than in wool.) do not even get me started on linen/wool vs polyester.

this is something that I think is especially important given higher cost of heating lately, higher temperatures due to climate change, and the number of people who have health conditions or medications that make them sensitive to heat. this isn't to say that your clothing/bedding choices will compensate for a livable environment, but as someone who used to wake up 2-3 times a week sweating in synthetic sheets for four months of the year, and shiver in an inadequately heated room for another three, these little swaps can seriously make extreme temperatures a little more bearable.

that being said, wool and linen do tend to be more expensive, so if you're looking to get the most bang for your buck, I would recommend starting with:

linen sheets, even just a fitted sheet (some companies do sell them solo). overheating while sleeping is literally the worst.

linen pants, especially if you work in a job that doesn't allow you to wear shorts. linen shirts are also nice, but even cotton/poly shirts tend to be thinner than pants and might already be short-sleeved/you can roll up the sleeves, so the impact of pants will be more immediate.

a chunky wool sweater. avoid cashmere, and merino unless it has cables--these are very soft, lovely wools, but they're generally pretty light and made more for their softness than their insulation properties. for maximum warmth, you don't want a thin "office sweater," you want a "my Irish gran knit this in her cottage on the windy coast" sweater.

wool socks. these are more likely to keep you dry and warm if you're walking through slush or rain, in addition to just general walking-around-the-house warmth. for these I would say the type of wool matters a little less, generally because you do want socks that are somewhat lightweight so you can wear them in shoes. and just FYI you're also more likely to see wool socks blended with silk, nylon, or spandex for strength and elasticity, so don't drive yourself up the wall trying to find the mythical 100% wool sock. even hobby knitters tend to blend wool with something because of the amount of friction that wears on socks.

again! the most sustainable type of clothing is what you already own. but some of these are the kinds of small swaps you can definitely make over time, and you might find them genuinely helpful.

[aya-fay]

At gunpoint

Name: At gunpoint part I

Author: Aya-Fay

Fandom: Captain America

Pairing: Mobster!Sebastian Stan x fem!Reader; platonic Chris Evans x fem!Reader

Summary: There have always been threats and hatred, and it has never stopped us.

Warnings: attemped shooting

Status: In-progress

My Sebastian Stan’s masterlist and My Main Masterlist

Part II of this series may be found here: At gunpoint part II

There is no such thing as a good morning. Y/N knew this firsthand.

Even now, when everything was finally turning out in her favor, the morning concealed a devilish trick that threatened to become a real disaster if she ignores it. Y/N carefully slipped out from under the covers so as not to wake the sleeping man by her side and went into the bathroom, where she hastily washed herself and tried to collect her thoughts somehow.

Dressed into her best outfit, she quietly left the house and greedily took a breath of fresh air, not fully understanding at what point exactly her life went awry. Was it when she was thrown jail for something she didn’t do or when she agreed to work for Scarlett she had no clue. The only thing she was certain about is that she was so fucking stuck in a huge mess and if only she could turn back the time she would strike Scarlett in her impudent face and leave.

The phone vibrated in her pocket, and Y/N hailed a taxi, giving the address of a small street cafe where she was already awaited. If she knew that her life would soon take another unexpected turn for the worse, she would never leave her house that morning.

“I am sorry for being late, Miss Johansson” Y/N said as she sat down at a table directly across from a thin woman dressed in a business suit, consisted of a dark red silk blouse tucked into an overly tight black leather skirt. The redhead was slowly drinking her coffee and reading the newspaper, as if she was in no hurry to go anywhere and was not expecting anyone, but the appearance of Y/N clearly inspired her.

Scarlett looked up from her newspaper and glanced at the young woman with sharp cold eyes.

She smiled, but her smile was empty deprived of any trace of emotions and warmth and held out her hand. Y/N was surprised at this gesture, but shook hands in return nonetheless. “No worries, Miss Evans,” Scarlett replied, and Y/N winced.

Since when did she become “Miss Evans” for this devil woman? For the last months she only been called slave or toy. Nothing else. Literally. Can it be that an expensive coat and her blue cashmere jumper really changed her view into other people’s eyes?

Even though the morning has just officially started, people were already in a hurry to get to work. Some of them were taking their time having their breakfast. Y/N looked around, feeling uncomfortable sitting in the sun, in an open area at the busiest time. She could feel shivers running down her spine, which was never a good sign. She ordered coffee in a somewhat somehow constrained way and clamped, just to blend in with the rest of the customers.

“What did you want to discuss?” She immediately got down to business, not wanting to drag out this meeting for longer than necessary. “I am all ears.”

“The time has come.” Y/N raised her eyebrows in surprise. She knew that time was slowly sinking through her fingers, but she was not ready to betray him so soon. Her nerves were on the edge. An extremely dangerous state of mind.

“And what do you want now?” She asked Scarlett and smiled at the waitress when she brought her coffee. “Thank you.”

As soon as the girl left, Scarlett came straight up to Y/N’s face and whispered something in her ear. “Give me all the information you’ve collected.”

The girl felt how her fingers curled tightly around the cup. Suppressed anger, resentment and rage were slowly bursting out onto the surface. “Not now” She said and stared into the amused redhead’s eyes.

Scarlett laughed then abruptly stopped and dangerously low said narrowing her eyes. “Remember who you are talking to, pet. Your life depends on me. You don’t look like a person who was offered bigger amount of money...  Oh no…Don’t tell me that my slave suddenly became attached to the man in her bed? How mane has been in his place?”

Y/N gritted her teeth angrily and looked away. She was sick of this Scarlett’s habit of showing her superiority over others, even sicker than when Sebastian did it. Stan’s superiority over others come out more natural,  elegant and organic, while Scarlett’s superiority seemed fake, poisonous and vile.

“Don't think that if we're in public and you are my mistress that will save you from being punched in your pretty face.” She outburst, collecting for the punch that never came. Scarlett just chuckled, perfectly aware that no strength was going to happen out of this threat. Her located nearby people would stop Y/N when she would just raise her hand. People like Johansson were never alone.

“Just remember…” Scarlett said as she stood up, buttoned up her coat and was about to leave. “Getting attached to Stan is your biggest mistake that will destroy you. One way or another. Whether it would be me who kills you or him.”

Left alone, Y/N drank her coffee, then got up and threw some money on the table and went home.

Returning home she cautiously opened the door, took off her coat and shoes and went into the bedroom. Sebastian rolled over onto the bed, pulled the blanket to his chest, but he did not look absent-minded or disheveled, he was clearly awake and even cleaned himself up.

“I betrayed you” Y/N said. Simple as that and with no warning. There was no way to prepare someone for such truth reveal.

“I know” Sebastian replied just as simply, not surprised at all.

“For how long?”

“For quite a long time. I was just wondering if you decide to confess or not.” Said Sebastian pulling out a hand with a gun clamped in it from under the blanket. Sebastian’s eyes were filled with sadness, even grief, and Y/N made no attempt to escape or defend herself.

“Sorry,” she shrugged and chuckled a little. “You will find a flash drive with everything I collected in the pocket of your yesterday's jacket. There are if not everything, then a lot. And…Aim for the head, not the heart.” She whispered, looking straight into the blue eyes.

Then there was a shot.

TBC

#sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan imagines #bucky barnes imagine #Bucky Barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes imagines #mafia!sebastian stan #sebastian stan #bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes one shot #dilf!bucky barnes #dilf!bucky #bucky barnes fluff #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic

[welovediaaxx]

Unplanned, E. Kirishima x f!reader

chapter one: bulletproof plan

masterlist, read chapter two

A/N: i recently read a bkg fanfic where his mom is a luxury fashion designer and i legit could not stop thinking about it for the past week so i had to write this

warnings: not proofread, just straight out of my ass, cursing, reader is bkg's sister, brothers best friend trope, one night stand trope ofc bc it wouldn't be my fic if there was no one night stand trope, female reader, implied alcohol use, implied sexual intercourse, lmk if i missed anny

wc: 1.6k

summary: all you wanted to do was let loose and celebrate your promotion, you worked hard enough to get to where you were. you had everything you wanted, money, power, good looks, and no interest whatsoever in a relationship. so, how could someone unimportant as a one-night stand leave such an empty feeling in your heart?

You’re used to waking up in the comfort of your cosy bedroom, in your penthouse that lays on the 16th floor in a luxury building in the centre of Tokyo, Japan, overlooking a  breathtaking view of the city. Laying on a few too many pillows that smelled like your vanilla-scented candles which you lit up every night before bed at precisely 8:30 at night. The pillows, of course, are wrapped in mulberry silk pillowcases. You’re used to waking up at 7:00 am by your alarm clock in your custom expensive silk pyjamas which have your initials sewn on the sleeves, covered by the expensive cashmere duvet you got as a gift for Christmas from your mother.

What you’re not used to, though, is being woken up with a massive headache caused by an even bigger hangover by an annoying buzzing sound that’s going off next to your head. You groan, not even bothering to open your eyes, you know the brightness of the sun is only planning on causing harm to your eyesight. You knock down what sounds like a vase, or maybe even a lamp as you’re fishing around your nightstand for the device which the buzzing is coming from.

As you finally grab your phone, you realise your mother, the famously amazing fashion designer Mitsuki Bakugou taught her daughter better than to have a vase on her nightstand next to the bed. She has always called flowers too close to the place you sleep a god-awful faux pas.

So, keeping that in mind, how on earth did a vase appear in your perfectly decorated home? Last you remembered your quirk definitely did not have anything to do with teleporting tacky objects into your vicinity. 

You slowly opened your eyes, the brightness (and the hangover) hitting you like a brick right on your face. As the hangover, along with the realisation that you were not, in fact laying in your bed flooded in, so did the memories of last night. 

It started as a simple dinner with a few of your girlfriends. You ordered a bottle of champagne and dined on the most expensive dishes in the whole country of Japan. Oh, you remembered now. You were celebrating. Your mother finally deemed you worthy of offering you the job as creative director of her luxury clothing brand, which you obviously gladly accepted. Sure, those who thank nepotism for your success weren’t all that wrong, but you know you worked harder than any of her other employees and you earned the position with your own blood, sweat and tears.

You squinted as you looked around the room you were currently in, trying to blink away the blurriness. You looked under the sheets you were covered by, praying that - nope, of course, you were naked. 

You remembered why you even opened your eyes as the phone in your hand kept buzzing. You cringed as you read your brother's name flashing on the screen. You debated hanging up, but you were quite familiar with Katsuki’s temper, so you decided against it.

“Oi, dipshit” you heard your brother's endearment from the other line.

“Hey, asshole” you half whispered, still not quite sure if you had company, as you were too scared to look to your left and see if the other side of the queen bed you had spent the night in was occupied. Your voice was hoarse, and your throat still burned from last night's outing.

“Why do you sound like that? Did you just wake up? It’s 11 A.M., I knew you were lazy, but I didn't think it got this bad.”

“Not all of us are wannabe big-shot pro heroes. Some of us have actual jobs and have to work late sometimes.” you rolled your eyes as you lied through your teeth, you were definitely not doing anything remotely close to work last night.

You slowly got out of bed, stumbling on a foreign object. You looked down and realised you tripped over the lacy bra you were wearing last night. Well, at least you wore cute undergarments.

You grabbed the sheet off the bed and wrapped your naked body with it, uncovering the tall, lean and chiselled figure of your companion, the man’s head still lying covered by a pile of pillows. You could hear the sounds of his light snoring, indicating he was soundly asleep. Lucky bastard, he wasn’t the one having to be on the phone with the pissy spiky-haired blonde.

Your admiring was cut short by the angry screeching voice of your older brother.

“WHO ARE YOU CALLING A WANNA-BE WOMAN?!” 

You audibly cringed as the loudness reached your ears and decided to move your conversation to the on-suite bathroom, in hopes of not waking up the person you presumed was the owner of the home you were currently in.

“Why are you groaning? Are you drunk? I swear you’re worse than mom, who drinks before 6-”

“Shut up Suki, I’m not drunk. I’m groaning because you’re the first person I have to listen to and you’re ruining my plans for a peaceful morning.”

“Tch, ya’ think I actually wanna talk to you? You should be grateful I even took time out of my busy morning to call you to congratulate you on the promotion.”

“Oh, so you’re congratulating me? See, I always knew you did have a heart somewhere deep down.”

You swear you can hear him roll his red eyes.

“Shut the fuck up, I’m calling because mom couldn’t get a hold of you all morning. She’s been yelling like a mad woman, callin’ you irresponsible.”

Yeah, that sounded like your mother.

“We’re having dinner tonight. I made a reservation for the four of us, at that fancy sushi place you like. I’ll text you the details later.”

Before you could even try to tease your brother for being a softie and wanting to celebrate his sister's success, you were met by a beep indicating he had already hung up the call. You sighed, making a mental note to take time out of the day to mentally prepare yourself for the obnoxiously loud dinner that’s going to take place in a few hours.

You loved your family, you truly did. But there was no denying they were too much at times. Especially your mother and brother. You were always told, ever since you were a small child that you took more after your father, Masaru. You might have inherited your mother's beauty, wit, sense of style and talent for fashion design, but your half of the short temper inheritance seemed to just be passed over to your older brother, Katsuki. 

You looked around the huge bathroom you were in, taking in the marble counters and the glossy tiles. You peeked in the shower, not seeing any 3-in-1 shampoo, which was always a green flag in your book. You splashed some cold water on your face, which did nothing for the headache you were carrying.

As you lifted your head up and took a good look at your face in the giant mirror in front of you, you took in all your features. Your mascara was smeared, the remains of your lipstick still a bit visible on your lips. The bags under your eyes were more visible than ever. But the main thing you noticed was the purple and blue hickeys all over your neck and chest. The man you spent the night with obviously not wanting to let you go without a parting gift

“Well that’s for sure gonna be a bitch to hide.” you thought to yourself as your manicured fingers trailed over the bite marks.

You kind of remember you and your friends, tipsy off of champagne deciding to go to the opening of the newest high-end club, a few blocks away from the fancy restaurant you ate dinner at. You’re also more than sure that you spent more than a couple of hundreds of dollars on drinks and whatever else you decided to consume the night before. 

You manage to remember grinding on a tall, muscular figure, hungrily kissing him shoved against a wall of the crowded club.

“You wanna get out of here?” the deep voice made your whole body shudder.

“Yes, please” you managed to get out, not even caring if you sounded too needy, desperate for any kind of relief.

The figure smiled with sharp teeth as he took your hand and guided you toward the exit.

You couldn’t help but find the smile familiar like you’ve seen it somewhere before. Everything was still very blurry but you couldn't help the familiarity that kept sneaking up your neck, though you brush it off as a symptom of your hangover. Big mistake

You decide you’ve stalled enough and come up with an escape plan in your head. All you had to do was locate all your clothes - no, not even all of them. You could do without the underwear. You just had to grab the brand new leather pants as you just bought them yesterday and couldn’t bare leaving them in a stranger's bedroom. Your lacy bodysuit too, maybe you’ll even have time to grab a t-shirt, to minimize the effect of your walk of shame. And your heels too, you probably shouldn’t leave without your Manolos.

The plan was perfect, bulletproof even, some would probably say. The only problem was, as you quietly opened the door of the bathroom, you were met with the strangers' sleepy crimson eyes. Only, it was no stranger standing in front of you. It was Eijiro Kirishima, more famously known as one of the top heroes of Japan, Red Riot. Or, more familiar to you as your brother's best friend since their first year of high school.

