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#''there's nothing distinctly romantic about it until I decide there is but even then it's Different still'' is basically what I'm getting a
starcrossedxwriter · 5 months
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Wicked Fantasies Part 7 (MBJ x OC)
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Warnings: harassment, public sex, the usual BDSM warnings apply heavilyyyy lol
A/N: Umm this is a fun one! Mostly fluff with a little drama lol We're getting into the holiday spirit with a couple time jumps so enjoyyy!
***
“I have a surprise for you,” Michael whispered, chuckling as Raven tucked herself deeper into the covers. 
They had been out at a party until late and then Michael proceeded to have his way with her at his condo until the wee hours of the morning. Her body still ached from the suspension ropes he hung her from for over an hour. It was her first introduction into true restraints and bondage and she enjoyed it far more than she thought she would. And now, all she and her limbs wanted to do was burrow in her covers and sleep all day. 
“Is the surprise a hot bath?” she called, her words still muffled by the heavy duvet cover. 
“Nah.” 
“Ok well then I hate surprises,” she mumbled, causing Michael to laugh. 
“Come on, this is a fun one. I promise!” 
She groaned and dramatically flopped the covers from over her face and pouted. “I was a really good girl last night and this is my reward? Being woken up at ungodly hours?” 
Michael raised an eyebrow and glanced down at his Apple Watch. “It’s 10 am, baby.” 
Her heart fluttered at the word baby, her eyes casting downward as she tried to limit the smile that wanted to bloom on her lips. She still was not used to it yet. To the world and everyone around them, nothing had changed. But for them, everything had changed. They were a real couple, bonafide and no longer faking or pretending. There was a new intimacy to it that she had not expected. And freedom. It was so clear to her now how much both of them had been holding back, how muted what they felt for each other truly was before. Because now, they could both experience the full breadth of their love for each other, could express it and receive it. And it made both of them wonder if they had ever experienced true romantic love before each other. Because this was everything and so much more. 
Everything felt lighter and easier. And yet, Raven could not help but feel like there was a dark cloud looming over them, a deep-seeded fear that everything she felt would be taken away. Perhaps she was just worried that, even if they were telling the truth about their romance now, they had started off as a lie. It did not seem like the steadiest of foundations. However, she chose to brush those fears aside. They were just her doubts and insecurities talking. She had never felt for a man like she felt for Michael, never felt so loved by someone. It felt good and she realized she never knew true happiness until now. Sure, there had been times when she was happy. But pure uninhibited bliss? That was only a state Michael could bring out in her. 
“So what’s this big surprise?” She asked as she stretched her body long in the bed before sliding out. 
Her slippers shuffled against the floor as she made her way to his bathroom to get ready for the day. 
“Wouldn’t be a big surprise if I told you now, would it?” 
“I hate you,” she grumbled, though the smile on her face let him know that was a complete and utter lie. 
“You weren’t sayin’ that last night… in fact, I distinctly remember making you scream the exact opposite,” he mused as his fingers played with the delicate thin strap of her night gown as he moved it to the side to press delicate kisses against her warm skin. “Over and over and over again. Maybe I need to give you a refresher.” 
She smirked and decided to play the brat, excited for where the experience could take her. “Seems like the first lesson didn’t stick… not a very  effective teacher it seems, Mr. Jordan.” 
Michael chuckled. “You’re gon’ regret that shit. But lucky for you, we gotta get to the house soon so I ain’t got time to put you in your place. But tonight, that ass is mine.” 
Raven clenched her thighs together and grinned. Of course, he was not too foolish to not realize that was the exact outcome she wanted. 
The pair listened to music as they got dressed in comfortable clothes and drove over to Michael’s family’s house. Everyone was there, hot chocolate and breakfast waiting. The entire entry way was filled with bins and boxes of ornaments, decorations, and trees. 
“What’s all this?” 
Michael smiled. “Well ma don't let December 1 pass without ensuring the house is decorated so figured you could help us out this year. I remember you tellin’ me your grandma would let you decorate her tree and thought you might like it.” 
Raven felt everything inside her melt and her eyes well up with tears. He seemed to remember literally everything she told him. 
“Y-Yea I would like that,” she offered, her throat tight as she tried not to cry. 
“Don’t cry, Rae,” he laughed, pulling her into a hug. “It was supposed to make you happy.” 
“I am happy,” she whispered pitifully as her tears stained his sweater. 
“My cute crybaby,” he kissed her on the top of her head. “Ok, no tears on decorating day or moms’ll never let you live it down. Come on.” 
Raven laughed and wiped them away before following him into the kitchen. Everyone greeted her with hugs and smiles. All of them joked around and talked as they ate the delicious breakfast Michael’s mom prepared. Raven felt as if she had gained 10 pounds since spending more time at Michael’s house.
“Ok baby girl,” Michael gestured toward the many decorations in his foyer. “You get to be creative director. We got four trees.” 
Raven’s eyes bugged out of her head. “Four trees??” 
“One in here, one in the living room, one upstairs and then one in the basement.” 
Raven let out a breathy chuckle as she took in his matter of fact tone, as if to say everyone had enough space for four trees. 
She studied the available decorations before pulling all of them out and sectioning them off. And before she knew it, Christmas music blared on the speakers and the troops went to work, decorating all four trees. Michael and Raven were in charge of the second largest one in his family room, Raven needing a ladder to decorate the full thing. 
The pair had a ball decorating, Michael thoroughly amused at Raven’s strong opinions on how to fluff out a fake tree. She had a professional eye for detail that he had not expected as she worked. But there was a playfulness to all of it, a joy that made him thankful he went this route instead of his usual. She sang loudly with the music playing, knowing every word to every song that came on. And her entire body practically bounced around as they finished their tree and she went to go help with the others. 
By the time they finished dinner and stowed away all the extra decorations and cleaned up, they were exhausted. Everyone else had gone to bed, leaving Michael and Raven on his couch with cups of hot chocolate, spiked to Michael’s preference, and a movie playing in the background. 
Raven could barely look at the movie though as her eyes kept traveling to the two trees that were within eyesight and all the random Christmas decorations they had spread across his house. She felt as if she had stepped into a winter wonderland. 
“You did a great job as creative director,” he whispered as he watched her eyes study the tree Raven was in charge of. “Still mad at this surprise?” 
It was beautiful, decorated in soft colors of white, rose, and gold with small white lights. It was not the pristine and perfectly symmetrical tree he usually had in his living room, towering and professionally decorated to the point that it could have been in a magazine. No, every aspect of the 11 ft tree was done painstakingly, in Michael’s opinion, by hand. But something about it was more beautiful than any other Christmas tree he had ever had as an adult. It was crafted with love and attention and care, it was homey and perfect. 
She smiled. “No, you were right… It was a fun one. But I know you usually hire someone to do it.” 
“Who told you that?” 
“Your dad accidentally let it slip,” she chuckled. “It’s not as good as a real decorator could do. Not as… refined or perfect,” she scoffed, bowing her head, her own insecurities seeping in. That was her too… not refined enough or good enough to be on the arm of someone like him, to be in his life in this way. He could call her his girlfriend but her doubt about whether she deserved the designation still lingered like weeds.
His finger lifted her eyes back to his. “It’s perfect… exactly what the house needed but didn’t realize.” 
She raised an eyebrow. “Don’t think we’re talkin’ about trees anymore.” 
“Don’t think we ever were,” he winked at her. 
Silence fell over them as they cuddled on the couch. Michael stared down at her, wondering if this was finally his chance. There was so much he still wanted to know about her, so much she revealed but still kept from him. He understood it but he wanted to consume every little thing there was to know about her, even the things that were hard to share. He wanted to help her carry her baggage or help her unpack it and set it down where she could. 
And there was one thing, one story, that she kept from him as much as she could. The one major thing about her life he still did not have the answer to but desperately wanted it.
“You ever gon’ tell me?” He asked quietly as Raven shifted so she was leaning her back against his chest. 
“Tell you what?” She threw him a confused glance. He knew everything worth knowing about her. 
“Why you stopped writing? You said you’d tell me one day.” 
Her face fell. She was not sure where she thought the conversation was going to go but it was not there. She supposed she was not going to be able to keep it a secret forever, particularly not when she revealed it to the whole dinner table at Thanksgiving by accident.
“Not that interesting of a story, I’m afraid.” She tried to downplay it as she shifted uncomfortably. And it wasn’t, half the women she knew had a story like hers, varying degrees of awfulness but the story was unfortunately common.
“Then tell me.” At her silence, he amended. “You don’t have to tell me anything, Rae. I just… want to know everything about you and if you’re up for sharing, I wanna hear it.” 
She sat up and turned to face him, her nails tapping against the ceramic mug as she brought her legs beneath her. 
“Just your typical ‘men ain’t shit’ story.” At his confused glance, she elaborated. “The first editor I had at my publisher was a woman and she was amazing. Worked with her on my first book and it was great. By the time it came out, we were starting to edit and refine the second and I had signed my contract for it. And… she had a baby and decided to be a stay at home mom. My new editor, this guy… he was good, great at his job. Nice enough to be unsuspecting and unassuming. But I could tell… well, I could tell he was attracted to me? Or liked me, you know? But I ignored it, figured as long as he didn’t try anything, it wouldn’t be a problem. One night, we were working late on his edits for the book and he… made a pass at me.” 
Michael’s eyes immediately darkened as if he knew exactly where the story was headed. She could immediately feel a shift in his whole demeanor, his outrage wafted off of him. And something about it was incredibly sexy… that he was so angry for her. 
She smiled. “Relax… you can put Killmonger back in his cage,” she teased with a soft smile. “He didn’t do that. I said no a-and he pushed, but I held firm. I’m not above using my body to get what I want… that much is obvious but I like for it to be my choice, not some asshole taking it away from me. Anyway, finally, he accepted that no meant no so we called it a night and I went home. All he had done was make me uncomfortable, he hadn’t hurt me or anything, so I figured he would just apologize and we’d both move on. A week later, my agent called and said that they weren’t gonna move forward with my book. I was no longer a fit for their publishing house.” 
Michael could still hear the pain and frustration that had been caused in her voice, despite her best efforts to keep the tone light. 
“The contract I signed after I submitted the draft gave them distribution rights for three years so I got a year and some change to go. I tried to think of new ideas, you know, write other stuff in the meantime but he blacklisted me from damn near every publishing house worth anything. So my agent dropped me. And then I was… just too tired to write anything after that. Like he had just taken all of life for it out of me?” She paused for a moment before continuing. “I was hoping to use the time to save up to eventually self publish the second one when I can but my family’s made that difficult,” she chuckled. “So yea… doing my 3 year bid and then I’ll be free. It won’t make me the same amount of money, but there’s freedom in self-publishing I guess. Being your own boss.” 
“I’m sorry. No one deserves that.” He figured it was something along those lines but it did not make it any easier to hear. 
She shrugged. “No, they don’t. But what can I say? I’m a magnet for shitty people.” Her tone attempted to lighten the mood but it fell flat. “Or… I dunno… too trusting of people who haven’t earned it,” she mused. “But if I wasn’t so trusting, I wouldn’t be here… with you. And I would’ve hated to miss out on this.” 
“I’d like to believe God would’ve helped us find our way to each other without you having to go through trauma and concussions,” he pushed her hair behind her ear. 
“Yea maybe. But without all that, I wouldn’t be the woman you love.” 
“How do you do that?” Michael asked quietly. 
“What?” 
“Find the silver lining in everything? One bad breakup had me showin’ my entire ass for years and you… you’ve seen the worst people have to offer. How do you even trust people after all this?” 
Raven smiled and shifted so she could straddle his hips and sit in his lap. “It’s not easy… and some days, it feels like it’s not worth it. But… you remember Monique, that dancer I told you about? Well, my first night at the club was a fuckin’ disaster. I was 18, hella green and hella naive. I made like nothing in tips cause I sucked.” Michael loved how she laughed with her whole body as she reminisced on her memories. “And this drunk asshole tried to  follow me out to my car and tried to get me to go home with him. Monique rolled up like a knight in shining armor and punched him square in the face. She gave me half her tips for the night and the next day, offered to teach me some moves and some fighting moves in case that ever happened again. The point is… For every terrible person I’ve come across that wanted to do me harm, I’ve run into someone who reminded that there’s more good out there than I know… as fuckin’ cliche as that sounds. So I just hold onto that. Just don’t… don’t ever want to be jaded? Let someone have the power to steal the inherent qualities that make me… me? No one should have that much power, you know?”
“One of the many things I love about you,” he whispered, tugging on her arm so she was in his lap. 
Hearing the word love on his lips made her heart flutter every single time. Deep down in her soul she felt it in every way. 
She rested her hands on his chest. “One of the ways? I’m that amazing??” She joked, causing him to shake his head. 
“Yea. You are that amazing. How about we take our drinks upstairs and I can tell you all the ways?” He leaned in and nipped at her earlobe with his teeth causing an ache between her legs to grow. 
“I’d rather you show me.” 
“That’s a given, baby.” 
***
Michael spied behind a bookshelf as Raven interacted with the young students filling the plush seating of the library’s gathering space. His heart wanted to burst as she talked to the students. He knew she only fell into this job as a result of a shitty situation but she was making the best of it. And he could not help but think that perhaps this was truly her calling in addition to writing. The kids seemed to love her and she seemed to love them back, all of their faces in bright smiles. 
And for the first time, he found himself wondering what she would be like as a mom. And what their kids would be like. Michael always wanted kids but he figured it would not be in the cards for him any time soon. However, Raven made him want to think about that, and want to think about a future. And now, he saw those additional grandkids his mom wanted so badly as clear as day.
He counted, the club had almost 50 kids in it. They all looked like they ranged in age from middle school aged to seniors in high school.
“I got something for y’all,” she reached behind her and pulled out a couple of boxes of neatly wrapped gift bags. “It isn’t much but… what’s our last book club meeting before the holidays without a gift??” 
The kids cheered as they all leapt out of their seats. Even he was curious as to what the gift could be. She had not even mentioned it to him. 
He could tell they were personalized in some way as she handed them out one by one, checking each gift tag to make sure each kid got the right gift. She instructed the kids to wait to rip into them. Though it was clear that was a chore for most of them. Once the last kid, who Michael recognized as Jamal who he had met once before, had his in hand, stuffing paper started to fly. 
Each kid pulled out a glittering sliver book embosser, a different book, and a handwritten card from Raven. 
“What is it?” One of the girls in the class asked as she pushed her wide framed glasses up higher on her nose. 
“You know those stickers that go on Oprah’s book club books?” All the kids nodded. “It’s like that but with your names and a bit more fun. It’s like a stamp you can put in the first page of your books. Y’all are all starting your own library collections, should have something that makes them a bit more unique. And the books are ones I think each of you would like. And the card is just a note from me ahead of the new year.” 
“It’s kinda old school but cool. Like something vintage,” another girl offered as she tested out the embosser. 
“Yea it’s like a typewriter or some shit. That’s dope, that’s dope,” Jamal remarked as he tested his out on the book in front of him. 
Michael had to stifle his own laughter so as not to give himself away as Raven facepalmed herself and laughed.
“Like a typewriter. Wow. How old do y’all think I am??” 
“You really want us to answer that?” 
She shook her head immediately. “You know what… Point taken. Well I hope y’all like them and they aren’t too too old-school,” she offered with a smile as the group started to mutter excitedly to themselves as they tested out their new gadgets on their books. 
“It isn’t much but just wanted to do something small to say Merry Christmas.” She glanced at the clock. “Oh I didn’t even see the time. Aight, we gotta wrap up, I’m sure some of your parents’ve been waiting outside for a while.” At their groans, she merely shook her head. “We are well past our hour and y’all aren’t gonna get me in trouble with your parents.” 
She ushered the younger kids and some siblings to the door, each of their parents greeting her and chatting for a few moments before they walked their kids out to their cards or toward the street.
At that point, only a small group of older kids remained. “Alright, you know the drill - text me when you get home and stay in your groups, please.” 
“We ain’t babies.” 
“Yea and we all live like 5 minutes from here,” the girl with glasses remarked.
“I know y’all are basically grown. But humor me please. If one of you got hurt or lost, it’d take literal years off my life. You’re really doing it for my sanity over anything else,” she reasoned.  
Raven got along with the kids so well because she was an adult they could relate to and trust but even she had to put on the hat of responsible adult occasionally, much to their collective chagrin. And that meant ensuring every kid made it the few blocks, bus ride, or into the car to get home. 
“Yes, Ms. T.” All of their disgruntled murmurs filled the library as they headed out the door in small groups depending on where they lived. Thankfully, they were all friends so she knew they’d look out for each other.
“You can come outta hiding now,” she called, seemingly to no one in particular. 
“Busted?” Michael asked as he emerged from the shelves to stare at her, an amused expression painted on her face. 
“Yep… caught a glimpse of you scurrying behind that bookshelf. Better be glad the kids didn’t see you. You’re more than one of their celebrity crushes. They would’ve been all over you for a picture or a story or a reel or whatever they do on social these days.” 