“K-Kirishima?” you stuttered, your mouth standing agape from the shock Your body completely froze, as you held the sheet glued to your body with a death grip. As if covering yourself will undo the events of last night.

“Oh, fuck, Katsuki’s gonna murder me.”

#kirishima x reader #kirishima eijirou #eijirou kirishima x reader #kirishima aged up #pro hero kirishima #red riot #bakugou aged up #pro hero bakugou #bakugou!reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha fanfiction #mha fanfiction #mitsuki bakugou

[thebusinessmagnate]

Ashley Merrill: Prioritizing Your Sleep with LUNYA

According to the American Academic Medical Center for Healthcare, Education, and Research – Mayo Clinic, it is said that on average every adult requires at least 8 hours of complete and sound sleep. 

To rest well and live a healthy life long-term, you need to ‘ZZZ’ for 8 hours. Don’t you want and wish to wake up feeling well-rested, lively, better, and in a good mood? So do us all. With the rise in maintaining good skin with a good skincare routine, so is nighttime self-care when preparing to go to sleep. 

Encouraging, establishing, maintaining, and prioritizing sleep by a consistent and regular routine of 8 hours, is not just considered a healthy ritual but is also scientifically proven to contribute towards having good immunity, better performance, and a healthy brain. 

Getting 8 hours of sleep for the rest of your life can be quite difficult, but never impossible. Certain lifestyles, routines, and living can impact and disrupt quality sleep. However, ensuring that you have a routine and schedule that can accommodate rest time can help a lot.

Most importantly, the clothes you fall asleep in can be crucial to achieving quality sleep. Comfortable sleep attire is the go-to. Tight and restricted clothes can make you uncomfortable and cut off circulation which can be quite serious. 

Likewise, appropriate clothes can improve a good resting time and can enhance good sleep. Better movement, more comfortability, increased hygiene, and balanced temperatures can all be factors in the enhancement of quality sleep.

Many fashion and apparel stores have been motivated and driven to manufacture and produce clothes and apparel to improve sleep quality. Come on, doesn’t anyone want to feel comfortable or luxurious when they sleep at night?! Nightwear fashion is here to stay!

Be it by offering uniquely designed clothes for free movement or offering flexible size options for all people to encourage and accept body positivity, the world is continuously reshaping and snipping away fabrics for newer, comfortable, trendy, acceptable, and luxury sleepwear.

Therefore in this article, we shall be talking about one such Fashion and Apparel Brand – LUNYA sleepwear which was founded by an Entrepreneur, Wife, Businesswoman, and Mother – Ashley Merrill, who was passionate and determined enough to put her ideas into action in starting her business. 

Ashley Merrill – Founder:

The Founder of LUNYA is Ashley Merrill. A hard-driven and motivating entrepreneur, who is also a Wife, Mother, and Businesswoman, was inspired to start LUNYA and Lahgo (men’s sleepwear line, now selling on LUNYA’s official website). 

Wanting to always push through boundaries and navigate challenges by being exactly who she is freely and confidently, Ashley Merrill started LUNYA for women’s modern sleepwear attire and soon after launched Lahgo for men’s sleepwear attire. 

“LUNYA – considered restwear.”

Creating, designing, manufacturing, and producing sleepwear that is flattering, comfortable, and made of high-quality fabrics, LUNYA took off to the skies as soon as it was launched. 

For more interesting reads, visit The Business Magnate. 

LUNYA:

Established in the year 2012, by founder and then-CEO – Ashley Merrill, LUNYA has its headquarters in Santa Monica, California. The business is aimed at designing, manufacturing, and producing sleepwear and loungewear for women and men. 

Mission Statement – “a better-rested world.”

The signature color of the brand is an ‘Otium Tan’, along with additions of other colors such as – Purple, Warm Rust, Opulent Green, White, Black, and many more. LUNYA has adopted a simple mission statement and instilled it in its roots. 

Sustainability Goals – “Conscious Growing, Clean Production, Caring for People, Committed to the Planet.”

The fabrics used in their line are – 100% Mulberry Washable Silk, Cozy Cotton Silk, Silksweats, Organic Pima, Soft Modal, Brushed Flannel, Lofty Wool, Effortless Cashmere, and Airy Cotton, for each unique occasion and season. Curated and specifically designed to accommodate and provide comfortability for any weather and season, and for situations and circumstances in weather, season, and temperatures.

To Conclude:

LUNYA – founded by then-CEO Ashley Merrill, established its business in 2012 in Santa Monica, California. This ever-aspiring and conscious woman Entrepreneur wanted to revamp the fashion and apparel industry by selling luxurious, comfortable, and eco-friendly clothes. Manufacturing a range of sleepwear for both women and men, the fabric materials used are sustainably manufactured keeping environmental concerns in mind, all the clothes designed and sold by LUNYA are – Hypoallergenic Wool, Washable Silk, Antimicrobial, breathable, soft, airy, comfortable, and durable. Using Bluuesign System and Oeko-Tex Standard 100 in analyzing the manufacturing of clothes from raw materials and ensuring that they are processed in environmentally sustainable ways, decreasing any type of negative impacts that would befall the ecosystem and biodiversity.

Visit More : https://thebusinessmagnate.com/ashley-merrill-prioritizing-your-sleep-with-lunya/

[alyseofwonderland]

I cant stop thinking about modern Jiang Cheng/Lan Xichen because the drip on those two would be next level. Gucci from head to toe four days a week and the other days are Channel. The opulence of their everything. 

Meanwhile Wei Wuxian is just there in a hoodie and ripped jeans at the family dinner, pouting because he didn’t realize this was ‘dress up occasion’.

“Brother always dresses like that.” Lan Zhan tries to explain.

“That doesn’t make it better!” Wei Wing cries. 

“Yes it does.” Jiang Cheng smirks while sipping tea out of fine porcelain. 

#jabberwockytalkies #words #jiang cheng #lan xichen #wei ying #wei wuxian #lan zhan #lan wangji #xicheng #they sleep in silk and wake up to cashmere

[prurientpuddlejumper]

Your Skin (Is Mine!)

Frederick Chilton x Reader

Based on that ask about Frederick thinking about stealing your skin and some Discord conversations.

Warnings: Post-burn Chilton, mildly angsty beginning, domestic fluff, silliness

830 words

Your skin was like silk beneath the shiny, stiff scar tissue of his two fingertips as he trailed them down your arm. The two longest fingers on his right hand were the only ones that still had tips, in the traditional sense. Dr. Chilton supposed, functionally speaking, all ten digits had tips—a point at which they terminated. Anatomically speaking, however, the others had been amputated at the distal interphalangeal joint. Fingertips in the sense that most people intended the word. Complications from the burn.

He rolled onto his left side to face you. It was an easier angle to caress your body as you awoke, and easier to watch and listen with his blind and deaf side pressed to the mattress. You usually slept on his left for that reason, and because he felt safer with you there, occupying the unknown space in the shadows.

The sensation of your delicate skin felt different under the new coarseness of his touch. Softer. The way he felt about touching you was different now, too. It seemed wrong, almost, that he should be allowed to feel, to enjoy intimately, someone whole when he was so broken.

There were times he felt worthless and ugly.

And there were times the weight of self-pity was too suffocating to survive, and a darker instinct bubbled to the surface to replace it. Then, the questions of why transformed from a trembling, “Why do you let me into your bed? Why do you smile when you wake to this face?” into a bitter, “Why me? Why did I deserve this and not you?”

This morning, he trailed his fingers over your smooth skin with envy.

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you quirked a brow at his intense stare. Eyebrows, he thought—yet another feature of yours mocking his deficiencies.

“It is a grave injustice for you to be this perfect, you know,” he said. “It is hardly fair, I think.”

Your mildly worried features eased into a smile. “Are you thinking about my skin again?”

“Mmh. About stealing it.”

“Frederick!” You laughed, rolling over to bury your face against his neck, puffs of hot breath hitting the crook of his shoulder. “Darling, if I could give you my skin, I would.”

“Oh, hush.”

****

“Dear, have you seen my pullover? The burgundy?” There was an edge of annoyance in Frederick’s voice as he searched his closet.

The cashmere one? The one that was hand-wash only, which you threw into the hamper with every intention of separating it out before running the laundry?

“Nope,” you replied.

“Ah, well. This one will have to do. Would you help me with the buttons?”

It was too easy. Given his suspicious nature, you wouldn’t expect him to be so bad at spotting lies, but he was absolutely gullible when it came to you. You almost felt guilty, but it would be easier to order a replacement sweater without him noticing than to face his wrath.

About an hour later, Frederick’s voice rang out through the house.

“THAT IS IT! I AM COMING FOR YOUR SKIN!”

He found it.

You set off running just in time to see him limping down the hall at a furious pace, waving a cat-sized burgundy sweater in his fist.

“Just you wait!” he snarled.

Yelping, you fled up the stairs as he chased you while making increasingly elaborate threats about re-purposing your skin for his own personal use. He caught up just as you conveniently cornered yourself in the bedroom, throwing yourself on the bed as he crashed down on top of you.

“You are mine, now,” he cackled in an over-sinister tone, his fingers digging into the sides of your ribs.

“No! No, no no nooooo!” you laughed, squirming under the tickle torture until tears were streaming from your eyes.

“Wool—” he grabbed the hem of your shirt “—does not—” he lifted it, exposing your stomach “—go in—” he pinned your hands to your side “—the dryer!” He snapped his teeth once in the air before landing just above your belly button and giving a sharp nip that sent goosebumps racing up your skin.

You loved being privy to this side of Dr. Chilton—the silly side that his acquaintances wouldn’t believe existed if you told them.

“It… it wasn’t me!” you said.

Another bite made you cry out. They weren’t hard enough to draw blood, but you could tell he planned on leaving a collection of colorful little bruises.

“It must have been the housekeeper!”

Frederick gasped. “The lies I could forgive, but you have earned another for besmirching the good name of Mrs. Pérez.”

“Ah!”

#frederick chilton #Frederick Chilton x reader #gender-neutral reader #My writing

[shittylongcatposts]

Personal headcanons for Jumin

A/N: Hello guys!^^ Here’s a list of some hcs i have for Jumin, i always wanted to write them down and finally took the time to do so. Hope you like it!!  Oh there are a few nsfw ones at the end too, those are hidden under the cut :3 Have fun!! 

Appearance:

the moment it starts raining or snowing his hair gets wild and stands up in all different directions. Which is really annoying if he is about to attend a meeting or a photoshoot

has really broad shoulders, perfect for leaning onto them if you need it. (they got broader in hid teenage years from his swimming. does that make sense??)

has very long, legs and is very sturdy and also tall boi confirmed

doesn’t really have a six pack, because I think he’d focus mostly on cardio training when he exercises. it keeps him healthy

has really nice large hands, a little bit veiny, with long straight fingers, uses lotion over the night to keep them soft

Jumin has little to no beard growth, so he is always clean shaved, otherwise there would just be a few stubbles here and there and he doesn’t like that. (loves it when you’re shaving him- he trusts you completely)

Relationship

Jumin loves it when you start pouting after he teased you -  it’s cute

cares a lot about your wellbeing and your health, so if there’s a problem he’d love to help you in every way possible. 

loves to watch you when you’re knitting, stitching, dancing, painting, writing - everything. You’re very fascinating to him, and he loves it when you poke out your tongue while you’re focused on your task. 

loves cooking with you and trying out new recipes

he definitely spoils you. Saw something you like? Jumin will make sure to buy it for you. Want to go out with him? He’d take you to all the super expensive restaurants you never even dared to set a foot inside. 

When you work in a job you don’t want to quit, even though Jumin already made himself very clear you don’t have to work, he’d support you at all times

When you both had a stressful day he’d draw in a bath for you two. He loves bathing with you, it saves water but also calms him down a lot. Jumin loves to scrub your back and massage it to get rid of the stress. He definitely plays with your hair then too, while you cover Jumin in foam (i bet he lit up some candles and got two glasses of wine for you too!!) 

At night you two always get ready for bed together, while changing clothes, brushing teeth and everything you talk about this and that

loves slow dancing in the kitchen with you, before you two cook together.

His eyes always sparkle when you two sit right in front of each other when you’re eating dinner. 

At official parties/ other festivities Jumin always makes sure to show everybody you belong to him, from time to time he’d share small pecks with you or squeeze your shoulders when he stands behind you 

His eyes are always following you, a proud smile on his lips, but the moment he sees somebody hitting on you he will pop out of nowhere and put an arm around your waist, smoothly joining the conversation, maybe even give you a quick kiss. 

since he never really received many hugs - he would have to get used to them at first, but after a while he’ll grow quite fond of them and every other physical contact. Jumin loves to cuddle with you after a hard day of work or right after he wakes up.

He loves to be the big spoon, the way you fit perfectly in his arms as if you were made for each other. But from time to time when the threads come back and pull tighter around his chest or after he wakes up from a nightmare he loves to lean onto you or to be the little spoon. With his head on your chest, your heartbeat in his ear, your hands softly stroking his black hair and the soft words you whisper he’d feel safe and at ease. 

This young man would never miss the chance to sleep right next to you and his beloved Elizabeth the 3rd

Oh btw he really loves it when you cuddle with her, his most beloved angels get along so well and that makes his heart jump and skip a beat.

NSFW (ok so this is just me being horny af- sorry >.<)

Appearance: 

Jumin gives off quite the big dick energy so… there’s gotta be something to it. I mean he’s got a pretty nice nose after all and you know what they say… 

I don’t think he is clean shaved, maybe he does it from time to time but I don’t think he cares a lot about it. 

has a clean shaved chest though (it’s like his beard growth- only a few hairs every few centimeters, so it would look very weird if he’d let them grow)

has some veins on his penis (one of them is pretty long) 

now his pretty fingers come in handy too!!! 2. While doing the do:

Jumin loves to feel your smooth skin on his own. It reminds him of cashmere and silk, two of his favourite feelings on his skin. 

The young man loves the way you draw circles on his chest or his inner thigh- this really gets him going, and leaves a burning sensation on his skin. The higher you go up on his thigh  (or the deeper you wander on his torso) the more he yearns for your touch right where a suspicious bulge starts to grow >.< 

he loves to blindfold you, or to tie you up with one of his ties... 

ok let’s not lie here, he loves bdsm and i don’t think there are a lot of things he wouldn’t try out with you

He also asks for your consent!!! Always! Thats very important to him

also safe sex is very important to him too, I bet he makes sure you’re both healthy before doing the do

would never do something you don’t like or don’t want to do. 

loves receiving but is also very down to give and get you in the mood more than enough. He’s only ready when you are already writhing beneath him, moaning his name over and over again. 

He loves to watch you please yourself, that way he gets to know what you love the most, it also turns him on so bad. 

He doesn’t like to masturbate on his own, but when he’s on a business trip or you are staying somewhere else (wait that would be strang ebut oh well) he’d be down for some dirty words you exchange over the phone, only then or when he needs to relieve some pressure he’d give himself a few strokes, twists and turns. But he misses you all the way. 

The first few times he’d hide his boner, but after being together for a quite while he’d just walk right up to you, either whispering into your ear or hugging you from behind to let you know that his thoughts are running wild

Jumin loves to tease… in every way. 

ice cubes

deep thrusts

he would never admit it, but Jumin really likes it when you roll him over and take control. 

tries to give you shivers while doing the do, lets his fingers or his lips merely brush over your skin to drive you insane. 

when you’re doing doggy style he loves to pull your hair (especially when you still have a ponytail - then he wraps it around his hand and pulls just enough to not hurt you)

deep thrusts

loves the feeling of you tight around his dick, especially when you reach your peak

with your fingernails digging inside his skin, trying to pull him tighter in your embrace, wishing you would never have to part away from him anymore... 

never was into sending dick pics, only if you’d like to receive one (but it’ll be a bit blurry after all), but if you like to send him a naughty pic he always loses his composure. 

it drives him wild when you play all innocent. especially when you wear lace underwear/ lingerie, nice clothes (which are also revealing), a collar, cat ears, or a cat tail... >.<

He loves to hold you in his arms when he cums, and likes the feeling of his twitching member inside of you...

is all in for aftercare, and maybe some more rounds after that! 

but also gets very sleepy afterwards and cuddly. 

that’s it! Bye^^

#mystic messenger #mysme #jumin han #mm jumin #shitty longcat #juminxreader #god the lemon part is now longer than the other parts #haha #whoops

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Protective Service

John Wick x Reader (A/n- Hopefully this chapter isn’t too confusing. Flashbacks in italics)

Masterlist   Chapter 1   Chapter 2   Chapter 3

Warnings- Mentions of murder/violence, angst

Chapter 4 Beautiful Nightmares

Drenched and breathless, Y/n awoke with a startle, her wide eyes confused by the darkness. It took a moment before she’d realized where she was; in her bedroom at her penthouse, safe and alone. Her chest was dominated by heavy, uneven breaths and the black silk of her simple, lace edged camisole clung to her skin uncomfortably. Even as Y/n tried to settle herself, inhaling deeply through her overly dry mouth, she couldn’t push the flashes from her very vivid dream away;

A couple, swaying in each other’s arms as pale yellow moonlight washes the dark wooden panels constituting the floor of the back porch as soft music wafts from a radio on an end table. The woman’s giggles are soft as her husband leads them in a  slow, casual waltz and not too far off, after she’s been told to not stray near the lake, a young girl no older than six, plays with a plastic fairy wand, entertaining herself. She loves fairies; she wishes they were real but her mother always reminds her that they are, and that she’d the most beautiful one of them all.

It was one of Y/n’s fondest memories of her parents, the last one that had really embedded itself in her memory before the bad. Their love was one that seemed to stand out above rest, though, Y/n supposed that at that age, she couldn’t have known much about romantic love anyways. She hadn’t learned much more about afterwards either, only that it was destructive. That in the end, all it could do was hurt you.

The fire below the rustic, cobblestone mantle laps viciously at the iron barrier separating it from the rest of the sitting room. Not too far off, near the designated holder, one of the pokers lay forgotten. He hasn’t really spoken to anyone in days, not even his seven year old daughter and his eyes have taken on this sort of vacancy that makes its almost frightening to look at him. She’s scared of him, and the only person that would know what to do is gone. Meredith is gone, for good. They took her. It’s been three days since they found her on his birthday, three days since he knew that everything had changed, even if he can’t quite explain it to their daughter. Three days since she’s been asking for her mommy and three days since she’d gone from adoring him to fearing the shell of what he used to be.

The dream, it had taken a nightmarish turn and at some point, Y/n wasn’t watching her parents dance in the backyard while she chased fire files, instead, she was standing in the doorway of the sitting room, watching her father stare that the fireplace, wondering how the bravest man she knew could seem so lost. She hadn’t understood then, and she wouldn’t, not until the funeral, where a large service had taken place at a mortuary and the police had showed up, poking and prodding until someone, Donavan’s father, who had a long standing connection with the commissioner’s office, had stepped in and scared them off. That was probably the day he’d really changed, her father. After that evening he’d gone from broken to cold and ruthless. No one stood in his way because they were simply afraid to, and without his wife as a buffer, things had changed in his organization quickly. Trust could no longer be borrowed, it was earned and traitors were appropriately dealt with. If he couldn’t bring back his wife, then he’d definitely vent his frustrations where he could.

After Meredith passed, Y/n had clung to her father, even if he’d never been the same. He’d cut out most of his affectionate traits and though they were close, most of his time was spent molding her into someone unshakeable. Someone who wouldn’t ever have to feel the way he did. It was working too, by her teens, Y/n had developed into a stolid adolescent, able to suppress whatever she was feeling so she could one day grow into the woman he’d be proud of. The woman he’d never meet.

Money, it makes everything easier. People like you better, you can shop wherever you want and know one bats a lash when you do something you shouldn’t have. Or maybe, just maybe, that last thing isn’t a consequence of money. Maybe it’s fear. It doesn’t matter though, she’s used to that too, the look of fear in people’s eyes when she walks into a room. Even her father’s muscle sometimes squirm around her, there’s no telling what she’ll do or say, she’s just so…...vulturine. Face of an angel with the prowl of a predator. But even predators have bad days, terrible days, the one that becomes their worst day. 

Hers came after one of the most mundane afternoons of her life; she’d gone to a little pastry shop in the city with the son of one of her father’s affiliates. He’s a nice boy, just a couple years her senior and while letting people in is hard, Jack understands the life. Y/n’s dad likes him too. Her dad. “Daddy?” She calls out, pushing one half of the front double door closed behind her as she steps inside, the heel of her booth thudding quietly on the hardwood. It’s eerily quiet in the manor and in the air hangs a metallic smell that she knows all too well. The combination of gunpowder and blood. Usually, it's the smell she associates with her father and the business he’s training her to take over, but that evening, there’s a distinct portentousness that mingles with it. It’s too quiet, too cold, as if someone forgot to turn up the heat to combat the temperate fall evenings. 

“Daddy?” she calls again, only to gasp upon entering his home office. The white rug dominating the room is saturated with warm red and some of it’s even seeped out to the hardwood, probably staining it and almost causing Y/n’s to slip as she hurriedly enters. “Daddy,” she emits a choked breath as she sinks to her knees, not caring if the blood soaks the blue denim of her jeans. Immediately, she pulls off her scarf, doing the only thing that seems logical in that moment, pressing it to the gaping gash on his neck, trying to quell the rapid, almost cinematic flow. That’s sort of how it feels too, like Y/n’s been plopped into a movie, because that can’t be real, her father can’t be dying in her arms. “Hold on, okay?” Her mind is going twenty miles a minute and while she knows that there are people that she can call for help, all she can think is that she needs to help him now. 

He tries to speak, though, he’s literally drowning in his own blood, and that’s the first time that Y/n realizes that his wounds are mortal. Not just the slashed throat, but also several stab wounds to the chest. The sounds are sickly and stomach turning, and the sight isn’t much different, but still, she persists, he won’t see her undone. Even if inside, Y/n feels like she’s being ripped apart; torn to shreds by winter breeze. The feeling makes something change inside her, and as she presses the rich cashmere to the split in her father’s neck, Y/n feels the surge of something inhumane shoot up inside. The last shred, the only person she can truly care for has been snatched away, and in that moment, she becomes what he’s wanted her to be for the past thirteen years, made in his image. Utterly ruthless, unashamedly vengeful and undeniably frightening. 

The dream, even after several minutes of sitting up in her California king, stuck with her, and if Y/n shut her eyes, she could still feel the warmth of blood on her hands and hear the sounds that her father made as he struggled to take his last breaths. It had been a while since she’d last had a dream like that, but Y/n would have preferred to attribute the runnings of her subconscious to the events of the past couple weeks; having to clean up the mess of a betrayal but more so her mother’s birthday. With a heavy, deflated sigh, she flopped back, moving messy hair away from her face and dragging her fingers along her scalp. 

The clock on her bedside read as twenty minutes to four and despite the hour, Y/n knew that committing to slumber soon wouldn’t have been possible, so instead, she slunk out of bed, not even bothering with her robe as she slipped her feet into a pair of comfortable, fluffy flip flops before heading towards the door.

It was a soft, hesitant knocking that roused John from his slumber. A heavy sleeper might not have heard it, but his ears were trained, never missing a thing, and he awoke almost immediately. Groggily, he took a moment to blink sleep out of his eyes as he weaned his hand out from under the pillow, where he usually kept a pistol. Registering the time as quarter to four in the morning, John also noted the near darkness of the large room, the only light besides that of the neon green numbers of the digital alarm clock being whatever filtered through the thin, grey curtains; some from apartments in the opposing building, a street lamp and the quarter moon. It was enough to wash the shiny marble floor with a white glow, though not nearly enough to disturb John's sleep.

Again, the knocking on his bedroom door called his attention, and with a soft sigh, John flipped the thick duvet off his legs, planting his feet on the floor and padding barefoot towards the door. "Y/n?" He knitted his brows upon the sight of her; dressed in the suggestive pajama set he'd glimpsed her in earlier, the same one that had brought with it all sorts of crude thoughts as he'd fallen to sleep. 

"Hey," she breathed meekly, tongue darting out to moisten her bare lips as Y/n tucked some hair behind her ears. She seemed so unlike her usual self, a little unsure, and much…...softer, almost harmless even. The pale white light coming from the opposing window illuminated her delicate features with a near bluish, ethereal glow. "I uh," she cleared her throat, standing a bit straighter, "Sorry for waking you."

That was odd, she never apologized. Shaking his head dismissively, John’s hand slid up the edge of the door as he slid against the frame, fleeting sleepiness disturbing his focus. Or maybe it was something else. “It’s okay,” something about the mood felt…...off. John couldn’t describe it really, like the air was swirling with something electric, making everything a little hazy, “What are doing here? It’s late.”

“I know,” Y/n didn’t seem to know what to do with her hands, and John couldn’t help but notice the absence of confidence in her disposition. It was so unlike her to be so unsure of herself and jittery. “It’s just,” she hesitated, mulling on her next words, “I can’t stop thinking about you John,” his name was a breath of her lips and when Y/n finally reached out, her palm hovering over the sleeve of his t-shirt before landing on his bicep. “I know its……..sudden, but it's true, and I can’t take the not knowing anymore. John-”

“Its okay,” he reassured softly, his eyes softening as he stepped forward, reaching out to place a hand on her hip, he raised the other to brush a couple strands away from her face, “I feel the same. There’s just something about you,” he searched her gaze, still cupping her face and his thumb ghosted the apple of Y/n’s cheek, “It just pulls me in. I’ve tried Y/n, but I can’t get you out of my head.”

“Good,” sliding her hand up his shoulder, she embraced the side of his neck with her warm touch, leaning into John as she stood on her toes, “Have you been dreaming about me John?” He could feel her breath fanning his lips and feel the warmth of her skin emanating from her top, “The way I dream about you?” Y/n pecked the corner of his lips, curling her arm around his neck.

“Yes,” he shuddered, feeling her lips travel along his jaw, his crotch twitching appreciatively at their proximity. His arms locked around Y/n’s frame, ensuing she was flush against him and his senses had never felt so awakened, making John acutely aware of how her full breasts were pressed to his chest, and how silken her skin felt when a couple of his fingers evaded the hem of her blouse, gracing the lower part of her spine. “I dream that I’m touching you, feeling you around me. I dream that…..”

“That what?” Y/n reached up to nibble on his earlobe, her free hand journeying between their bodies to grope him through the thick material of his sweats, “What else do you dream about John?”

“That you’re mine,” involuntarily, he bucked into her expert touch, his grip on her tightening possessively, “I want you to be mine,” he growled, a surge of jealousy pluming in his chest at the thought of Y/n being this way with Donavan. 

As one of John’s palms searched her warm skin, eventually reaching up to cradle Y/n’s upper back, she brought her lips over his once again, sharing their longing breaths, “Then make me yours,” Y/n tilted her head, leaning in and almost letting their lips brush, teasing him. “Do it John,” she prompted enticingly, “Make me yours.”

In an instant, he’d crashed his lips to Y/n’s feverishly, holding her in place and humming roughly into her mouth as his only response. Y/n stumbled forward when John stepped back into the room. The way she responded against him was unmatched and for just a second, every bit of guilt he’d harbored because of his growing feelings for her vanished, if only it could stay gone.

“John,” a familiar voice intruded, urgency growing as he ignored it, “John!”

It wasn’t Y/n, it couldn’t be her after all, and when John finally pulled away, he was greeted with the most gut wrenching sight; his Helen, standing in the doorway, hurt tugging at her features. She looked the way she did just before things got bad, before the long hospital stays and the machines. So impossibly beautiful, so incomparably pure and right then, so undeniably wounded. Her eyes, the ones he’d fallen for upon matching them for the very first time, welled up with tears, shining in the low light and her paled features were smeared with the twinge of betrayal. 

“How could you?” She sobbed, just as John untangled himself from Y/n, not noting the way her face changed, focused only one one thing; his wife.

How could he?

“Helen!” John brushed past Y/n, following Helen out into the hall, just as the hem of her white dress fled the corner. But he could hardly run fast enough and before John could reach for her arm, she was gone.

“Helen,” John shot up in his bed, breathing heavily as he lunged forward. Even with his eyes now open, adjusting themselves to being so suddenly opened, he swore he could still see Helen as if she were right there, at the foot of his bed, tears in her eyes as a result of his betrayal. It was exactly what he’d been afraid of; betraying her memory. John couldn’t do that to her, he’d fought for his life just so he could live to remember her, the love they had. The only love he ever had.

Scrubbing his hands over his face and then through his hair, before turning on the lamp at his bedside and pulling open the drawer of his nightstand. What he sought laid at the top, and without hesitation, John brought out a picture and a little card out, holding them each in one hand. Every time he looked at the photograph, the memory would come back like it was yesterday, that day at the beach, when in each other’s arms was the only place either of them wanted to be. They’d known she was sick then too, but times were simpler and treatment had been working well. They had time, time to build a home, plan a life, be in love. 

Before Helen, that day he’d laid eyes on her in that restaurant, John didn’t think his heart had ever beat that fast. For a long time, he lived, fought for his life in the military and then under the mob, but when he met her, John, for the very first time, felt truly alive. And when she died a year and a half prior, part of him did too. Even if the love he had for her would never waver.

A lone tear fell dripped onto the photo and John’s teeth tugged on his lower lip to suppress a sob as he opted to shift his burning gaze to the letter. One of the last things he had to remember her by. Daisy was long gone; stolen by a fool who’d cashed for an untimely death, but John had held on to that letter. The only reason he’d still had it was because he’d had left it in his car, which, thankfully had been in the shop when his house had been destroyed by another dead fool. That card had kept him sane in dark times and had given him a glimmer of hope in quieter moments. 

“....you still need something, someone, to love.”

“........and now that I have found my peace, find yours.”

Loving again didn’t even seem possible, and it didn’t seem right either. And even if the glimmer of affection he felt of Y/n should have given John hope for a better tomorrow, she was tainted, corrupted; there was no peace there. Not for him and certainly not for them together. 

Bringing the picture to his lips, John swallowed tightly as he kissed Helen’s image, desperately wishing that things could have been different. He’d have burned the world down if it would save her life. But it wouldn’t have, and it was taking time, but he was learning to accept that. Returning the keepsakes to their security, John pulled himself out of bed, trudging out towards the kitchen hoping to find some remedy for the dryness in his throat. 