Michael let out a barking laugh. “You sound like an old lady.” 
“I am an old lady… proudly,” she laughed. “And they know it too.” 
“Those were sweet gifts you got them.” 
She smiled. “Thanks. Despite well… everything, Christmas is my favorite time of the year. Everyone’s so caught up in the spirit and giving. It wasn’t much but I hoped it would put a smile on one of two of their faces. Did you hear them call me old school?? Super offensive,” she chuckled. 
“Hella offensive.” 
She raised an eyebrow at him. “Language, Mr. Jordan,” she winked at him playfully. 
“You gonna discipline me, Ms. Turner?” He asked, closing the space between them, his breath tickling the skin on her neck as he leaned in to whisper in her ear.
Raven felt her whole body flush with heat. Fuck. For some foolish reason, she had worried the spark between them would fade once they settled into the normalcy and mundaneness of a real relationship. However, it had been the exact opposite. Somehow, everything he did only heightened her emotions and desire for him. She thought it was overwhelming before? Well, now it was all consuming and blinding. 
“Maybe you should take me home and find out?” She whispered. 
“What if I want to find out here?” 
“Then I’d have to remind you that this is a public library… with cameras everywhere.” 
He glanced around. “Come on, I bet you know one spot that ain’t got cameras, baby girl. I vaguely remember you saying you wanted to live out some fantasies. You gonna tell me sex in public ain’t one of them?” 
Her eyes darkened with lust. She knew he knew that he had her. It was most certainly one, one of the more sinful ones she would admit. But it lacked practicality. 
“This isn’t just in public, babe. This is my job,” she reminded him, her resolve growing weaker with every word. And he knew it. 
“That makes it even more fun. Come on, baby. You know you want me to fuck you senseless in one of these shelves, want me to make you beg to come right here.” 
Fucking hate him, she thought to herself. Her panties were soaked.
She grabbed his hand and led him up the stairs to the second floor, to a small far corner that she knew had no cameras in the vicinity. It also was ominously dark as some of the overhead lights had gone out earlier that week. She knew the library was utterly deserted and there was absolutely no chance of them getting caught, but still it made her nervous. But she supposed that was the entire point. 
“Can’t believe we’re doing this…” she mumbled, more to herself than Michael. Not that having sex at work or in public had not been on her list of things to one day do. She did not think it would be this particular job. 
“Relax and enjoy it,” he whispered in her ear before he pushed her forward, forcing her upper body against the cold wooden table in the corner. 
She hissed slightly as the cold material touched her bare arms. She could already tell what this was going to be: quick and dirty… and her favorite: rough. His touch always had a gentleness to it, which she appreciated. However, she loved it when he was rough, when he left a mark to remind her whose exactly she was.
“You gon’ be quiet for me?” 
“Yes.” 
She yelped as a hard smack fell across her ass as he pushed her skirt up to her waist. 
“Yes what?” 
“Yes sir.” 
“Good girl. But if that was any indication, don’t think you’re gonna keep quiet so…” 
Before Raven could even react, Michael ripped her panties clean from her body and stuffed them into her mouth as a makeshift gag. The quickness of it, the bite of the material against her skin, and the mere act of being forced to taste herself made her moan. But it worked, the sound was muffled. 
“That’s much better. And don’t let them fall out or I’ll light that ass up, understand?” 
She nodded fervently. Her body shuddered as he wiped a finger over her clit.
“So wet for me.” He sucked her juices off his finger and moaned lightly. “You taste so good, baby girl.”
She wanted to say thank you or beg but she couldn’t, not with her panties muffling her voice. 
She let out a guttural moan as he filled her in one stroke, the angle of the low table allowing him to get deep. One hand pushed her back deeper into the table as she squirmed. His strokes were deep and guttural, each one ending with jolt to her g spot. 
He was not making love to her, he was not gentle. This was pure fucking, fast and furious and uninhibited and she loved it. Everything in her wanted to scream but she could not. But her muffled low moans filled the small space as he settled into a rhythm. 
“You gon’ cum on this dick, you disgusting slut??” 
She could only force her head up enough to nod slightly before falling back against the table. She did not even feel the pain of her thighs banging into the table with every thrust because she was so focused on him. The power of his thighs slamming against hers, the pressure of one had at the base of her neck while the other bit into the meat of her hip. 
Where they were became irrelevant, the nervousness she felt about that fell away as every sense in her body focused on him and only him and the pleasure he so graciously provided her. 
Her eyes screwed shut as waves of pleasure hit her with the force of a train. Usually she had time to warm up and prepare herself but not today. Today, she was merely a vessel for him to get off and she loved every second of it. 
“Fuck… that’s it baby. Cum on this dick.” Michael was in heaven as her pussy clenched around him. He usually could last far longer than this but his body seemed to understand the point of a quickie. And so it did not take long for him to feel himself reaching the peak. 
He groaned and held onto her tightly as he filled her with his cum, part of him wanting to collapse next to her. He leaned over her for a few moments to catch his breath before staggering back from her as he pulled his briefs and pants back up and righted himself. 
Raven propped herself up on her elbows after letting her panties fall from her mouth. She glanced back at him with an incredulous look on her face as if she was still shocked that they just did that. Which made them both burst out into laughter. 
“Well that was… definitely one for the books,” she remarked as she sat up and turned around. She leaned against the table, her panties bunched up in her hand, she gestured toward them. “That was a nice addition, Mr. Jordan. Seems like you punished me more than I did you though.” 
“Eh you can punish me later, how about that?” He kissed her on the forehead before fishing her panties out of her hand and pushing them into his pocket with a wink. “Think I’ll keep those for the rest of the night. You can’t put ‘em back on.”
“Whose there??” An older man’s voice rang out causing both of them to scurry to fully right their clothing.
Raven cleared her throat as Michael helped her adjust her top and she emerged from the bookshelves. 
“I-It’s just me, Mr. Robinson!”
She waved at the elderly black man who was clearly maintenance staff.
“Ms. Turner! Figured it was you. Whatchu doin’ here so late? Book club ended a while ago?” 
Raven smiled and nodded. She grabbed Michael and pulled him out of the shelves. “My boyfriend came to pick me up and got distracted giving him a tour.  This is Michael,” she gestured at the star, the older man’s eyes growing big. “This is Mr. Robinson.” 
“How you doin’ man? I’m a big fan!” He offered, shaking Michael’s hand. “Cynthia called earlier and said some lights up here were out so I just came to fix ‘em before tomorrow.” 
“Thank you, we really appreciate that. Well, it’s all yours. We were just looking at books and joking around, we’ll get out of your way.” She jerked her head toward the door, gesturing for Michael to follow her. However, when she reached the steps, she turned back. “Oh and Mr. Robinson?” 
The man seemed to have a knowing look on his face. “Didn’t see anyone here when I came through, you were just finishin’ up as I was comin’ in.” He winked at her before waving them on their way. 
They made quick work of grabbing Raven’s bag and materials before scurrying out the door, the pair both busting out into laughter as they climbed into Michael’s SUV. 
“That was a close one,” she remarked. “Ok that was fun but definitely no more job sex.”
“Don’t pretend like you didn’t enjoy it,” he teased.
She gently shoved him back into his seat as she chuckled. “Shut upppppp. Whew I’m exhausted, can’t wait to knock out.” 
Michael patted his thigh, Raven laying down across the seat so she could sleep. It was a bit of a trek to his house from her neighborhood so Raven closed her eyes and enjoyed the soft music that played as Allen drove them home. 
“Do you miss it?” 
“Hm?” Raven asked, needing further clarification of what he was asking. 
“Do you miss writing? Or does this… the kids fill that void?” 
Raven thought about it for a moment, realizing she had never really let herself think too much about it or miss it that much. “Umm… yea, I try not to… try not to think about it. But I miss it a lot. It was my dream and I love these kids… don’t get me wrong. They are amazing and I have so much fun with them. But it doesn’t fill the void? Just makes the void a bit more bearable.” 
His hand ran through her blow out for a few moments before nodding and allowing silence to fall over them. Soon her gentle snores filled the car as Michael thought long and hard about what she said. He reached into his pocket, careful not to jolt the sleeping woman beneath him and opened his text thread with Alex. 
Michael: hey, need two favors
Alex: Don’t you always? 
Michael: ha ha. Need you to find me a contact at Hatchett & Perkins Publishing house? Like in legal or licensing or somethin
Alex: Let me guess… this favor is not so you can write a memoir? 
Michael: of course not. 
Alex: Give me till tomorrow and I’ll send you a name & email. Favor #2?
Michael: You got any friends that rep authors?
Alex: Yep. 
Michael: Find me one that reps fantasy. Preferably black women if you know them
Alex: Done. 
Michael let his phone fall onto his other thigh before he leaned back and smiled to himself. He was about to give her the Christmas of a lifetime. 
***
Christmas Day
Raven stretched lazily, the smell of cinnamon rolls wafting up to Michael’s bedroom through the cracked bedroom door. She lazily rolled over, surprised to find his spot empty. She groped in the bed for her phone, squinting to read the time. 8 am. 
Too early, she huffed as she threw the covers back over her head. They had been up past midnight partaking in the Jordans’ Christmas Eve traditions. They drank, watched a Christmas movie - this year was Michael’s turn to choose and he chose Jim Carey’s the Grinch much to Raven’s excitement - and opened one present each. 
There was a mountain of them under the tree. She had spent days helping Michael wrap them all. He had intended to have them sent out to be professionally wrapped but Raven put a stop to that nearly immediately. Similar to tree decorating, she thought there was something impersonal about having a professional do it. So she spent an entire Saturday wrapping all of his presents for his family, he hid hers from her much to her chagrin, and she had a ball doing it. His dining table looked like a disaster when she was done but each one looked perfect, his girl using different color wrapping paper for each member of the family. 
Raven had truly improved the whole Christmas holiday for the entire household, reminding him that just because money could buy some conveniences did not mean it should. He also just loved her childlike excitement and joy around the season that seemed endless. She was constantly humming a Christmas song under her breath, her singing voice was not half bad though she did not agree.
She never much cared for Christmas herself. She loved the spirit and energy it brought for others but there was nothing special about it for her. No traditions or joyous memories to hold on to. But Michael went out of his way to help her create some with his family and she loved him dearly for it. 
She had dozed off again when a familiar voice woke her up. 
“Come on sleepyhead. It’s present time,” she heard a singsongy voice call out that made her groan. “Five seconds or I’ll tackle you.” 
“You wouldn’t dare!” She called out, her voice muffled under the thick comforter. 
“Five.” 
“Four.” 
“Three…” 
“Two…” 
Raven let out a shriek as she felt Michael’s heavy body land on her. His fingers attempted to tickle her sides, forcing laughter and her face to emerge from the covers. 
“Fine, fine. I yield! I yield! I yield!” She cried out. 
At her words, he gripped her hips and flipped them over so she was straddling his waist. He grabbed a Santa hat he discarded on the bed and plopped into her head. “Merry Christmas.” 
“Merry Christmas,” she leaned down and kissed him on the lips. 
“Get dressed, we’re opening presents at 9.” 
She nodded. “Alrighty. I’ll just start breakfast while y’all do that.” 
“You’re opening presents too.” 
“You gave me mine last night?” And it was gorgeous, a set of diamond earrings that she was honestly afraid to ever wear.
“You thought I only got you one present??” 
She laughed, not understanding. “Well, I only got you one present!”
“That’s fine. Hell, you could just put a bow on yourself and I would be happy. I got everything I could ever need or want. But you have presents under the tree from everyone and everyone has a present from you and us. Get dressed.” 
At her shocked expression, Michael figured that she was not used to getting many, if any gifts. However, he decided to keep the mood light and playful. 
“You surprised? You been naughty this year or somethin’? Expectin’ a lump of coal?” 
She offered him a sly grin. “Oh I’ve been real naughty. But somethin’ tells me that being naughty got me more presents from Santa than being nice would’ve.” 
“You damn right, girl.” 
She let out a cackle and rolled her eyes before sliding out of bed to get dressed. Before she knew it, the entire family was surrounded by an explosion of wrapping paper and stacks of gifts. 
Raven loved all of her gifts from Michael’s family. They gave her a lot of books and gadgets for writers and readers but she loved all of them. She imagined that was all they really knew about her but she appreciated that they put effort and thought into it. 
“Ok, baby girl. Last one from me,” Michael handed her a box with a neat bow around it. The rest of the family had dispersed to get dressed for the day and for brunch, leaving the couple in the living room surrounded by everyone’s presents. 
“Baby…” she let out a playful whine. Most of her gifts had come for Michael and while they were all sweet and thoughtful, she knew they had cost him an arm and a leg. Another first edition book, a gorgeous Chloe tote bag for her to take to work, and more jewelry than she knew what to do with. It made her gift feel measly in comparison but she had done her best. “You already got me so much. Don’t need anything else.” 
He shook his head. “Well, this is the gift that matters.” 
She paused. “Well I have yours upstairs… I just wanted to give it to you when we were alone. Wanna go up there and exchange?” 
He nodded, both of them heading up to his room with bright grins on their faces. She sat her gift down on the bed while she went into her stuff and pulled out a small book. 
She held it close to her chest, taking a deep breath. “It’s not much… I d-didn’t know what to get a man who has well… everything a person could want. But I thought, well, maybe you’d like this. O-or at least you’d give me an A for effort,” she chuckled. “But if you hate it, I totally understand. You don’t gotta pretend if you don’t like it.” 
Michael raised an eyebrow and laughed, closing the space between them. “Why don’t you let me see it before you decide that I don’t like it? Whatever it is, I’m sure I’ll love it.” 
She nodded and held out the small book to him. It looked like a professionally printed book, with a beautiful but simple black and gold cover. 
The title read: The Fall by Raven Turner 
Michael opened the first page, which read: 
It’s not much but you were the first person in a long time to make me want to pick up my figurative pen again. And this was the result: a story dedicated to every moment of the greatest fall of my life. I love you. 
Raven
“You wrote me a book?” He asked quietly as he examined it in his hands. 
She nodded. “Y-You like it?” 
He rushed forward and pulled her into his arms, kissing her deeply.  “I more than like it. This is the best gift anyone’s ever gotten me!” 
He peppered her face with kisses that made her giggle. “You sure? My other option was like a watch or something…”
He laughed. “Total waste of money. This is more valuable to me than 100 Rolexes. Thank you. I’ll read it tonight.” 
Nothing would have taken the smile off her face. 
“Now it’s your turn,” he urged as he sat his gift on his bedside table. 
Raven sat on his bed as she gently ripped the bow off and opened the box to find an envelope inside. It was odd, Raven could not possibly understand what the gift could be. 
She ripped open the envelope to reveal a plane ticket and hotel reservation to a resort in Thailand. 
“Y-You’re serious?? Thailand??” 
“Wanted to ring in our first New Years together somewhere special.” 
“Babe… this is…” 
“Exactly what you deserve. I have a feeling next year is gonna be your best year yet and I think we should usher it in with some style.” He had more than just a feeling, as long as his real surprise was wrapped up by their trip, it would surely be her best year yet. 
She laughed, wiping her tears away. “This is most certainly style. Thank you. I love it.” 
“I’m glad you do cause we leave tomorrow night.” 
Her mouth dropped open. “W-what?? Babe I gotta get my hair done… a wax, my nails! These aren’t vacation nails…” she glanced down at her beautiful but very Christmas themed nail set.
“You think I’d book you a trip to Thailand and not take care of everything?” His face scrunched up in a faux annoyance that made her chuckle. “You’re in for a day of pampering tomorrow while Jason picks out pieces and has his team pack for you. I plan on having you naked for most of the next two weeks so you ain’t gonna need much clothes.” 
“And work?” 
“You’d be surprised what a handsome face and nice smile will get you,” he remarked with a shrug. 
She stood and wrapped her arms around him, kissing him. “What did I do to deserve you?” 
“You’re you. That’s all it takes.” 
She smiled and kissed him again. She glanced at the bed, lust curling in her belly. 
“How long before your family comes looking for us?” 
She shrieked and laughed as he gently pushed her down on his bed. 
“Long enough for me to make you cum at least twice.” 
***
Raven was thankful their bungalow at this resort was fairly distant from the others as Michael seemed committed to making her scream over and over and over again for the last five days. She had seen very little of the resort aside from when they emerged for dinner. They had a private pool and private access to the beach. 
Michael had not been lying when he said he planned to have her naked for most of the trip. All she could do was laugh when she realized the only panties packed for her had been part of very sexy and elaborate lingerie sets that would not count as clothes for anyone with eyes. When she was not in a bathing suit or an outfit for dinner, she was in lingerie that did not stay on her body for long. 
Michael quite literally ravished her from sun up to sun down on every surface in their suite, in and by the pool, underneath the waterfall shower in their giant bathroom, and in the sand on their private beach. Though, neither of them did that one again due to the uncontrollable and annoying nature of sand. 