As usual, his steps were silent and hardly noticeable and John was just about to turn off from the corridor and enter when something stopped him in his tracks. At first, he’d thought his ears were betraying him, that perhaps he was still caught in his all too vivid dream, until he poked his head out, confirming the more logical explanation. Much to his surprise, Y/n stood in the kitchen, a wine glass on the counter, near a bottle while she had her back pressed against the large integrated refrigerator, head bent and hands pressed to her face as she elicited muffled sobs. Her frame shook slightly and her breaths were audible and ragged.

The sight was more than peculiar, it was surprising and wildly unexpected, yet still, John yearned to go into the kitchen and encourage her towards his chest and hold her until she was okay. Even if he’d had caught her shedding a tear or two in her bedroom a couple mornings ago, he’d never taken Y/n for the type that cried her eyes out when no one was looking, though he supposed that everyone had their limits, things that broke them down and reduced them to a state where nothing else seemed possible. His was Helen, he wondered if Y/n’s was her mother. 

A loud, hitching breath left John dashing for cover, pressing his back to the wall, and peeking out once again soon after, just in time to see Y/n slide down the silver door onto the floor as untamed sobs grew louder. He ached, physically, to go over to her, but the idea weighed heavy on his mind and knowing Y/n, she probably wasn’t seeking comfort anyway, so instead, John gave her what he thought she’d appreciate more; the solitude that he usually craved when reduced to tears, toeing back down the hall, and hoping that by morning she’d be okay.

******

Tagging-@harrisongslimited @magnificentclodpiebanana @keandrews @greenmanalishi  @rdjloverxxx @danceoftwowolves  @planetkt @wheretheriversrunintothesea  @jupiterdawngirl

#keanu reeves #john wick #john wick x reader #john wick fanfic #keanu reeves fanfic #keanu reeves x you #keany reeves y/n #john wick x y/n #ff #fanfic #fanfiction #keanu reeves fanfiction #john wick fanfiction #protective service #chapter 4 #beautiful nightmares #requested

[imagine-moonlovers]

Request: what boys think is cute on Eloise ✌️😗 I’m loving your posts

I’m assuming you mean clothes. If it’s something else, feel free to ask again!

Boys = LIs + Neil

Vladimir - period clothing, especially Victorian one. It makes him feel a little less out of touch with the world, and it looks good on Eloise, so that’s double plus.

Beliath - hehe. Underwear, a bathrobe, a towel. Anything half naked that’s accidentally sexy, he’s a goddamn sex demon. The sexy cat lingerie (especially with accessories) or a virgin-killer sweater are a sure hit with him.

Ivan - cute Japanese street fashion. Pastels, oversized clothes, plaid skirts, platform shoes

Aaron - his shirts, especially when she sleeps in them and wakes up in the evening. Seeing Eloise in his shirt, very oversized on her, makes his heart flutter. He also likes it when she wears heels, because he finds the clacking sound they make as she walks cute.

Ethan - overalls, whether they’re with pants or a skirt, with an oversized shirt underneath. He’s also quite fascinated with denim street fashion, especially ripped pants.

Raphael - he can’t see them, but he can feel them, so anything soft, preferably cashmere or woolen sweater, or silk and satin.

Neil - cute flowy dresses that reach a little below the knee, usually in bright or pastel colours, patterned and solid, because it makes Eloise look like a fairy and give her an ethereal feel, especially matched with her white eyes.

#ml #moonlight lovers #ml vladimir #ml beliath #ml ivan #ml aaron #ml ethan #ml raphael #ml neil #ml imagines #moonlight lovers imagines #ml headcanons #moonlight lovers headcanons #imagine moonlovers #Anonymous

[shadoedseptmbr]

🛏☁️ for Aedan, ❤🌡 for Jacen, 👔💀 for Scout!

Sleeping headcanon for Aedan: So I’ve mentioned that she can sleep literally anywhere but she always gets cold when she sleeps, to the point that she generally wakes herself up after a few hours, shivering. One of the reasons she occasionally tries to catnap in her climate controlled armor.  It helps a lot once she’s got Kaidan to snuggle with.  

Soft headcanon for Aedan: Since she rarely had anything to spend her pay on, preferring Alliance provided room and board, she’s been sending a good chunk of it to the orphanage where she was raised and the retirement convent where the two nuns she recalls fondly ended up.

Romantic headcanon for Jacen: He’s a great date, loves to ferret out what would be an ideal fun time.  If Tali wants to spend the whole evening on the couch, rewatching her show, then that’s what they’re going to do even if he has to shoot people to make it happen.  He’s a little slower to get the idea that what she wants is just to share time, the two of them, but he absolutely does his best to carve out that time once he sees how important it is to her. (i’m still feeling his romantic side out, honestly)

Sick headcanon for Jacen: He doesn’t get sick a lot, but it’s about the grumpiest you’ll see him. It’s the only time he doesn’t want to be around people (and that gets a little worse, once he and Tali are a thing) and he tends to hole up with a gallon of hot honey mint lemonade and try to sweat it out.  

Clothing headcanon for Scout:  Scout is my *only* clothes oriented Shepard.  She likes having things hand tailored, she’s fond of expensive fabric.  She prefers well-fitted, flowing trousers and cashmere sweaters for her day to day dressing, if she doesn’t have to be in a uniform but still needs to be presentable. She’s got actual pyjamas, button ups in cotton, flannel, and silk.  She also has a small collection of shoes, in candy colors. She spent a good chunk of the Illusive Man’s money on restocking her wardrobe and stashed it in a Citadel storage locker under her grandmother’s name before she turned herself into the Alliance It was her third stop once she got back after Mars.  

Injury headcanon for Scout: She broke her arm trying to teach herself to use her biotics, when they kicked in.  Flung herself into a granite boulder on the shore at her grandmother’s villa.  She hurt herself a few times learning the biotic charge, too -cracked some ribs, fractured her sternum- but refused to acknowledge it except to Doctor Chakwas.  She *hated* having to reorient to her biotics again, felt like she’d been tossed back into awkward teenage nonsense.  

#sept memes #springagainafter #aedan shepard #scout shepard #jacen shepard #thank you!

[uzumaki-rebellion]

“Stark’s New Intern” Chp. 12

Summary: Erik finally gets what he wants...

"You bitches ugly and dusty and none of y'all matter Money all on me, I'm feeling real flattered Walk in this bitch, straight drippin' like I was tryna get to the toilet,

but I couldn't hold bladder First class only when I'm not on the jet All the white folks keep breakin' they neck They tryna see if I'm black and a threat,

but I'm covered in green, they like "Look it's Shrek!" Bankteller sayin' my shit froze (How?)

Pockets thick as hell like Lizzo (Wow) Mukbang the beat like Trish, hoe (Damn) If you piss me off, it's a shit show 'Cause I'mma do some shit that you can't believe

Smack a bitch into Christmas Eve (Uh-huh)…"

cupcakKe—"Grilling Niggas"

Prince Francesco of Monaco stared at Prince Erik of Wakanda by way of Oakland with a glare so hot, the entire room could feel the angry heat wafting off of him. Erik pushed a cool half a million worth of chips into the center of the table and waited for the perturbed man sitting across from him to put up or fold.

Tony had a hand gripped to his face and his other hand around his stomach. Four hours of card playing had come down to this moment. Two final players facing off. Tension was heavy like wet cement bags on Erik's chest even though he felt confident that the other Prince was bluffing.

Erik had been grilling these fools the entire time he was there. He felt a little cocky about it too.

"Sun is about to come up, bruh," Erik teased.

Tony's top lip teased up into a smirk and the other men watching kept quiet. The final pot was ten million dollars in total.

Francesco grumbled and when Erik thought he would fold, the man called him out and pushed even more chips to the center. Erik spread his cards out on the table.

"Fuck," was all Francesco could say as his sorry hand was revealed.

A couple of the spectators clapped and Tony walked over and slapped his hand on Erik's back.

"Be gracious," Tony whispered to him and Erik stood up from his seat to shake out his stiff legs.

"Here ya go, big winner," Delores said handing him a shot of tequila.

Erik downed it before Tony could say anything.

The dealer collected all the chips and a silver-haired Asian woman who sat to the side quietly observing the entire time Erik was there, pulled out a chrome laptop. Tony and Francesco each handed the woman blank black cards and she swiped them on an attachment hooked to the laptop.

"Exchange complete," she said handing the cards back to the men.

Tony's eyes took in the room.

"I thank you for this evening Francesco….gentlemen until next time—"

"Wait…wait…I demand a rematch. Bring this young man to Monaco."

Francesco’s face looked pleasant enough, but his tone was serious.

"That can be arranged, but we need to get going. Night."

Erik watched Tony put on his blazer and button it up. He slid on a pair of shades and Erik followed him out to an awaiting town car.

When the driver pulled away from the museum, Tony let out a relieved sigh.

"Holy shit, Stevens. I thought I was going to shit a brick those last few hands. You played Francesco like a goddamned cello."

"He's a pro—"

"But he met his match. For years I've been wanting to beat that spoiled imp, but he always comes out on top most games. I've been lucky a couple of times, but to see him shut down like that…fucking golden. Good job, kiddo. I owe you."

"A trip to Monaco—"

"To work…and maybe a little bit of play if you do well at the Expo. You ready to work?"

"I think I'm ready. How bad can it be with a bunch of little kids?"

"Oh jeez, they are going to eat you up."

Tony smiled and leaned back in his seat.

"Thanks for coming when I called. You saved me the ass beating of the year."

"Do I get a cut?"

"I'll think about it."

"You trippin', I should get half."

"You played with my money—"

"But I won money with that money."

"I'll think about fair compensation—"

"Betta have a lot of zero's with it."

"You hungry? We can stop at an all-night spot I know."

"Nah, got somewhere to be."

Tony glanced at his platinum watch.

"Really? Where?"

"That's my business," Erik said. He couldn't keep the grin off of his face thinking about Athena.

"Oh…I see. A date."

"Somethin' like that."

They pulled in front of a brand-new skyscraper and the driver opened Tony's door.

"Have fun on your date."

Erik stared up at the building.

"My East Coast digs. Have your presentation and schedule mock-up ready by Thursday."

Erik nodded and Tony walked to his New York penthouse.

The driver dropped Erik off at the hotel and he rode the elevator marveling at the amount of money he was able to play with just on the whim of rich white men, who wouldn't blink if they never saw it again. The re-match Francesco wanted was pure ego.

Erik slipped into his suite, showered, and shaved quickly then checked the time. Six in the morning. He changed into soft white linen slacks and a creamy purple Brunelli Cucinelli cashmere sweater. Slipping on dark tan dock loafers, he felt relaxed enough to appear casual, even with his pocket stuffed with condoms. They had all day to lounge, and he made sure to have enough rubbers to keep Athena in her bed until it grew dark again.

Sauntering over to her room, Erik smelled good, looked, good, and felt good enough to rock Athena's world. The anticipation was bubbling inside of him like tea on tap about to whistle.

Knocking on her door softly, he waited for her to answer, and for a slight moment, he did worry that she had changed her mind when she didn't answer. If she had changed her mind, Athena was the type to text him and let him know early on.

When she opened the door in a silk half robe, all that deep cleavage teasing him, he felt his dick wake up a little bit, and he flashed her all his big white teeth. He tried to step into her room, but she blocked access. He frowned.

"You got somebody else in there?"

The rumble in his voice caught her attention and she bit her lip all sexy and that ticked him off. All that teasing talk and she had some other dude up in her room and didn't text a nigga? Fuck that. Erik skimmed past her. The thick hotel room curtains were drawn closed, so the room was still dark. The tv was on. One queen bed was disheveled and empty, but the other bed—

"Hey, Erik!"

The bubbly face of Maria greeted him. She wore a t-shirt and probably her favorite Winnie-The-Pooh pajama bottoms she wore at their apartment back in Los Angeles under the bed covers. Erik glanced back at Athena. She shrugged and closed the door.

"Maria and I had a little serious girl talk last night, and watched a little tv."

Athena climbed onto the bed she was using and Erik just stood in the room like a big dummy.

"You're up early," Maria said eyeing his clothes, "we have snacks if you want some. I was going to order room service for pancakes. You guys want pancakes?"

"Um...Athena?"

Erik held up his hands.

Maria's cell phone rang. She answered it.

"What are we doing?" he asked.

"She's just going to hang out for a bit. She had a bad time with you-know-who again. Not sex, just…awkward closure…I'm letting her hang out for a bit. She'll leave soon enough, just be cool, okay? It was pretty rough for her."

"Let's go to my room then."

"Climb in."

"I want to be alone with you—"

"You will be. Erik, we have all day and night. Be a friend, please? She's vulnerable right now."

"She has Giselle for that—"

"I'm not going to kick her out—"

"I'll do it then—"

Athena grabbed his arm and pulled him onto her bed.

"Kick your shoes off and relax."

Erik used his toes to release his shoes from his feet slowly and he climbed on top of the bed covers. He leaned his back against the headboard. Maria chattered and it only took Erik a few seconds to realize she was talking to Giselle. Erik held his forehead with his hand waiting for Maria to finish.

"How was the thing with Stark?"

"Good. It was a private poker game."

"Really? Why did he need you?"

"I played for him. He bankrolled me with some high rollers and I kicked butt."

"Serious? How much?"

Erik whispered in her ear. Her eyes grew big.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

He shook his head.

"Keep that to yourself. I'm tryna get a players fee from him."

His eyes drifted from hers down to the top of her robe. Her heavy breasts strained against the silk. He rested a hand on one breast and squeezed softly. Her eyes darted over to Maria.

"You can wait," Athena said. But she didn't move his hand.

Eventually, Maria got off her cell, but then the next thing Erik knew, she and Athena got caught up in a show about young fashion designers competing for runway shows and the time ticked on for two hours as the two women cackled about clothes and yelled at the t.v.

Athena ordered room service for everyone and they all ate pancakes and omelets with crispy bacon and Erik turned grumpy when the women got caught up in another reality tv show. Athena patted his head and pulled back the covers for him to cuddle under with her. Maria saw the action but said nothing about it as she snacked on more bacon.

Wrapping his arm around Athena's waist, Erik closed his eyes and rested his head on a pillow, allowing his body to savor the warmth of Athena and the sweet cloying smell of her skin.

Even with the sun up outside, the room remained quite dark with the curtains still shut, and he found himself drifting in and out of sleep. The third time he woke up from a short two-minute cat nap, he found himself getting warm and pulled off his socks and then his slacks.

"What are you doing?" Athena said glancing over at Maria who was focused on the tv.

"I'm hot with these clothes on."

He pulled the sweater over his head and Athena's eyes scanned his chest with hunger in her eyes.

"I'm keeping my boxers on."

She rolled her eyes.

"Had I known this was going to turn into a slumber party I woulda worn sweats," he grumbled.

He curled around her body again and let his arm brush against her breasts. He could feel her softness better and his dick chubbed up by being pressed into her backside.

"You making me hard," he whispered in her ear.

"I haven't even done anything," she whispered back.

"You ain't gotta do nothing but back that ass against me. Witcho fine ass."

She giggled and rubbed her hand on his arm.

Erik pressed his lips on the back of her neck and then kissed her earlobes.

"Don't…."