But every moment of it was pure bliss. She loved how he switched, often at a moment’s notice, from treating her like a grand prize he won to a convenient hole for him to fuck. It was not uncommon for him, while they were mid conversation about something utterly random by the pool or over lunch, to bend her over the nearest surface and fuck her senseless simply because he felt like it. Their games did not diminish but seemed to amplify the more their relationship blossomed. 
Today, their game was orgasm denial. It was New Year’s Eve and Michael practically ignored her most of the day. After several days of being woken up with his head between her legs bringing her to orgasm, she was almost saddened to be woken up with a mere call for breakfast. 
The only time he touched her was during breakfast, as he - without a single word - slid his favorite vibrating toy into her pussy. She expected him to turn it on and bring her to orgasm right there, but he did no such thing. Instead, he told her of the tour of the nearby islands they were going to go on after breakfast. 
From that moment forward, all of his touches were chaste at best and decidedly frustrating to his girlfriend, much to his satisfaction. He could feel her eyes boring into the side of his face as if willing him to turn on the remote in his pocket as their tour guide jetted them around on a boat ride along the gorgeous blue water. 
It was difficult to ignore her for him too but he loved how eager she was, how the more he pretended he had not put the vibrator in her, the more aware she was of its presence. He watched her intently, how she tried to pay attention to the tour guide as she droned on and on about history, how her body squirmed in her seat with every platonic touch he offered, how her shoulders fell in disappointment every time those platonic touches did not turn into more. 
The boat ride was three hours of pure torture and he knew if he touched her, she would be dripping wet underneath her very revealing bathing suit and cover up. 
As they returned to their resort and stood up to get off the boat, Michael turned the vibrator on its full setting, Raven letting out a groan and her knees buckling beneath her. 
She almost fell completely to the floor of the boat but Michael skillfully caught her and feigned concern for her. 
“You ok, baby?” He glanced back at the tour guide before discreetly cutting the vibrator off. “Think the heat just got to her. Let me get you inside, love.” 
Raven was so consumed with the short-lived but amazing pleasure that all she could do was nod. She wanted to curse at him, scream at him. 
He held onto her tightly, keeping her flush to his side, as if he was helping a sick person until they made it back to their secluded bungalow. And by that time, Raven was fuming. 
“What the fuck, Bakari! In front of that lady as I was getting off the boat?? After you ignored me all morning??” She was not actually angry at him, she was just so fucking horny that she was angry. 
Michael grabbed her by the arm and put his hand around the base of her neck as he held her in a rough grip that made her thighs clench together. 
“If you want to cum at all again before 2023, I’d shut the fuck up. Understand?” he warned, his voice so strong and dominant that her mouth immediately shut.
Fuck. Admittedly, 2023 was only 12 more hours away, at least in Thailand. But she did not think she could wait 12 more hours. She was most certainly not God’s strongest soldier. 
“Y-Yes sir.” 
He grabbed her hand and led her outside to their private pool. “Sit,” he gestured toward one lounge chair that faced the pool. 
She sat down immediately, surprised when he disappeared back into their room, returning with several ropes. 
Fuck, she thought to herself again. Whatever he was about to do, she knew it would be extremely fun for him and a sort of delicious torturous fun for her. 
“Lay back.” 
She laid down against the warm fabric of the chair. He adjusted it so she was leaning back. He grabbed both of her hands and raised them above her head, tying them to the top of the lounge chair. Instinctively, she tried to move them but his knots were tight.
Then she watched as he did the same with each ankle, tying them to either side of the lounge chair so her legs were spread open. 
And then much to her surprise, he shed his clothes and slid in the pool. Her eyes filled with pure lust as she took in the droplets of water cascading down his perfect chiseled chest. She’d never get used to him. 
“Seems like you keep forgettin’ whose runnin’ this shit. So maybe this’ll teach you.” 
She did not fully understand what he meant until she felt the vibrator turn on, this time at its lowest setting. Her hips rolled as much as she could with her body restrained. She bit her lip to stop the moans from escaping, part of her not wanting to give him the satisfaction as she knew he was going to drag this out as long as possible. 
“You can try to keep quiet if you want to, baby. Honestly that’ll just make the show more entertaining for me.” 
And a show it was. Raven could only imagine how she looked to him as he leaned against the opposite edge of the pool and controlled her pleasure from afar. He talked, telling her about his upcoming projects for 2023, how he was so excited for his directorial debut of Creed 3. At first, with the toy on its lowest setting, she found it easier to ignore and engage in a conversation with him. 
However, as he steadily increased the intensity, her questions and responses were more broken by moans and groans that she could not hide. 
“How many books are in that series of yours?”
“Supposed to b- SHIT!” She cried out as he increased it to the highest setting. “Fuckkkkk,” she moaned as her hips started humping the air to increase the pleasure as she came close to her first orgasm of the day. However, as soon as she got to the edge, he cut it off, robbing her of it. 
“Michael!” She called out in frustration. 
“10.” 
“10 what??”
“Spankings. 5 for not answering my question and 5 for not addressing me properly.” 
She desperately wanted to roll her eyes. This nigga. 
“Three… the series is three books.” 
“Good girl.” 
The cycle and their conversation continued. Michael asked her more random questions about writing and her writing process and expected full answers as he brought her to the edge of an orgasm but took them away five more times. He gave her ample time to calm down in between each one but each time made the climb more intense and made the lack of an orgasm more painful.
And all the while, he sat unmoving like a statue across from her, watching as she moaned, begged, pleaded, and writhed around against her restraints. 
“You wanna cum, don’t you, baby?” He asked, moving for the first time to wade over to her. 
She was in tears as she nodded. “P-Please, d-daddy. I n-need to cum. I c-can’t take… much more. Please.” 
He lifted himself out of the water, Raven’s eyes studying how his biceps flexed at the swift motion. 
He grabbed her chin to force her to look at him. “You’ll take as much as I tell you. Besides, do you deserve pleasure before you’ve been punished?” 
She groaned. She hated him so much but she loved him so much that she would indeed take as much as he told her to. 
“N-no, no I don’t.” 
“That’s right. Only good girls get to orgasm. Are you gonna take your punishment like a good girl?” 
She nodded desperately. “Y-yes, I promise.” 
With that, he untied her and helped her up. He made her crawl behind him to their bedroom. He helped her onto the bed. 
“You know what to do.” 
Indeed, she did. Raven quickly discarded her bathing suit and climbed onto the bed and assumed his favorite position for both pleasure and punishment. Her face pressed against their comforter as she placed the deepest arch she could in her back. 
“Good girl, you want my hand or the belt?” 
That was an easy choice in her mind but she appreciated him letting her choose. “Your hand, please,” she asked innocently.
She knew it was both of their preference. Something about feeling the extent of his strength with every lash, seeing the red marks on her ass in the shape of his palm, made every punishment well worth it. She also knew Michael preferred it too. 
“Count ‘em out or I start over.” 
She groaned. This was the hardest part, focusing on each one enough to remember the number. 
She shrieked as he hit her the first time. She was not gonna be able to sit comfortably for the rest of their vacation. 
“One.” 
By the time she hit 15, she was in tears but she would have begged him not to stop. 
“Ten more, baby. And you’re doing so good…” he grabbed the remote he had discarded next to them and turn it on to its highest setting. “You can cum whenever you want.” 
Raven felt like her whole body was in flames as he rained down the last ten blows while the vibrator did the work of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost against her g-spot. She tried to grab a pillow to bury her face in as her screams reached a fever pitch that she imagined could be heard across their resort but Michael grabbed a fist of her braids and forced her head up. 
“Nah I wanna hear you.” 
She could not even register the last two spankings as she blissfully felt every part of her body, down to the cellular level, become overwhelmed with mind-numbing, life altering pleasure. Her entire body collapsed forward onto the bed, her legs unable to hold her lower body up. 
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she mumbled as she felt the vibrator turn off and started to come down. 
Michael smiled as he took in her form, he had utterly depleted her as she laid there, her entire body covered in a thin layer of sweat. 
He climbed onto the bed and pulled her into his arms, rubbing her back soothingly as she laid there, her brain not fully functioning or cognizant of his presence. 
Raven used the little bit of energy she had to settle into his arms, burying her head into his neck. She appreciated his commitment to aftercare, particularly when their sessions were super intense. Oftentimes, they were just so intense, they rubbed Raven raw emotionally and left her feeling vulnerable. And when they were merely fake dating, she had to often ignore those needs because she was afraid to ask him for more. He always checked in and ran her a bath or gave her a massage, often brought her food to ensure she was ok before he went to his guest room to sleep.  
But now, she could snuggle up against him and feel close to him, feel his love and receive his praise while she recovered. And she had not realized just how much she was missing. 