Athena's protests were weak and she pressed her thick cheeks back into him.

Erik slipped a hand inside her robe and it fell open easily as he caressed her breasts under the covers. Athena turned her head back toward him and he snagged a hold of her lips. Soft tongue kissing kept them quiet as the tv rattled on.

"Erik, stop, wait until she leaves…."

He pulled off his boxers and pushed up Athena's robe. All he felt was a short satin nightgown under the robe and no panties. He let his fingers drag lightly along her shaved vulva and she bit her bottom lip to keep quiet.

"She's been here four hours since I came in. I'm here to collect what you promised. If you won't go to my room, and you just letting her linger, I'm getting something right now."

Athena pressed into his erection.

"You feel all that big dick, huh?"

He plucked at her nipples and they hardened fast for him. His eyes were glued to them and when he lifted up one heavy breast, Athena reached back and gripped his dick. He fingered her clit and she shoved her face into her pillow to stifle a moan.

He teased her bud until she was squirming hard against his length. He tried to keep his voice quiet too as her ass cradled his erection and milked pre-cum from him. Both of them found their eyes darting over to look at Maria. Her back was to them because the large screen tv was hanging over the wall of the small living room area.

Erik kissed Athena again, forcing her to turn her head toward him as he tongued her down with slow wet kisses. He felt like his dick got harder trying to sneak pleasure with someone else in the room. Athena's pussy was sopping wet. The thrill of being caught probably turning her on too. An entire half-hour episode of a show played on tv as they reveled in kissing long and deep. Erik stopped kissing her when she opened up her robe and let her breasts fall out of the nightgown. He felt his manhood twitch just from looking at the overabundance displayed before him. Her eyes were glassy and her lips looked swollen from his mouth ravishing hers.

Erik reached for his pants that were folded at the end of the bed and dug in the pockets. Pulling out two condoms he stuck one under the pillow and unwrapped the other.

"We can't," Athena whispered.

Erik pulled the covers over Athena's chest and leaned back nonchalantly.

"Hey turn that up," Erik called to Maria.

"It's already kinda loud," Maria said looking over at him.

"Just a little bit," he said.

The remote was by her side, so Maria turned it up two volume levels.

Erik slid the condom down on his length and squeezed his balls.

Athena was still hesitant, but that didn't stop her from turning to her side and allowing him to line his dick up with her gaping slit. Erik looked at her opening and held in a heavy groan that wanted to fall out of his mouth. He pushed in and Athena slammed a hand over her mouth and shoved her face into her pillow.

"Told ya," he whispered, "I'm bout to get up in them guts."

Erik kept his thrusts slow, hard, and deep.

Her pussy was snug around his thickness and when she looked back at him with her lips parted and her eyes pleading with him to keep going slow, he found his own mouth going lax and hard exhales falling from his lips without any control from him. Soft rocking motions kept them content, and this woman's pussy gave Erik more nasty thoughts of what he would do to her when they were actually alone.

He pulled away from her when Maria jumped off her bed and padded into the bathroom. The bathroom fan was loud and Erik took advantage of the noise and Maria's absence in the room to start pummeling Athena's pussy. He gripped her leg and lifted it up, pushing away the covers.

"She's going to come back out!" Athena cried out.

Athena wiggled and slammed her ass back into him, but the thrill of discovery was tinged in her voice. She was turned on with the idea of being caught.

Erik slammed into her and her eyes shut tight.

"Fuck, Erik!"

They heard the toilet flush and then running water.

It was now or never.

He pulled Athena on top of him. He wanted to see those huge tits bounce. She leaned forward and not only did they bounce, but they smacked against each other loudly.

"Fuuckkk, baby…I'm cumming in your pussy!" Erik shouted.

Thrusting his hips up hard, the heavy spurts from his dick into the condom had his eyes rolling back as Athena muffled her own orgasm.

She scrambled off of him and dived back under the covers as Maria strolled casually back into the room and flopped back on her bed.

Erik felt Athena's body shaking with laughter as she covered her mouth. Erik burst out laughing and pulled the covers over his chest.

"What's so funny?" Maria asked, glancing over her shoulder, completely oblivious.

Erik fell out again as his penis grew flaccid.

"You, you're funny," he quipped.

Maria rolled her eyes and turned the tv channel.

Chapter 13 HERE

###

Tag List:

@fd-writes​ @soufcakmistress  @cherrystainedlipsbaby @tclaybon  @thadelightfulone

@allhailqueennel @bartierbakarimobisson @cpwtwot @shookmcgookqueen @yoyolovesbucky

@raysunshine78 @the-illllest @terrablaze514  @l-auteuse @amirra88 @jimizwidow @janelledarling

@chaneajoyyy @sweetestdream92 @purple-apricots @blackpinup22 @hennessystevens-udaku

@scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @bugngiz @stariamrry  @honeytoffee @meilintheempressofdreams

@tyees @eye-raq @writerbee-ffs @chocolatedream30 @childishgambinaa @mygirlrenee @nahimjustfeelingit-writes​

#stark's new intern #killmonger #tony stark #stark industries #erik stevens #n'jadaka #black panther fanfiction

[jomiddlemarch]

The subtlest fold of the heart

“Sometimes,” Amy said dully, her fingers pleating the silk of her wide skirt. The star sapphire Laurie had given her was heavy on her finger. “Sometimes I wish we’d never come home.” Whatever she had expected from her sister, it was not laughter. It was soft, a sweet, low chuckle Amy would never have believed Jo capable of—Jo was brazen, given to yelps, shouts, guffaws, nothing ladylike, never reining herself in, her delight bold and explicit. Amy lifted her head and saw her sister regarding her with a steady, affectionate amusement.

“You utter goose,” Jo said, shaking her head a little. Her chestnut hair was simply arranged, her dress just this side of drab and she wore a knitted wool spenser instead of the cashmere shawl Amy had draped around her own shoulders. “What will it take to convince you?”

“Convince me?” Amy repeated.

“That Teddy, I beg your pardon, that Laurie loves only you and that I love Fritz,” Jo said calmly.

“What?” Amy felt herself flush, shocked into rudeness. Shocked that Jo would speak so frankly of the fear that gnawed at her, waking her in moonless nights to watch Laurie sleep. Without the moonlight, her bright hair was dark; when he woke and sleepily drew her down to him, she wondered if he knew which woman he held in his arms.

“He won’t even think you’re worried about it. It hasn’t occurred to him, that you have doubts, that you are jealous,” Jo said. “He doesn’t think he needs to prove it to you. You wear his ring, you’ve his name and his house and you sleep in his bed.”

“Jo! You’re brazen!” Amy cried. Jo laughed again, more sharply, as Amy might have expected.

“I know, I’ve given up trying to be any different, and Fritz isn’t bothered. I rather think he likes it,” Jo said. She smiled then, a confiding smile, a little sly. “He said this would happen, you know.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Amy replied. Somehow, it was just as when they were girls, Jo knowing, superior, conspiring against her. Amy tried to draw her dignity around her like a queen’s ermine cape and saw in Jo’s expression that her sister noticed.

“Amy, you really needn’t worry. About any of it. Fritz and I, we’re not discussing you and your marriage late into the night. Laurie loves us both, but I am his friend and you are his wife and he knows, Amy. He knows the difference. Go back to Europe if you want but not because you think he’ll love you better there,” Jo said.

“He loved you first. He proposed to you,” Amy said and she heard how bitter she sounded.

“And I loved him. As my friend, my dearest friend. And I said no. I’ve never regretted it, Amy. There is more than one sort of love and I’m blessed to have them all—a friend’s love, a sister’s…a husband’s,” Jo said. Amy suddenly saw her as Friedrich must, such an intrepid soul, lovely, brilliant. “A lover’s,” Jo added, her grey eyes bright and wicked.

“Jo March!”

“Josephine Bhaer,” Jo corrected her. “Fritz’s Professorin. His Schätzchen. I shan’t go on or you’ll combust, you’ll never be able to look at Fritz the same way and I’ll note, you never worried that he might be jealous too.”

“Oh, Jo, please! This isn’t appropriate, we can’t—"

“Will you stop fretting then? Or Teddy will come ‘round to scold me, about what I said that fussed you and he’ll insist on sitting with us every time we visit and there are some thing I don’t mind telling you that I’d rather talk about with only my sister,” Jo said.

“There are? And Friedrich doesn’t mind?” Amy asked. She couldn’t bring herself to call her sister’s husband, tall and bearded and capable of great gravitas, especially with his spectacles and when Jo tied his cravat properly, by the sprightly, teasing nickname Jo used.

“Oh no! He knows all my secrets worth keeping,” Jo answered.

“But you said, to share only with your sister,” Amy said.

“I’d tell you half a dozen things he wouldn’t attend to,” Jo said. “He knows I tell him everything that matters to us.”

“You’re so sure, Jo,” Amy replied.

“It’s what I promised and Fritz too,” Jo said, leaning over to pat Amy’s knee. “You and Laurie did the same, even though none of us were there to see it.”

“We did,” Amy said, remembering the brief ceremony, her black veil trailing behind her and the white roses Laurie had brought her, his dark eyes watching her steadily. The smile he’d given her before he kissed her. It was the same one she saw every morning, even before she’d poured out his coffee.

“Well then, I don’t mind saying I’d hate it if you went abroad this fall. I’ve been counting on Laurie and Fritz to run a musical recital for the children and I have concocted quite a plan to make them play a duet on your grand piano.” Jo smiled broadly then and Amy recognized that look, the director of the play, the instigator of the lark. Her sister’s face, honest and forthright, entirely trustworthy, even if Amy did not always trust herself.

#little women #little women 2019 #amy/laurie #jo/friedrich #amy & jo #sisters #jealousy #marriage #still team jo #making amy suffer #but giving her a happy ending #laurie & fritz play a duet

[eclecticstarlightconnoisseur]

Good evening all! I am so happy this is finally done and I think this is the best version of it.  I am rather pleased with it. As I said it is long. So I would suggestion getting some snacks, a glass of wine, a dram, or what ever is your preference.

As promised the Smut has arrived. Please, please please this is very NSFW. Not kidding.  If you find that Smut is not your thing, please don’t read it. 

There is a new character.  Her picture is above. She is important to the story at some point.

I want to thank my beta @curlsgetdemgurls for her help and input as well rewarding me with my 🔥🔥🔥🔥.

I hope you all like it. I welcome any suggestions, thoughts, comments on the story.  You all know where to find me. I am starting chapter 8. I don’t know when it will get done, but as soon as it is, I will post.

Thank you all for your support, coming by to read, leaving me your comments.  You are all so fabulous.  I am truly overwhelmed by it. Love to you all 😘😘😘.

I give you a long over due Chapter 7 of:

Edinburgh To Boston

Chapter 7

Will Ye Have Me?

Claire woke from a deep sleep disoriented. The light from the fireplace made a weak effort to chase the shadows from the room. Whatever light there was did little to alleviate her confusion. Claire scrubbed at her face and across her eyes as if this would help her regain her focus in the dimly lit room. Very slowly, her awareness began to reach her consciousness.  She squinted to read the digital clock on the bedside table that sleepily blinked 2:17 AM. That was a start. Now she knew what time it was. More importantly, she needed to know where she was.

With no answer forthcoming to where she was, Claire starting to take stock of herself hoping that this might joggle her memory giving her the insight she needed. Her mouth felt dry and a gummy film coated her teeth.  She raked her hands through the knotted tangled mess that was her hair. God, even her hair hurt. Claire tried to shift herself into a sitting position when she brushed her hand against something very heavy laying across her stomach. She leaned forward to have a closer look. There was a hand, a very large hand, lying across her abdomen. Claire froze. Her mouth opened in surprise. Her eyes wide taking in the sight in front of her.  Panic was creeping in through every part of her consciousness. “Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ! What did I do? What happened yesterday?” Claire asked herself.  She was in bed with someone. But who? Her mind was foggy and her head throbbed.

Slowly, events came back to her.  There had been a plane trip that much she recalled. She remembered she was in Boston with... Jamie. Oh, God! Jamie. This is his arm. Jamie nestled closer to Claire. His soft exhalations tickling her neck.

What did we do? Did we? She ran her hands along the planes of her body and was both relieved and disappointed to see that she had fallen asleep fully dressed.  Was she relieved because they didn’t or was she disappointed because they didn’t?

The whisky! Yes, they both did have quite a lot to drink last night. It all came back to her.  Each of them had shared the most painful, most secret parts of their lives with each other. It had been cleansing, a relief to be able to say those things long buried never to be thought of let alone spoken of. Claire was glad that the person she had shared those memories with was Jamie. He did not pass judgment on her. Rather, he had just accepted her and was compassionate. Most of all did not pity her.

Claire sighed.  She hated to get up, but she needed to use the loo urgently. Getting some water to drink would also be heavenly. Her mouth felt like the Sahara.  Claire slowly wiggled her way out from under Jamie’s grasp without waking him. Immediately, she regretted moving away from him feeling the loss of his heat. The man was a virtual furnace. More so, she missed the feeling of security that came from being in his embrace. She felt safe with his arm around her. A feeling she could definitely get used to.

Taking one of the cashmere throws, Claire wrapped it around herself. The throw was a very poor substitute for Jamie’s warmth.

Quietly she padded to the loo. The bathroom, too, was magnificent. It was done in white Italian marble with rich veins of gray. Thick luxurious towels and facial clothes were artistically displayed on a heated towel rack.  Two terry cloth robes awaited their use. Needless to say, the floors were heated. Violet orchids decorated the countertop.

While Claire washed her hands after using the loo, she quickly took stock of herself.  Her hair was a wild mass of curls, mascara rings under her eyes, her face blotchy from crying, and wrinkled from sleep. She looked quite a mess if she did say so herself.

Claire brushed her teeth, undressed, and entered the shower. The rainforest shower head was set to random giving a realistic feeling of showering in the rain. It was exhilarating yet at the same time tranquil and peaceful. The steam from the shower perfumed the room with the scent of flowers and herbs from the shampoo and soap she was using. As she lathered her skin her mind drifted to her sleeping friend. Her hands slick with soap and wet from the shower slid over the curves of her body.  Claire wondered what it would feel like to have Jamie touch her. What would it be like to have those large skilled hands caress her skin, knead her breasts, feel his tongue swirl over her nipples? His hands, what if they drifted lower between her legs. What would it felt like? She began to shudder with the thought, with the need. Claire thought she could ride him all night long. She felt her color rise from her chest to her hairline.

“Oh get a grip Beauchamp, just do,” she scolded herself.  She rinsed herself off from head to toe, towel drying her hair.  Claire reached for her rose-colored silk nightgown slipping it on. Finally, Claire covered herself in one of the luxurious terry bathrobes. It was strange Claire thought, she did not remember packing this nightgown as it had thin straps, a floral lace bodice which swept around to the back.  Both the front and back of the nightgown plunged low.  It was completely inappropriate for a business trip.  She would have much preferred her cozy flannel pajamas instead.

Jamie was still asleep exactly where she had left him. Claire tiptoed over to the fireplace and watched the fluttering flames perform a mesmerizing dance.