“You ok?” He asked. “That was intense.” 
“I’m excellent. And still horny but I don’t think my legs work to move,” she moaned. 
“Well, rest. I’ll wake up when it’s time to get ready for dinner.” 
He watched her for a while before he set an alarm and dozed off himself. 
***
“Figured we could go watch the fireworks on the beach. They told me the good ones start around 11:30… so in a bit.” 
Raven smiled as she continued eating. They had slept most of the day away after their session and she was starving. Michael had a private dinner scheduled for them in their suite, which she appreciated. She still got dolled up in a flowery two piece crop top and skirt but it was nice to have dinner in their own space. 
“So my mom asks this every New Years Eve… what do you want out of 2023?”
Raven’s fork paused in mid air as she thought on the question. What did she want out of the new year? She had no idea. 
“Umm… whew, I dunno. I’ve just been counting down the last couple years truth be told. Kinda felt lost and all over the place without my career? Didn’t really think I had much to look forward to? But…” 
“But…” 
“But now I feel like I don’t want everything to just pass me by? Like even if I’m not free to do what I love just yet, I wanna feel… happy? I wanna feel good and enjoy life.” She shrugged. “It’s kinda stupid.” 
He held his hand out for her to take it and squeezed, his thumb rubbing her hand. “That’s far from stupid. I have a surprise for you.” 
He took a deep breath and reached under the table to grab a box. 
She smiled and shook her head. “This trip wasn’t a surprise enough??” 
“Nah. And this is really just a late Christmas gift. Legal shit delayed it a couple days… but it seems fitting. Here’s to a 2023 of happiness and freedom.” 
He held the box out to her, it exactly resembled the one he had given her with their surprise trip to Thailand inside only this one had a large stack of paperwork in it. 
“What’s this??” She pulled the heavy stack, her eyes growing wide as she thumbed through them, skimming them quickly. “I-Is this what I think it is?” 
“If you think it’s the rights to your book, which are now yours to do with whatever you want, then yes. If you were thinkin’ it was somethin’ else…” 
Her mouth dropped open. Her breath came out more as a strangled sob than anything else as she continued reading. 
“This is…” she laughed nervously. “This is a joke right? Y-you didn’t… I know this had to have cost like… someone’s yearly salary money.” She stood and shook her head. “Y-You have to let me pay you back for that. It’ll take me like a fuckin’ decade,” she admitted. “But you can’t…” 
Michael gestured for him to come to her. He kept her flush to his lap as her entire body trembled from the pure shock. He had expected this reaction and was prepared. But he had not done what he did and paid what he did lightly. It was worth every single frustrating conversation and dollar spent.
“Yes I can… and I did. Getting rid of the last piece of dead weight you were dragging around was worth every dime. You deserve to tell your stories and they took that from you. So I took it back and am giving it to you. One signature,” he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pen and held it to her. “And they are all yours.” 
A tear fell on the papers before Raven tossed them down to the ground and threw herself into Michael’s arms as she sobbed into his neck. He wrapped his arms around her tightly as he held her.
“I love you… so much.” She whispered through her sobs. “T-this is the greatest thing anyone’s ever done for m-me.” 
His palm wiped away the tears streaming down her face as he kissed her. 
“It’s nothing.” 
She shook her head. “No, it’s literally everything… I don’t deserve you,” she whispered, shaking her head. 
“Yea you do. And all the other good things in this world. I’ll spend every day making sure you know it.”
They finished their dessert with Raven still on his lap, the young woman too shocked to really speak or offer much to the conversation. She could not believe it, could not believe him. She knew it would still be a long road to self-publish and figure all of that out but now? Now she had options, she could figure it out without waiting for the timer to hit zero. 
And he had done that for her. 
“Come on, fireworks are about to start.” 
Raven nodded and smiled. “Give me 5 minutes? Gonna put these somewhere safe,” she grabbed the scattered papers off the floor. “And fix my makeup. Can’t have you kissing me at midnight with eyeliner running down my face. That’d be a tragic start to the year.” 
“I’ll be by the pool. Don’t take too long.”
He watched her walk away and smiled before walking outside to the balcony. The fireworks were already in full swing and he could hear music and laughter from the main beach of the resort. 
It was the perfect end to a perfect night. Well, almost. A buzzing in his pocket redirected his attention. Tasha’s name scrolled across his phone. 
“This girl,” he mumbled. He knew her well enough to know if he did not answer she would simply call back. 
Michael glanced over his shoulder and sighed as he swiped across his phone. 
“Hey,” he offered coldly. The truth was he had forgotten everything about Tasha, had not thought about her once since her name graced his screen on Raven’s birthday. 
He did not hate her or offer her ill will, he just had no interest in seeing or speaking to her again. 
“Hey baby. Happy New Year.” 
“Happy New Year.” Michael’s tone was short and clipped, praying he could get her off the phone before Raven came back from the bathroom to find him. 
“Wanted to see if the New Year was gonna bring my favorite customer back to me?” 
“Look Tash…”
“It’s been a few months, Mike. You promised.”
Michael rolled his eyes. He had let her get far too comfortable, so comfortable that she thought he’d always be there. Which seemed like a base level foolish assumption given her line of work. But either way, he had moved on. Raven was his present and his future. He had no interest in anyone else. But this was the weight he was dragging around behind him, he quickly realized. And every day that he did not tell Tasha that truth and let her believe there was something there for them, was a disservice to her, Raven, and himself. 
“I know what I said but shit changed. I love her, Tash.” 
A wave of anger hit him as he heard the woman scoff, which was filled with disbelief. 
“Her?? You love her??” 
“Yes, her. I love her and even though it started off as somethin’ not real, it’s real to us both now and she’s everything I want.” He sighed. “Look, you are a great girl, I enjoyed our time together but I can’t see you anymore. Ever.” 
“You serious right now??” He could feel her rage through the phone but that did not deter him. Raven was everything for him and nothing Tasha could say would change that. 
“Dead serious. I know this ain’t what you wanted to hear but it’s over between us. I’m sorry.” 
She was seething. “Fuck you, Michael! You can’t just drop me outta fuckin’ no where! What am I supposed to fuckin’ do??” 
He bowed his head. Her reaction was not out of the realm of possibility, he just had not considered it at all, had not considered that he would have to “break up” with her officially. But he did not regret nor was he phased by her anger. That part of his life - whoring and using any and every woman who would let him - was over and in the past. 
“Find another client to replace me. I can’t be the first client to move on.” 
There was a long pause. “Nah you ain’t the first. But you’re the first to fall in love with a fuckin’ hooker and try to pass it off as a real relationship. Imagine the money TMZ would give me for that story.” 
Michael’s mouth dropped open. “You’re kidding right?” 
“I ain’t’ fuckin’ laughin. You can leave me for that country ass fake bumpkin, you can put her in designer clothes and call her your girlfriend but unfortunately for you, I know what she really is. A whore. And while you might think you can wave a wand and make her a housewife, everyone else? They’ll fuckin’ tear her apart. You really want that?” 
Michael couldn’t believe this shit. In all his years of being famous and having money, he had never had someone try to blackmail him. Michael clenched his eyes shut. “How much?” 
“There we go. Glad we could come to an agreement. $10k for now. I expect it as soon as you get back to LA. And then we can figure out an arrangement that works for both of us. Happy New Year, baby.” 
And with that, the phone went dead. Michael clenched it in his hand in frustration as he turned and shook his head. He quickly deleted the call from his call log to ensure Raven did not accidentally see it and sent Alex a text. 
Mike: We have a BIG problem
“Wow, those are gorgeous!” 
Michael slid his phone in his pocket as Raven emerged and stood next to him, her make up pristine and her body now clad in a very sexy ocean blue lingerie set. Michael forced a smile onto his face as he grabbed her ass and squeezed. 
“Not as gorgeous as you.” 
“We got five minutes till midnight and then I figured we could create some fireworks of our own?” 
“I like the sound of that…” Michael mused. 
He knew he needed to tell Raven about Tasha but he did not have the heart to do it right then. She was so happy, so happy that her whole body seemed to radiate with it. He refused to let anything diminish or take that feeling away. And he refused to let another selfish person steal her joy and relaxation while they were on vacation. He had a week to figure out a plan and get Tasha out of his life once and for all. And he had every intention of doing so and telling Raven once it was all said and done. She was finally happy and she deserved to stay that way. This was exclusively his mess, he would get himself out of it. 
“Oh you never told me,” Raven said as they sat down and stuck their feet in the water while the fireworks continued to boom loudly around them, painting the sky in bright colors. 
“What?” 