Jamie woke and immediately missed Claire’s sleeping form next to him. The bed felt empty.  He chuckled to himself, “Already used to her sleeping next to ye, are ye?” He turned to look for her and spied her sitting on the wee loveseat watching the flames. Slowly and quietly he rose and walked to her. “Ye couldna sleep, Claire?” Jamie asked in a voice husky from sleep.  He placed his hands on her shoulders, bent over and kissed her gently on the temple. Her skin was still warm and damp from the shower. “Hmm, ye smell nice.”

Claire reached up took one of his hands brought it to her lips kissing his knuckles.

“I needed to use the loo. Unfortunately, I saw myself in the mirror and knew a shower was in order. I feel much better. Come sit with me, Jamie.” A taupe colored loveseat of buttery soft leather was situated in front of the fireplace.

Jamie lifted up the front of his shirt giving himself a sniff. “Phew. No’ just yet, Claire. Next to ye, I smell like a distillery. Give me a few moments so I can clean up aye?” Jamie turned and walked toward the bathroom.

“How do you know what a distillery smells like?”

“We have a small distillery on our farm. I worked in it during the summers, making money so I could go to Uni.”

Claire chuckled, “Is there anything that you haven’t done, Jamie?”

Jamie turned back to face Claire. He looked at her with a serious expression on his face, “I can think of several things that I havena did yet that I would verra much like to do, Claire, and they all involve ye.” Jamie strode purposefully into the bathroom.

Jamie closed the door and leaned against it, head falling backward resting against the door. He rolled his eyes up, shaking his head in disbelief. How did he come to say such a thing to Claire? Well, if nothing else, he was honest. He did want to do all manner of things to Claire.

The room was still warm and fragrant with the scent of her. It enveloped him, assaulting his senses. The room had the fecund scent of a garden. He pictured her standing in a garden lush with green things, herbs, and flowers. She was round and ripe with his child in her belly. He felt himself harden at the thought.

Shower. NOW.

He stripped off and got into the shower.  The shower was a lite rain alternating with a downpour.  What he needed was a pounding shower. Something that would help him regain his senses. This shower just made him want Claire more. Jamie wanted her in there with him. He wanted her hair to be plastered to her head, her face. He imagined the water trickling down over her breasts making her nipples pucker ready for him to suckle. Jamie fantasized about the water trickling down over her body in rivulets; his hands feeling the slick wetness of her body. He wanted to get on his knees open her and taste her causing her to squirm and gasp under his ministrations.  After she reached her peak, he would slam her into the wall, like the beast that he was, and take her in one swift move. He would take her hard, take her fast. There could be no gentleness about how he would take her, plunging his cock into her soft flesh over and over.  The rain washing over them, between them increasing the slickness of their bodies. Oh, and the sweet sounds she would make for him. He couldn’t ...he couldn’t ...he couldn’t … OH, GOD CLAIRE!!!

“Jamie, are you alright in there? You’ve been in there for quite a while.”

He thought the Americans had a word for it, it’s called it getting busted. “Aye, Claire I’m fine. Just enjoying the shower too much.  Be right out.”

Jamie toweled dry, put on the second terry robe, and came out.  He was flushed from more than the heat of the shower. Actually, he was rather shamefaced. Thank God the only light in the room came from the fireplace. At least he was calmer, his pent-up lust having been relieved.

Jamie walked over to the small refrigerator taking out two bottles of mineral water and went to sit next to Claire on the love seat.

He looked at the small loveseat and worried that it might not fit his large frame. If it did perhaps their combined weight would make the thing collapse.

“Who made this thing,” he wondered to himself, “Munchkins?”

Claire looked up at him expectantly.

“Weel, there’s nay help for it.” Jamie quietly muttered and sat down.

The love seat groaned under their combined weight but remained intact. It was a tight fit sitting next to each other with their thighs rubbing together from the limited space available.  Jamie felt his cock begin to twitch again, simply from the nearness to Claire.

“Will ye no’ stay down, man!?” Jamie thought. His cock twitched again in response to his admonition.

Jamie opened one bottle of water, handed it to Claire and opened the second bottle for himself. He quickly drained it down in one long gulp.

“You seem very thirsty, Jamie. Would you like mine too?”

“No thank ye lass, I am much restored,” he lied.

They sat there enjoying the peacefulness that surrounded them, each absorbed in his or her own thoughts.

Finally, Claire broke the silence. “Jamie,” she said as she turned to look at him, “What this is between us is different. I have never felt like this before.  I mean I don’t have a vast amount of experience with men, but I think this is unusual. Do you think so too?”

“Aye, lass. ‘Tis. I feel different somehow, happier.”  He looked at her and grinned. “I never felt like this before with a lass.”

Claire became quiet again, her lips drawn together in a tight line. “I need you to know that I am not good at sharing for reasons you are aware of.” Claire added hurriedly, “Before we go any further, I need to know if you are seeing any other women. I don’t want to be part of some harem of girlfriends. I couldn’t do it.” Claire bit her lip and nervously waited for his answer.

Jamie looked at her rather shocked. “Do ye think me a Casanova then Claire?”

“Jamie, there is no denying that you are a very handsome man.  I see how women react to you. For goodness’ sake, some outright ogle you. A man like you must have several girlfriends.  I really wouldn’t be surprised at all if you had a whole bevy of beauties lined up.” Claire’s breathing quickened all while her lip chewing becomes more exaggerated as her anxiety became more pronounced.

“Me?! Me?! Women ogle me? I have always thought myself rather grotesque and frightening to women, because of my size ye ken. Yer teasing me, lass,” Jamie narrow-eyed Claire in disbelief.

He really doesn’t see it! “No, Jamie I am not teasing you. Did you know that the nurses have a nickname for you?”

Jamie looked utterly bewildered. His brows drew together forming a line between them, “Go on with ye, they dinna. Do they? What do they call me?”

Claire looked at him narrowly, “The nurses call you Doctor McDreamy. You honestly didn’t know that?”

Jamie sat there with his mouth gaping. He rather looked like a goldfish with his mouth opening and closing soundlessly.

“And what about Laoghaire?” Claire asked in a carefully controlled tone.  “She is always following you around, visiting you in your office, and dressing in very sexy clothes for you.  Christ, the way she flaunts herself in front of you! Surely you have feelings for her?” Claire thought she sounded like a jealous old biddy, but she really couldn’t help it because the truth be told she was jealous.

“Claire, I dinna care about other women. For that matter, I dinna care about Laoghaire, never have and never will. She is naught but a lass in a woman’s body. I need a real woman, Claire. I need you. There is only ye, Claire, only ye,” Jamie said with a look of such sincerity on his face that there was only one thing Claire could do.

Claire leaned in closing the distance between the two of them and kissed Jamie tenderly. She moved to deepen the kiss when Jamie took her by the arms and broke the kiss.

“Fair’s fair’s, lass, are ye seeing anyone?”

“Well, I do have a roommate.” Claire jumped up hurrying to get her phone. “I have a picture. I’ll show you.” A wide grin broke out across her face as she brought the phone over to where they were sitting.  Claire shuffled through the pictures searching for it.

“Tis nay bother, lass,” Jamie said with a thickness in his throat. He really did not want to see who her roommate was.  All was lost, he thought.  This was her way of letting him down. How could he have been such a fool? A lass such as her must have many admirers.

Claire found the picture she was looking for and thrust the phone into Jamie’s hand.

Jamie looked down at the phone, looked back at Claire, and looked back at the phone.

“It’s a wee doggie,” Jamie said astounded. He looked at the picture in disbelief.

“Yes,” Claire said bursting with pride as she looked at the picture.

Jamie repeated himself, “It’s a dog.”

“Yes, it is. She is my best friend.” Claire bubbled enthusiastically. “Isn’t she just beautiful? My pretty girl. Her name is Ginger.” Claire took the phone back from Jamie cuddled it to her chest, cooing to the picture.

Claire began to prattle on about how she and the dog found each other, what they do, where they go for walkies, and on, and on, and on.

Jamie was not attending to what Claire was saying. Instead, he focused on her.

She seems so proud of the beast almost as if it were her bairn. Her face was alight with love and devotion for the pup.  She belonged to the dog and the dog belonged to her.

At that moment that Jamie really understood Claire Beauchamp.  Claire orphaned at a young age, lived an unorthodox and nomadic life with her archaeologist Uncle. Claire traveled the world, had adventures, and lived in tents. She did not have parents who would sing lullabies or tell bedtime stories to her. She did not have a home, siblings, family, playmates, school, schoolmates, friends, or any of the other human attachments that Jamie had and for that matter, had taken for granted his whole life. Claire probably never had a pet before. Even in her disastrous marriage to that bastard Randall, Claire had been alone. It was understandable how Claire and her uncle had fallen prey to Randall’s machinations. They were simply no match for his guile.

Jamie’s heart broke for his friend. He swore she would never be alone again or without human attachment along as he was alive. He would always care for her, no matter how, no matter where.  Jamie silently cried for his friend.

“Don’t you think so, Jamie?” Claire asked.

Jamie didn’t respond as he was lost in his thoughts.

“Jamie are you alright?  You seem distracted.”

“Aye, Claire, I was just doing a bit of woolgathering.” Jamie hesitated but needed an answer, “Claire, what I need to know is are ye seeing anyone? Ye know romantically?”  

Claire blushed, “No, there has been no one since Frank. Well, I have gone out on a few dates occasionally, but there haven’t been any serious relationships. It was usually just for dinner and then that was it.  I wasn’t interested in forming relationships after Frank.  Actually, I was put off men. I simply didn’t trust them enough to get involved.”

“Now ye think ye are willing to open yer heart, Claire? Maybe for me?” Jamie asked hope blooming in his heart.  “I need ye to be sure lass of yer feelings as I canna go back to being just friends if we do this.  I want us to be more.”

“Yes, Jamie I am.  I want you. I want us, and I want this.” Claire’s eyes glistened, shining with love for him.

Jamie took both her small fragile hands in his large ones placing them over his heart, “Claire, I want ye so much I can scarcely breathe.  Will ye have me?”

“Yes, Jamie, I’ll have you.” Claire raised a hand cupping Jamie’s cheek, smoothing away the lines of tension from his face.

Claire began to fumble with the knot of her robe. Jamie placed his hands over hers, stilling her hands.  He stood helping Claire to rise up as well.

“Let me do that, mo nighean donn. Let me unwrap ye like the gift ye are to me.”

Claire felt herself go weak in the knees. How does he know exactly the right words to say?

Jamie’s eyes darkened with growing lust. He knew he needed to control his desires. This was about Claire. Her wants. Her needs. He was here to serve her in the way she deserved. To be adored, to be worshiped, to be pleasured.  Jamie reached for the robe’s ties and slowly pulled them apart allowing the robe to fall open exposing only the merest hint of her. Reverently, Jamie pushed the robe off her shoulders, down her arms allowing it to fall to the floor.  Claire stood before him glowing in her rose-colored gown. Her nipples began to harden as they were now exposed to the cooler air of the room. They strained against the silky fabric of the nightgown making Jamie long to touch them, suckle them.

“Claire,” he groaned. His hand rose and slid inside the gown taking in the fullness of her breast. He felt her shudder against his touch. Jamie slid his fingers over each nipple in turn, rolling, stroking, flicking.

Claire’s breathing grew heavier as he caressed each breast. Her eyes closed, head fell back, lips parted moaning Jamie’s name softly.  Her belly tightened. There was a growing warmth and wetness between her thighs. Oh, how she wanted him.

“I mean to know ye, Claire, every part of ye. I want to know how ye feel, what ye smell like, and how ye taste.  I want to know all yer womanly secrets.”

“My God,” Claire thought. “Maizie was right. He did want to devour her.” A tremor rushed through her with that thought.

Jamie’s hands went to the thin straps of the nightgown and slid them off Claire’s shoulders letting the silk flutter down pooling around her feet. She was naked to him now. Bare.

Jamie took two steps back and gazed upon the beauty of Claire.  The light from the fireplace danced across her skin illuminating her porcelain skin. She glowed like a hundred suns filling the room with her radiance. Overcome by this vision before him, he let out a gasp and a single tear ran down his face. “Tu êtes plus belle que dix milliards couchers de soleil.”

Claire blushed furiously at this extravagant compliment. Still, Claire was unaccustomed to being naked before a man, particularly under such intense scrutiny. Suddenly, she became shy.  She moved to cover herself with her arms.

“Dinna cover yerself, Claire, yer sae beautiful and I wish to look at ye.”

Claire left her arms at her sides, holding her head up allowing herself to be admired.

“I want to see you too, Jamie.”  Claire walked forward taking the ties of his robe in her hands pulling them apart.  He was naked underneath the robe.  She pushed the robe over his shoulders and down his arms watching as it tumbled to the floor.

Claire stood back and took him in.  He was beautifully made, chiseled face with high cheekbones reminiscent of his Viking heritage. His body toned and hard muscled. The body of an athlete or warrior. There was nothing physically soft about him. His arousal was clearly evident. It was engorged, flushed, and ready. Claire wondered how it would feel as it rent her soft flesh, filling her completely. She wanted to touch him everywhere.

“I want to see your scars.”

Jamie opened his mouth as if to say something, but closed it. He hung his head, closed his eyes, and nodded giving her permission to inspect his back.

Claire walked slowly to Jamie. She trailed her hand over his skin relishing the feeling of strength emanating from him. His back was a maze of scar tissue. The area of injury was extensive and unable to be totally covered in grafts. Skin expanders had been used to help close some of the wounds. Some were left to heal on their own. Claire traced the scars with featherlight touches caressing each one. She leaned in to press a kiss to each of the marks in turn just as a mother would do to soothe a child’s injury. Jamie trembled from Claire’s attentions.

Claire continued walking around him and returned to face him. Jamie’s face and eyes were averted from her. Her hand tenderly stroked his face feeling the rasp of his stubble. Still, he refused to meet her gaze.

“Do I sicken ye, lass? Do ye find me repulsive?” he spoke in a wavering voice as he looked into the distance fearing rejection from Claire.

“No, Jamie you don’t sicken or repulse me. I find you heartbreakingly beautiful.”

Jamie let out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding. His eyes swam with tears as he gazed upon his beloved. She was able to see beyond his deformity and see him for who he was.

Claire walked toward Jamie, wrapped her arms around his neck, pressed her hips against his, trapping his hardened length against their bellies. She raised her eyes, the shade of perfectly aged sherry to meet his of cerulean blue, “Jamie, take me to bed, make love to me.”

Claire saw a visible change come over Jamie.  He looked positively feral. Jamie’s eyes glazed becoming black pools, black as a starless night sky. His red-gold hair, still damp from the shower, was a mass of curls that framed his face giving the appearance of a predatory cat stalking its prey. His muscles tense, hands clenched into fists, ready to pounce.

Claire kept her arms around Jamie’s neck as she ground her hips against his, needing to feel the heat of his length against her. His hands slowly stroked Claire’s back pulling her closer to him.

“I dreamt of this so often, Claire. Now, it’s real.”

“Yes, it is,” Claire said resting her head against his chest.

Jamie reached down lifted Claire up, her legs coming around his waist, and carried her to the bed. Gently, ever so gently, Jamie laid her down on the bed.

Jamie stood there taking in the goddess before him. He reveled in the lushness of her womanly body. Her hair fanned out on the pillow like a halo made of dark curls. Her skin was flushed pink from want and need. Jamie ran a finger over her lips, they were moist, soft, and red like rose petals, and they were begging to be kissed. Claire’s skin was the color of cream and soft as velvet. Jamie spied her breasts, the heavy globes that he desired, that he wanted to hold and feel their weight in his hands. She had delicate pink nipples that he longed to take in his mouth and suckle like a babe. Claire’s legs were slightly parted, but enough that he could see her want.