“What you want out of 2023?” 
Michael glanced down at her and the bright smile on her face. “I think I got everything I want for 2023. I got you, about to finish the biggest run of my career. I guess I just… want to make sure I don’t lose it all?”
She gently shoved him with her shoulder and chuckled. “Well, you aren’t gonna lose me.” 
“That a promise?” 
“Yes it is.” 
Off in the distance, they could hear the faint countdown from the giant crowd at the beach. 
Five… four… three… two…
“Happy New Year, Rae.” 
“Happy New Year, baby.” 
They shared a deep kiss under the fireworks before Michael swooped her up into his arms and carried her to bed, their room becoming a fireworks show for two. 
Tag List: @readinghere2023 @blackerthings @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @physicxal @purplehairgawdess @miyuhpapayuh @rueruesclues @geemamii @certifiedlesbianbaddie @pipsqueak-98 @nyifly22 @destinio1 @twocentaur @gopaperless @musicisme333 @roguekiki @majesticbrownjawn @taurusqueen83 @mysteryuz @miamormilan @itsknor-thedeep @naj-ay444 @mads-grace4 @nayaesworld @kholdkill @msniaimani @nccu-rnc @apenasumlug4r
***
A/N: the babies are in relationship blisssssss. And how perfect is Michael? Getting her book back for her. Also I tried to do some research on how all that works and it is really confusing so any real authors reading - don't hate me if I got it wrong LOL it's fiction! Well, as we all knew it would, Tasha has come back to claim her man again... what do we think? Should he have told Raven? Or should he wait till they get home? Or should he just deal with Tasha on his own? Anndddd this is the last update for this story for like a month - so so sorry to leave it like that LOL love yall though! Hope you enjoyed it!
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wardenparker · 3 months
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Vampire Waltz - ch 15
Max Phillips x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst
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A mysterious inheritance, sprawling mansion, eccentric roommates, friendly bat, and coven of New England witches are the newest chapter of your life after being unceremoniously dumped and kicked out by your boyfriend. For Max, the biggest change in his life is you, and what exactly he's going to do about the fact that he is stuck living with you as long as his sire continues to punish him for that incident at his last office...
Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 15.4k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: deceased parents, cursing, food, blood and blood drinking, depictions and references to abusive relationships. Anxiety and trauma responses. Self-worth issues.* Idiots in love, silly stripper routine, unserious reference to foot fetishes, mention of rimming, oral sex (m and f receiving), 69, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, vampire bite, blood drinking, use of a safe word, alcohol consumption, PTSD, anxiety/fear, panic reaction. Summary: Picking up where the last chapter left off, Max and Dolly share a night of intimacy that makes their time in the past even more precious. Nothing lasts forever, though, and there are less easy nights ahead. Notes: For this week's photo, have a peak at the guest bedroom that inspired Dolly and Max's getaway. This is the second floor guest room at the Vanderbilt's summer cottage, standing in for a guest room in their 5th Avenue palace. (And, as usual, forgive any errors I may have missed in proofreading. I really have to learn to do it before I get too sleepy.)
Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Ch 12 ~ Ch 13 ~ Ch 14
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"Tired, sweetheart?"
"Not at all." You've said goodnight to Renee and to Emmanuel's valet already, telling them you don't need help getting ready to sleep tonight, and that leaves just you and Max alone in your room together with a fire to keep you warm. "I do want to go to bed, though."
“Mhmmmmm.” Max licks his lips and winks at you. “Then we will have to get you out of that ballgown.” He tuts after he says it and frowns. “And I can’t rip it off you since it’s back in the future.”
"Most of it is just untying bows," you remind him, but your fingers feel for the seam on the left side of your bodice and start to unclip it carefully. This is the part that requires care. If anything underneath gets torn? Well...that's just an unfortunate accident.
Max decides that he should slip off his tailored coat, hanging it over the back of a chair before he's assisting you – wearing his vest and button down, shirt and tie still. "The loveliest bow I've ever unwrapped." He murmurs. "You are a gift, Dolly." Max has always flirted, always shmoozed, but with you – the pretty words come naturally and from the heart.
“If I didn’t know you as well as I do, I’d say you were too over the top to mean it.” He helps you with the hooks and clasps of your skirt and slipping out of your bodice, so that you’re just left in your many layers of underthings. The pretty corset cover would be a shame to lose, so you quickly set to work on those buttons.
"When it comes to you? Never." Max promises, wanting to rip everything off of you, but he also wants this to be romantic. Slightly afraid that your ex had been rough in the bedroom and doing that would trigger you, he keeps his hands steady and slow. Deciding that he will seduce you.
The ties holding each petticoat in place are easily pulled open, and each one is pulled over your head and tossed aside with little ceremony but enormous amounts of anticipation until you’re in just your stockings, corset, and chemise. It’s not that Max has never seen you naked. He has literally helped you wash, held you while you cried, and tasted your essence straight from the source. You’re not embarrassed to be seen by him. It’s just that the anticipation around this night has built up so distinctly that your skin has a layer of goosebumps just from wondering exactly how it will happen. The careful removal of your last few layers leaves you breathless, his cool fingers delicately shedding each piece of fabric from your skin like he’s plucking the petals from a flower.
Max’s fingers skim the underside of your breasts, not cupping them and just teasing with the cool brush of them. “Dolly…” he hums as he ducks his head and kisses along your neck. “We’re alone now.” He reminds you. “Tell me what you want.”
“It…seems pretty straightforward to me?” It’s also borderline impossible to think with Max’s lips on you, and you struggle to pull your thoughts together based on that one distraction alone. “I—I want to make love to my soulmate.” It seems ludicrous to say it out loud like that. Old fashioned and sentimental. But…the reality is, that this is sentimental. It’s the most sentimental you’ve ever felt in your life. Because Max is worth that emotional weight. Right now the only weight that isn’t worth it is the last of your clothes, which he helps you out of with eager hands.
“Romantic and slow.” Max decides, smiling against your skin and kissing your pulse. “Strip you down and kiss every inch of your skin. Before I finally slide inside you.”
“Hmmm,” you hum, swallowing a gasp when he nips at your pulse again. “Romantic torture? Actually sounds pretty sexy.”
“Not torture, worship.” He corrects you, sliding his hands over your bare stomach and down your hips. “Show you what you deserve.”
“Baby…” Turning around in his arms, you smooth one hand over his shaved cheek and bite your lip, holding back a worried pout. “You’re not in competition with my demons, love. I hope you know that.”
“I know.” He promises softly. “I am better than your demons and I want to prove it.”
"Conversely?" You step closer to wrap your arms around his broad shoulders. "In some cultures you would be considered a demon in your own right. So maybe we're just fighting fire with fire?"
“I am a demon.” His eyes flash yellow and he smirks. “A love demon.” It’s a joke, one to make you laugh.
“A desire demon?” Teasing him right back, you easily press your body against his and trail kisses from his lips to his jaw and down his neck.
"Yes." Max groans and closes his eyes and tilts his head back so let you do what you want. "Your desire demon."
“Hmmm,” you hum against his skin, almost triumphant in the way he’s reacting to you. “Yes, you definitely are.”
You make his knees weak, growling quietly as his body tightens in pleasure. "Dolly."
"Mm?" Having someone as powerful as Max is shake for you is a little intoxicating, and you barely stop to mumble against his skin. "What do you want, baby?"
"I want you." He groans, making sure he doesn't tighten his hold on you too much. You are still human and delicate. "I want to see you cum again."
“Then we should finish getting you undressed.” One more nip at his jaw makes him groan and you grin unrepentantly before you declare: “I want to watch.” And get up on the bed with darkened eyes.
Max grins, winking at you as he starts to slowly undress. "Bam Bam, bum bum." He teases, rolling his hips playfully in a mock strip tease.
The sight of him undressing isn’t funny – by definition it’s the single sexiest thing you’ve seen in your life to date. The fact that he’s doing a Chippendale’s routine in a full tuxedo is what does it, sending you into a torrent of giggles on the bed.
He pouts at you, even though he's sending you an air kiss. "Are you laughing at me?" He huffs playfully. "You wound me."
“I’m laughing at the fact that you’re singing your own stripper music,” you promise him. “If you’d picked Pour Some Sugar on Me, I’d be laughing even harder. The whole thing is perfect, baby.”
He winks and turns around to shake his ass at you with a small twerk. Enjoying the way you are laughing and having fun. You had been so apprehensive about anything physical at the beginning and now look at you.
“Max…” When you say his name again it’s soft and sweet, as gentle as you’ve ever been in your life. This man has no idea how much he has changed your approach to life. How much lighter your heart is because of him. How much sweeter the world seems with him beside you. “I love you.”