Jamie climbed into the bed and held his love in his arms.

“Mo ghràdh,” he whispered.

They spoke to each other through the language of the soul, from the voice of the heart and through the action of the body. In this joining of the trinity of soul, heart, and body, their souls would recognize its lost half, hear the voice of the heart calling, and unite through the body. And they would, at last, become one, become whole, become complete.

Gentle caresses, lightly stroking gave way to a bolder touching of face, arms, breast, and thighs. Always reaching toward the most intimate and sacred parts of their bodies striving toward connection, oneness.

Sweet sighs, throaty moans, words of love were carried away from their lips like a soft breeze floating through a meadow ruffling through the flowers.

Jamie rose over her nudging her legs further apart with his knee. He lay on top of her, balancing his weight on his arms. He kissed her eyes and the tip of her nose. Jamie came to concentrate on her mouth. Gently, he placed a kiss so soft, so tender on her lips as to make her weep. Holding her gaze, he lightly slid his tongue across her lips, softly, tenderly. Soon mouths, lips hungrily sought more. His tongue skimmed her trembling lips seeking entrance which she gladly gave. Their tongues battled for supremacy, swirling, thrusting, probing, tasting each other breaking apart only when they needed air.

Jamie slowly slid down Claire’s body, peppering her skin with warm wet kisses. His greedy hands found the full swell of her breasts. They were full, heavy, and ripe in his hand. He caressed each one paying homage to them equally. Her nipples were raised and firm. Jamie’s mouth took possession of each nipple in turn.

Claire cried out, “Jamie! Please!” She arched her back encouraging him to take more of her nipple into his mouth, suck harder. He bit down just enough to cause her to gasp.

Claire began to writhe beneath him. Her breathing became more ragged. Her belly was tight, and there was a throbbing deep inside of her that she needed satisfied. She was losing herself under his touch.

Jamie began to make his way down Claire’s body, leaving a trail of hot kisses, small nips, and bites along her chest and belly.  His smoldering eyes never left her face, watching her as her pleasure built.

Claire sucked in her breath after Jamie had nipped at a particularly sensitive area on her belly.  

“Does it hurt?” he asked.

“A bit,” Claire replied.

“Do ye want me to stop?”

“N..N..Noooo,” Claire replied her voice shaking.

“Good,” he said his mouth forming a self-satisfied smirk.

Jamie reached his objet de désir, the apex of her femininity.  He let his large calloused fingers drift down feeling her wetness taking some of her moisture on his fingers.  He brought his fingers to his nose, “Eau de femme.” His tongue snaked out and ran across his fingers tasting her nectar. Jamie nuzzled his face into the cleft, inhaled her scent. “Parfum d'amour.”

His fingers opened her. His tongue found her pleasure nub and began to to circle, swirl around and over it. His fingers began to stroke her entrance. One finger entered her, then another. His fingers moving in time with his tongue.

“Christ, Claire, ye are so tight and so wet!” Jamie was driven into a deeper savage lust.

Ripples of pleasure ran through Claire; her body was set aflame. She cried out Jamie’s name begging, pleading for release followed by obscenities falling from her lips.

Claire moved relentlessly against his fingers and tongue desperately seeking more, seeking her release.

“Claire, dinna move, lass. Let me pleasure you.”

“I can’t help it, Jamie, I really can’t.” Claire whimpered.

Jamie brought his arms over Claire’s legs grasping onto to her hips, pinning them down against the bed to still her movements, hoping to prolong her pleasure.

The restraint drove Claire to near madness from the sensations. Claire fisted the sheets in her hands, gathering them, twisting them. Held down by his arms and the weight of his body, Claire realized she was helpless against him. She was his prisoner.  Prisoner to his lust. His want. His need. His love for her. And truth be told, she was held captive by her own lust and love for him.

Claire’s hands moved down grabbing Jamie’s hair urging him on. His hair was soft and silky under her fingers. Jamie redoubled his efforts.  His tongue flicked across her sensitive tissue, and his tongue entered her tasting her.

“Christ, Claire, yer honeypot is sae sweet. Yer driving me mad, woman.”

Claire moaned and whimpered. She was close and she knew it.

His eyes, a dark steely blue, was absorbed in watching her come apart from his ministrations.

“Claire, let it go. I want to watch you fall apart. Come for me, lass.”

Claire arched her back and cried out a keening sound deep from the recesses of her soul as she reached her zenith. Her body shook, trembled in the aftermath of her release.

Jamie climbed up and next to Claire holding her to his chest. He murmured sweet words in the Gàidhlig to soothe her.

As Claire’s breathing came under control, she developed a wicked look in her eyes.

Flipping Jamie on to his back she said, “You think this is over, do you? Well, guess again.”

She swung a leg over his groin and began rubbing herself along his length.

“Claire, what the devil do ye think yer doing?” Jamie looked startled by Claire’s sudden dominance.

“Don’t you like that, Fraser? Just think how it will feel when you're inside of me.”

Jamie moaned.

She leaned forward taking his mouth tasting herself on his lips. Claire found this to be arousing knowing that her essence anointed his lips, mouth, tongue, and face.  Now, her lips would hold the promise of waves of pleasure yet to come for Jamie.

“Fair’s, fair’s my love. It’s my turn.”

“But, Claire, that was for you. It was about you, giving you pleasure.”

Claire gave him a puzzled look, “And you think this won’t?”

Claire bent to her work.  She took hold of Jamie’s ear, nibbling, licking it. Her tongue followed the length of his muscular neck sucking, biting at the sensitive skin. Jamie moaned his hands holding on to her hips, He pushed her hips down hard against him grinding against her.

Claire bent and took his nipple between her teeth, biting. Jamie groaned.

“A little pain enhances the pleasure, don’t you think?” Claire gave him a salacious smile.

Jamie looked up at Claire. Her amber eyes were alight, glowing with lust. He didn’t know who this bean an deamhan was. But, he was glad she was his.

Claire continued on her quest, leaving a trail of kisses and love bites down his body. When she reached her heart’s desire, she pressed a loving kiss to his shaft.

“Claire! Ye canna mean to do…”

“And why not?” Claire looked at him curiously.

“Because!”

“Well, that is a very poor answer.”  In one swift move, Claire’s mouth engulfed him. There was a tangy taste to him and a strong male scent around him something that could only be described as uniquely Jamie.

“Claire, wait, stop….No! Wait, ye canna...Oh! God!  Dinna stop, please, dinna stop. Ahh. Oh, Claire!”

Her tongue ran along the length of his shaft and swirled at the head stoking a fire deep in the pit of his belly. She lightly ran her teeth over the shaft increasing the sensations.

“God, Claire.” His hands rested in her hair, caressing, pulling.

She changed her plan of attack. Her small hand encircled his hardened length, slowly stroking up with a bit of a twisting motion. She used her tongue and lips to tortuously lick and suck the tip.

A deep throaty growl issued from Jamie as he watched Claire love him. His hands clenched so hard his knuckles and fingers were white. His muscles tensed and rippled as he came perilously close to edge of no return.

“Claire,” Jamie hissed, “Ah need ye, lass. Ah needta be inside of ye, now.”

Claire looked up from her attentions, her eyes sparkling. “You want me, Jamie?”

“Aye,” he said through gritted teeth. “Ah needta feel ye on ma cock.” His Scots was getting broader.

Claire swung her leg over his hips. Taking him in her hand and gently rubbing his cock against her entrance giving him a seductive look.  “Is this where you want to be?”

“Damn ye woman, damn yer teasing. Ye wicked wee vixon. Ye ken what ah mean. Claire, please!”

Claire smiled at him as she impaled herself on him. She felt herself stretch to accommodate his length and girth. Her eyes widened and her mouth formed a perfect O.

Her hands braced on his chest and Claire began to rock. Jamie’s hips thrust up in time with each of Claire’s movements. He gripped her hips pressing them down grinding against her. He pressed so hard that he knew he would leave bruises. He didn’t care.

“Yer mine, now and forever, Claire. Whether ye will it or no, yer mine.”

“Yours,” Claire gasped.

In one swift move, Jamie grabbed Claire turning her on to her back and continued driving his hips home. Claire wrapped her legs around his hips encouraging him to go deeper.

“Harder,” she whispered. Jamie needed no further encouragement thrusting deeper and harder reaching the of her the tip of her womb.

Moans. Guttural cries. Whimpers. Begging. Cursing.

The tension built in their bodies asking for release. Shock waves of pleasure erupted over them as they reach the pinnacle of their completion in each other.

They collapsed into each other’s arms, sweaty, spent, sated, and so in love.

Tu êtes plus belle que dix milliards couchers de soleil.  -- You are more beautiful than a billion sunsets.

Eau de femme -- Scent of a woman. Taken from the Firey Cross the windowsill love scene

Parfum d'amour -- Perfume of love. Taken from the Firey Cross the windowsill scene.

Bean an deamhan -- Demon Woman

#edinburgh to boston #chapter 7 #the smut is here #this took a long time to write #wee doggie #ginger beauchamp #from the windowsill scene #curlsgetsdemgurls #ladyviolethummingbird #laythornmuse #Here Goes Nothing

[scandalsavagefanfic]

So I love angsty brujay as much as anyone but can we get doting!husband Bruce and hot trophy husband/professor Jason who is alarmingly good friends with a lot of the society SOs and uses the info for cases and everyone else is like wth and Bruce is just 😍

Yes! 

I saved this for after the angsty post B&R #20 thing I did so that I could have some sweet, fluffy brujay to make me feel better.

Hope this is kind of what you meant :D

Black Onyx and Gold (Read on AO3)

Words: 2846

Rating: E

Warnings: BruJay, blow jobs, hinted Stephanie Brown/Cassandra Cain… that’s pretty much it. 

[[Jason was never found/taken in by Bruce. Steph is a politician.]]

Bruce never tires of the view when he exits his closet(which is really more of a dressing room) in the mornings. The body sprawledout in his bed is smooth and tan, the sunlight coming through the giant windowshighlights the curves of hard muscle running down the boy’s back, strong armstucked under the pillow. There’s a small wet spot from where he’s drooled inhis sleep.

He approaches the bed, smiling softly, fastening hiscufflinks. The only thing that could make the scene better is if the bit ofsilvery sheet draped over the flawless swell of Jason’s backside slips lower.Or off completely.

Unable to resist, Bruce gently brushes the lock of whitehair, a wonderfully unique birthmark, off the much younger man’s peaceful face.

Jason hums in his sleep, following the light touch before groggilyblinking his eyes open.

“Mmmm… time ‘sit?” He sighs contentedly, leaning intoBruce’s hand as it cups his cheek.

“Nearly six.”

Jason groans and tries to bury his face in the pillow.

“I don’t even have a class today,” he whines, voice muffledby fabric and Eider down, “You’re a very mean, evil man, waking me up soearly.”

Bruce gives a small huff of laughter before lightly dragginghis fingertips across Jason’s shoulders to slowly travel along his spine.

“I have a board meeting at eight,” Bruce rumbles as hisfingers approach their target, “There’s a couple of minor matters to take careof before it starts but I have few minutes if you want to… have breakfast.”

Jason giggles as Bruce’s fingers nudge the sheet just enoughfor the satiny material to slink off him like liquid.

“Breakfast, huh?” He says, turning over, sleepy sea greeneyes flickering in amusement, unconvinced.

Bruce just smiles at him innocently, eyes snapping to theflash of black onyx and gold on the younger man’s hand.

It’s still so new. The sight of it continues to make hisheart leap.

He reaches out, feels Jason smiling happily, watching asBruce takes his hand, lifts it to his own lips and kisses the wedding band.

Jason takes the opportunity to slip his hand around Bruce’shead, tangling his fingers in Bruce’s still (mostly) black hair, and pulls himdown.

The younger man’s lips are soft and warm and even thoughJason hasn’t brushed his teeth yet, Bruce can’t get enough of the taste of him,a lingering flavor of the bourbon they drank last night clings to his tongueand Bruce sucks on it playfully, chasing the flavor of alcohol and Jason.

He moves from his husband’s lips to his jaw, down histhroat, across his chest. He pauses to worry at a pink nipple with his teeth, coaxingout those pretty little choked off gasps he likes so much, before licking thelines of the valleys between Jason’s abs and finally making his way to hisdestination.

It doesn’t take long, once he gets Jason’s length in hismouth. Jason is always so sensitive but especially in the morning, when he’sstill soft and sleepy, all breathless moans, arching into the mattress, onehand twisted in the sheets the other gripping Bruce’s hair tight.

The way the younger man comes undone, so open and trusting,so expressive… Bruce would do anything for him, anything to keep him.

He knows that’s what the kids are worried about. But hetrusts Jason, more than he’s trusted anyone from outside the family in a verylong time.

He knows that troubles the kids too. But they don’t know himvery well yet. Bruce is positive they’ll like him once they do.

Jason finishes with a muffled cry around the fist he’s movedfrom the sheets to his mouth, the gold of his ring flashing in the morninglight. He’s always been vocal about his enjoyment, but ever since he officiallymoved in, he’s been trying to be considerate of that fact that Damian and Tim stilllive down the hall. Even though Bruce has told him the walls and doors are thickenough that they won’t hear.

Swallowing, Bruce lets Jason slip from his mouth, reaches upand gently takes Jason’s hand from where he’s biting down on it, rubbing histhumb over the indentations of his teeth. Then he presses his lips to hislover’s for a sweet, prolonged kiss before standing.

His intention is to check his slacks in the mirror, see ifhe’s wrinkled them too noticeably and change if he must.

But his wrist is snagged in a strong, soft hand, and in onefluid, graceful movement, Jason has pulled him back to sit on the edge of thebed and knelt in front of him.

“I don’t have time,” he objects weakly. A brilliant grinflashes up at him, clever fingers deftly undoing the button, the zipper.

“Guess you’re going to be late then.”

The world dissolves around him, everything narrowing to the wet,velvet heat of Jason’s divinely filthy mouth. The things this kid does with histongue, his teeth, his lips. Sometimes Bruce wonders if it’s an addiction.

When Jason’s intensity and determination is focused entirelyon him, Bruce never lasts.

But the younger man pulls off him with a wet pop when Bruceis moments away breaking.

“Look at me,” Jason rasps and and that’s when Bruce realizeshe has his eyes squeezed shut.

He fixes his gaze on Jason’s face. The pupils in those greeneyes are blown wide under heavy lids, his cheeks flushed pink, lips red frombeing stretched around Bruce’s remarkably long, thick cock.

Jason gives him a mischievous little smirk, makes a show outof wrapping his left hand around Bruce’s member. Black and gold, metal andstone, cool but quickly warming as it slides up and down the heated, red fleshwhile Jason leans forward and ducks his head, gently sucking Bruce’s balls intohis mouth, simultaneously giving Bruce a lovely view of the curve of his ass.

Unlike Jason, Bruce isn’t usually vocal. But he can’tcontain the little shout that is punched out of him. He watches his seed shootdown the line of Jason’s spine, watches as gravity drags it lower and lower, asit disappears between the rounded swells of his cheeks.

Straightening up, Jason licks the tip of his cock, cleaningit of the last drops of release. Then gives him a smug smirk before slipping hisarms around his waist and nuzzling his face against Bruce’s chest.

“I like the ring too,” he says into the lavender silk ofBruce’s shirt.

Bruce hugs him back, kisses the top of his head. Doesn’tbother asking how Jason knows. The boy lives in his head, he’s known that for awhile now.

“You keep staring at it,” Jason answers the unasked questionas he pulls back and stands.

“Hm. It looks good on you,” Bruce hums, pointedly givingJason, standing before him without a stitch of clothing or shame in just hiswedding band, a hungry once over.

The smile that blooms across Jason’s face is radiant and helooks like he’s ready to go another round.

Despite that, he nods at Bruce’s rumpled state. “You’regonna want to change.”

Jason has the shower running when Bruce emerges in a newsuit.

“I’m heading out,” he calls, popping his head into the lavishmarble room.

Jason pauses before stepping into the steam and tilts hishead.

“You gonna brush your teeth?” He asks.

“Already did.”

Jason gives him an exasperated but amused look. “I meanafter you just—"

Bruce leans in, cutting him off with another deep probingkiss, then pulls away and says, “Nope.”

His husband snorts and rolls his eyes.

“Don’t forget about the fundraiser tonight,” Bruce says onhis way out, moving quickly enough to miss the bulk of the grumbling.

 —————————————————————————————————— 

Bruce knows Jason isn’t the most social of men. The galasand fundraisers and charity events are a part of Bruce Wayne’s world and theycan be stressful or tiring for a more reserved, private person. But despiteJason’s grousing and preference for quiet evenings in front of a fire insteadof a band, with a book, instead of a crowd, he always manages to charm andenchant the scions of East coast aristocracy.

He watches his husband from across the room, barely payingattention to the conversation happening in the group around him. Jason islaughing easily with a handful of young women, much closer to his age thanBruce. The sudden reminder that he’s in some interesting company has himwondering if the much older husbands of those much younger women love theirwives as much as he loves Jason. Whether they love them for more than theirpretty appearances.

Jason is a vision. His burgundy three-piece is, unlike allthe silk and cashmere in the room, tweed. Bruce made sure Jason’s wardrobe wasbeyond reproach, that everything was of a quality that would blend with thewealthy. His brown suede Oxfords are the softest Italian leather, his floraltie is silk, his white button-down cost way too much for even the finest cotton.Even though he’d blend better with the extravagance in one of his other suits,one in black or grey or blue, Jason is more comfortable when he gets to behimself, even in a small way, like wearing tweed. Even at the risk of snidecomments. Which is probably why Jason has never replaced his old horned-rimmedglasses with something more fashionable.

Sharp green eyes catch him staring and they smile at eachother.

Bruce has an overwhelming urge to sneak his husband away toone of the many dark nooks around the manor’s grounds.

By the time he refocuses on his immediate vicinity, thegroup he was speaking to has dispersed, apparently losing interest in his… lackof interest.

He grabs a drink from a passing tray and starts trying tofind his kids. Cassandra is where she always is at these things, glued toBarbara Gordon’s side as the Police Commissioner’s daughter interacts easilywith high society. Dick and Tim are speaking to a group of 20-30 somethingsabout business. Or rather Tim is talking and Dick keeps glancing around likehe’s looking for a reason to excuse himself. And Damian is…

“Well, at least he fits in with the other trophy wives.”

Bruce frowns, glancing down at Damian and following his gazeto where Jason giggles with a beautiful, young blond woman.

“Come with me,” he mutters, putting his hand on his son’sshoulder to guide him out to the veranda.

Damian heaves a long-suffering sigh. But if he wanted toavoid another lecture, he should have avoided another tastelessjoke at Jason’s expense.

“I understand that my relationship with Jason is difficultfor you—“

Damian snorts and looks out into the darkness of thegrounds.

“—And that you and your siblings have your reservations,” hecontinues, deciding to ignore the little outburst. “But none of you have reallyeven spoken to him. You haven’t made any attempt to get to know him. You’remaking a lot of judgments based on very little information.”

“I think I have plenty of information, father. You are verywealthy, Jason is very attractive. The most obvious motivations are usually theones at play.”

Bruce narrows his eyes. “Damian. Jason is a doctor and a professorof abnormal psychology. He’s an authority in his field. His research and inputhave greatly increased the efficiency and effectiveness of Arkham, helped captureand incarcerate super-criminals even before he started helping with… our nightjobs.”

“Yes. Teachers and doctors who do most of their work pro bonomake enough money for it to be absurd for us to think it a factor in his…interest in you. And I am certain that you, a man surrounded by some of thegreatest minds in the world at any given moment, are more interested in a man’sbrilliance specializing in a soft science rather than the man’s much moreexceptional looks.”

“Damian.”

“Father.”

They stand in a silent statement for a long moment.

“You’ve made a number of unfair assumptions. First of all,even if Jason wasn’t incredibly intelligent, he would still be deserving ofrespect. He is kind and generous both of which are wildly underrated traits. Ofcourse I’m physically attracted to him, attraction plays a role in allrelationships. But I married him because he’s selfless and compassionate. Heloves this city as much as I do. And he loves me as much as I love him.

“Second, he married me because even now, despite hisaccomplishments, he is constantly patronized and dismissed due to his… humbleorigins. He faces more and more of it the higher he climbs, the more esteemhe earns, the more exclusive his circle of peers and colleagues becomes. I’vealways treated him with dignity, come to his defense when necessary.

“And finally, as if to help drive my point home, the youngwoman he was speaking to in there is not a ‘trophy wife’, as you so tactlesslysuggested. And your instinct to label her as such speaks volumes to your ownbiases. Stephanie Brown is one of the youngest representatives to serve in thestate legislature. She grew up in the East End, just like Jason. They’ve donequite a bit of work together to help Gotham’s less privileged neighborhoods.”

Damian shifts uncomfortably, eyes downcast. He scuffs thesole of his shoe against the flooring.

Bruce puts his hand on his son’s shoulder again andsqueezes.

“Jason is the one who asked for a prenuptial agreement. He’sasked that I don’t touch my will until you are all comfortable with him. Hetries to interact with you and, while none of you are openly rude… you haven’texactly made him feel welcome.

“All I’m asking is that you give him a chance. Speak to himand see where it goes.”

He turns to go back inside.

“Sorry, father. It’s… difficult… to know how to act aroundhim. He’s not much older than us but… he’s you’re husband and it is…complicated.”

“He’s not your parent. You’re all too old for for that and,more importantly, he doesn’t want to be. But he could be a friend.”

“Of course. I’ll… try. Promise.”

Bruce puts his arm out and wraps it around Damian’sshoulders when the teen approaches.

“Thank you, son,” he says as they rejoin the party, “Maybe youcan say something to your brothers too.”

Damian nods and heads off. Bruce loses him in the crowd,making his way to Tim.

“Hey, you,” a warm, rumbling voice purrs into his ear,immediately making him smile, “Where’d you disappear to?”

Jason’s arm snakes round his waist and Bruce returns thehold.

“You promised you’d never leave me alone at one of thesethings,” Jason continues, whispering, before Bruce can answer.

“Hm. Apologies, my love. I was… speaking to Damian.”

“Ah,” Jason grunts, then smirks up at him, “Did he call me a‘harlot’ again?”

Bruce snorts at that eventful memory. “A ‘trophy wife’.”

Jason’s laugh rings like sweet music and Bruce can’t helpbut smile as he watches him, completely smitten.

“Well, I think I may have gained some brownie points withCass.”

“Cass has always been the best about our relationship. Sherespects Barbara and Babs respects you.”

“True. But now she doesn’t have to takes Red’s word for it,”he nods to where Cassandra is gazing wide-eyed and captivated by a cute blondwoman speaking animatedly, hands flying as she communicates with gesture asmuch as words, “I thought she and Steph would hit it off.”

Bruce takes Jason’s hand, plays with the black and gold band,and just gazes at him for a long moment.

“You’re staring, old man.”

Turning to face him, Bruce pulls Jason into his arms andwaits for sea green eyes.

“You are remarkable. Did you know that?” Bruce murmurs tohim, forgetting that there are dozens of other people very likely watching them,“Absolutely singular.”

When Jason’s face flushes pink and he laughs it off, tryingto pull away, Bruce just tightens his embrace.

He closes the distance and presses a chaste kiss to theyounger man’s lips. Then he leans in further, lips brushing the shell ofJason’s ear as he whispers, “I’m going to skip patrol tonight. While the kidsare working, I’m going to take you apart. Slowly. Make you scream like you usedto. By the time I’m through with you, you won’t be able to get out of bed fordays.”

Jason shudders. And then balks when Bruce releases him and walksaway to mingle. He only just makes out Jason’s muttered “Asshole.”

Half an hour later, Bruce catches Dick and Damian standingwith Jason, chatting. Jason looks a little surprised but obviously thrilled at theunexpected inclusion.

For the first time in a long while, Bruce is optimisticabout the future. Or rather, his own future and how happy he’ll be in it.

#brujay #Jason Todd #bruce wayne #Bruce Wayne/Jason Todd #hinted Stephanie Brown/Cassandra Cain #domestic #fluff #a little bit of smut #sweet stuff #wedding rings

[areiton]

like romeo & juliet, part 3/10

Part 1 | Part 2 

(this chapter gets a little darker than I intended. Mind the tag warnings.) 

Stephen Strange was called a wunderkind. A man who could look at a situation and see all the possibilities, spin them out and pick the best to suit his needs.

He always liked that about himself.

So, when he looked at the dirty underbelly of his city and saw the sway that Tony Stark and his empire held--he chose another path.

He built his own empire, in the same streets and bloody paths that Stark had claimed, and did it so well, so carefully, it was done before Stark even noticed, and by then it was far too late for him to be stopped.

~*~

Peter likes soft things.

He likes oversized sweaters that hang off his shoulder, puddle around his thighs. He likes skinny jeans when he’s dancing and leggings at home and lace skirts when Tony takes him out.

He likes cherry lip gloss when Strange kisses him and black leather when he slinks at Sir’s side, and fluffy blankets piled into a nest on Sir’s bed, while Silk slides through his veins.

He likes soft things, and whisper soft kisses and Strange’s hard, possessive touch.

~*~

The boy was too soft.

Strange adored him, but there was this, too--Peter was a tool, a beautiful tool that would burn the Merchant and his empire to the ground. But he was too soft.

“He’ll break, like this,” Strange murmured, and Wong tilted a look at the Doctor, curious and cautious.

“He’ll shatter.”

Strange watched him, watched the hungry looks sent his way, the way Peter’s fingers curled around his fork, his sweet smile slipping just a little.

“Interesting,” he said, and smiled, cold and pleased.

~*~

Peter kills for the first time a week later, scream still trapped in his throat, a big, intrusive hand in his pants, the body slumping on him and painting him in red.

He’s sobbing and shaking, and screams again, when he crawls from under his attacker, screams as he kicks the dead man over and over, until Strange wraps strong arms around Peter and draws him back, into his embrace.

“You’re alright, darling,” Strange promises. “You are so brave. So perfect, darling.”

Peter trembles and sobs, soft and silent, and he never does release the grip he has on his little knife.

~*~

Peter wakes slowly, that first morning with Tony, and the only thing he registers is that nothing hurts, and everything is almost painfully bright.

He takes a careful breath, flexing his fingers against the sheets, and beside him, Tony moves.

Peter blinks, looks at the other man with startled eyes and a hesitant smile. “You’re still here,” he whispers, and Tony puts a hand on his hip, draws him careful up to straddle him and smiles up at the dazed, sleepy boy.

“Of course, angel,” Tony says, and pulls him into a lazy wet kiss that makes Peter’s toes curl.

Later, he dresses Peter in his shirt and sits the boy on his lap, feeds him from his own plate while Peter blushes under his heavy, hungry gaze.

~*~

Strange gives hims blades.

He brings Peter home and tucks him into his bed, and brings him the head of the man who tried to rape him, his eyes a burning kind of cold and even though Peter killed him, seeing Strange’s hands on it settles something in him.

And then come the blades. Small and bright and sharp, Strange produces rows and rows of them, and each is lovely and deadly.

Peter pricks his finger on one with a wickedly curved hook to it, and he stares at Strange, uncertain.

“Let me teach you, darling--so that never happens again.”

~*~

Strange smiles when Peter’s tension melts away and he smiles, and nods.

~*~

The first time Tony hears about Strange’s Spider, he’s killed Harley, the kid Tony has just brought into the company. He shows promise, has a plan to open the drug trade and edge out the Doctor--and then he’s dead, and there’s no trace at all.

The Spider is clean, slips in and out unseen, kills with almost no bloodshed, with just enough poison that there’s no doubt who the assassin was.

Harley isn’t the first the Spider killed in Tony’s organization. But he’s the one Tony cared about, the one that made him demand answer.

But Strange is a slippery shadow and the more Tony searches, the more he realizes, the Spider is even more difficult to pin down.

~*~

Tony gives him lace panties.

He gives him cashmere sweaters, leggings so soft they feel like a cloud. He wraps Peter in blankets and draws his boy onto his lap as his Captain and Soldier argue, and Peter dozes there, the softness and Tony’s hand, carding through his hair, lips pressed against his forehead, soothing him to sleep.

“Why are you so kind to me?” Peter asks, once, dragging his eyes open.

Tony smiles at Peter, kisses him and murmurs, “Because I love you, angel.”

~*~

Peter doesn’t understand Tony’s version of love.

Strange loves him.

Strange gives him Silk, gives him bruising kisses and a heavy grip on his hips, gives him weapons to protect himself, and poison so his attackers never see it coming, and all he asks in return is the occasional homicidal favor.

Sir saved him, and loves him, and he doesn’t understand love that can be kind and selfless.

~*~

One night, almost three months after Tony dragged Peter into his lap in the back of his car, someone forgets.

Maybe they didn’t know. But they forget, who Peter is. Who he belongs to.

Peter slips away from Bucky on the dance floor of Tony’s favorite club, catches his lover’s eyes and smiles, dismissive, as he heads for the bathroom.

The man comes from nowhere, his breath hot and rancid in Peter’s nose, scrambling for his pants as he pants, “Your Daddy can’t save you. He won’t save my company, why the hell  should he save you?”

Peter’s grin goes feral, and his fingers close over his favorite dagger--

Tony slams into the man, so sudden that Peter doesn’t actually understand what’s happening until Tony starts hitting him.

Peter can feel the other man’s touch, still, bruising and hot and wrong and he shudders, watching Tony hit him.

He doesn’t stop for a long time.

~*~

Tony comes to him, blood on his knuckles and splattered on his face, and gives him cashmere and morning cuddles, and protection.

Strange comes to him, eyes cold and demanding, and gives him knives and poison and the cold belief that Peter will use them, will know how to use them.

He thinks it’s odd, that he’s spent so much of his life, living up to the standard of what Sir wanted.

He watches Tony from the breakfast bar, nibbles on his fruit, and wonders at the difference in the two men he has loved.

~*~

He holds Strange’s knife and trust, hold’s Tony’s heart and hand, and he has no idea what to do.

Part 4 

#like romeo & juliet #arei writes fic #starker #starker fic #stephen strange x peter parker #tw: drugs #tw: noncon