Turning back around, Max beams at you. "I love you too." He promises, unable to resist rushing over to you to press his lips to yours. The bump of his heart making him shiver and hum against your mouth.
Urging him closer without breaking the kiss, one hand pulls Max toward you on the bed while the other shoves fruitlessly at his open trousers, trying to push them off of his hips in the same motion that you would have him beside you in bed. It feels giddy in a way, from all the giggling and the tender vows, and you swear this is the closest to being a romantically portrayed young lady in love from a period film that you’ll ever get in your life. And really? You love it.
Kneeling on the bed, Max gazes down at you lovingly and bites his lip. "Want to make this a night to remember, Queenie." He hums, leaning in and kissing you softly. "I'm going to kiss every inch of your body."
The urge to get one last tease in is too great, and you widen your eyes to a look of endearing confusion and distaste after kissing him back. “Even my feet?”
"Baby, a man's foot fetish isn't something to scoff at." He teases. "You don't want me to suck on your toes?"
You scrunch up your face and shake your head, letting out another soft giggle. “I can’t say it’s on my list,” you admit. “Ballet and ballroom feet aren’t exactly modeling-ready.”
"But you don't exactly have ugly feet either, love." He wrinkles his nose, but nods. "However I will leave your feet alone, but don't tell me I can't lick your asshole."
A slow tilt of your head shows you’re actually considering it, and after a second you shrug. “I’ve never tried it, so sure. Why not?”
"What?" His eyes widen in shock and he is absolutely flabbergasted. "Really? You— you never tried— and I can—?"
You shrug again, but you’re grinning over Max’s shock. “Nobody ever asked before. So nope. Never tried any of it.”
"Dear sweet baby Jesus..." Max slaps his hands together and looks up at the ceiling. "Thank you for giving me such an innocent little soulmate to turn into a dirty girl." He grins down at you wickedly when he says that.
“Cunt first, ass second,” you tell him, wagging a finger like he’s a naughty schoolboy. “Deal?”
Waggling his brows, he makes an 'x' over his heart. "Deal." He slides off the bed to strip down fully, clothes removed in less than five seconds and he stands in front of you completely bare.
“Get back here.” More than just wanting to see him, you want to touch him. The small touches and baby steps you’ve taken aren’t enough anymore. You reach out to pull him back on the bed, letting him loom over you and taking in all the defined planes of his body before you smooth your hands down his chest and over his stomach — down to dig your fingertips into his hips before looking up to make sure it’s okay for you to explore more.
"Do you want me on my back, Dolly?" He asks softly. "I will do whatever you want and let you do whatever you want to me."
“I just want to touch you.” Already your breathing has turned heavier, lust swimming in your stomach and in your eyes. “I don’t care if you’re standing or lying down or however you’re comfortable.”
Max shifts to his side, biting his lip as he stretches out for you. His hard cock is bobbing between you and he watches you as you look him over.
“Gods…” He really is gorgeous. It would be borderline absurd if you weren’t so giddy about him being yours. “I am a very lucky girl.” You hum, turning the tables on him and starting to kiss down his body instead.
"Shiiiiiiit." Max groans and bites his lip, keeping his eyes open as your mouth starts to caress his body. "Queenie, I'm supposed to worship you."
Barely pausing in your journey down his torso, you nip at both of his hips before grinning up at him. "Can't it be both?"
“You are full of surprises.” He huffs out, but he doesn’t move to stop you on your quest.
"You've been taking such good care of me." One hand on his chest encourages him to lay all the way back, and you shift yourself to kneel between his legs. "Let me take care of you for once," you insist, lowering your head to take his cock into your mouth with a groan.
He had not expected that. Head falling back onto the pillows, Max lets out a moan that would be embarrassing if he gives a shit. But he just lifts his head and watches you slowly roll your tongue around the head. “Sweetheart— fuck.”
Humming as you bob up and down on his shaft, you would be hard-pressed to believe before this that you had actually missed something as simple as giving head, but it's giving pleasure that you missed. Sharing in intimacy. Having a real partner. Max has done so much for you that extending this intimacy is a pleasure for you as well. Plus, his moans are exquisite. Every single sound out of this man is gold, and you want to hear every single way he'll gasp your name as you swallow his cock.
The urge to grab you has Max clawing at the sheets, desperately trying now to shred the fine silks that Mrs. Vanderbilt had ordered. It’s hard, especially the way that you are so eagerly sucking him. “Dolly, Dolly— baby— you gotta— I can’t—”
It almost pains you to have to stop, but the obscene popping noise that comes with pulling off of his length is far more satisfying than it should be. “Did I do something wrong?” Instinct tells you no, but you still want to check in with him.
“Fuck no.” He groans, reaching down and cupping your cheek to pull you up for a desperate kiss. “You’re just gonna suck my soul out through my cock.”
“And is that bad?” The kiss truly is desperate — sloppy and enthusiastic and full of passion. You’ll absolutely keep going if he lets you, but Max might have other ideas about how he wanted tonight to go.
“No, but I wanted to show off my amazing skills before I cum.” He huffs playfully. “And possibly weep while doing it.”
“Honey.” Your face softens, love tempering lust, and you cup Max’s jaw in both of your hands before pressing a soft, earnest kiss to his lips. “Believe me, if anybody’s going to cry tonight it’s going to be me. And they’re going to be happy tears. Only the happiest tears with you, I promise.”
“Only happy tears.” Max doesn’t even want those, but he knows you probably will. He kisses you again. “Now…if you really want to suck my cock, we can do a little Gilded Age face sitting?”
“I really do.” The confession comes with a smirk, and you nudge his onto his back again gently. “But if I’m too heavy on you or it’s not comfortable, tell me right away. Okay?”
“Queenie.” Max tuts and looks at you, completely offended. “Who do you think I am?”
“Well…” The real answer is that Derek and other previous boyfriends had never wanted to share this particular experience — but none of them really ate pussy to begin with. And that’s something Max excels at. “I didn’t want to assume…” is what you answer instead.
“Assume all you want.” He chuckles. “You can’t hurt me sweetheart, I don’t need to breathe.”
“I forget about that…” you mumble, cheeks warm with embarrassment but not so much that it dampens your enthusiasm. Max pats his chest and waggles his eyebrows when he lays back, encouraging you to give him all you’ve got — so you take him at his word. You settle your knees on either side of his head and intend to be at least slightly delicate about lowering yourself over his face, but Max grabs your hips with a growl and pulls you straight down to him eagerly, making you gasp in surprise as much as pleasure.
Max has shown you what he can do but he wants to improve on that. Really drive you crazy. His tongue isn’t shy, never hesitant as he dives into your folds with a happy groan. The symphony the two of you make right off the bat is enviable. Every groan Max rumbles into your folds comes out of your own mouth as a barely contained moan. The kind that have to be muffled somehow, and there is no way quite as good to stifle moans than by taking Max's cock back in your mouth.
Max hisses into your wet folds when you engulf his cock. Loving how eager you are for it and him. It makes him work even harder to make you moan loudly. It's the kind of overwhelming feeling that only feels better the more and more you put into it. The vibrations he gets from you moaning as you swirl your tongue around his cock move through him in waves and end up pushed right back into your pussy as he licks and sucks every possible inch of your pussy.
Max squeezes your ass, smirking into your folds as he slurps and sucks. Loving every dirty second as the two of you are in a race for pleasure. It really isn’t long before your thighs start to shake and your stomach tightens. Max knows your body too well even after so little time that he can shuttle you toward pleasure with a deft and expert hand. Or, in this case, tongue.
Groaning your name into your cunt, Max watches you. Feeling your pulse speed up and the heady arousal thickening on his tongue. Signifying you are close to coming apart for him. He grunts, squeezing your ass and bringing you back on his face more, nearly pulling you off his cock completely.
You know he's always careful with you, making sure he doesn't hurt you, but the way his fingertips dig into your hips tonight almost makes you wish that he would one day. That he would go just far enough that you could still feel his grip on your thighs the next day as you go about your utterly normal life. While you know that he won't do that tonight, it feels far too good to care. The way you're careening toward your first orgasm of the night is too good to care about anything else.
Your breath catches and he knows you are about to come apart for him. Wanting to see it in all its glory when you finally break. There's no mistaking the way you shake for him. He knows it well by now and you're realizing that Max affects you in ways no one ever had before – whether that's talent on his part or the soulmate connection is up for debate. In the moment that the tether inside you snaps and you flood his eager tongue with cum, you're forced to pull away from him or really and truly you might be far too enthusiastic and choke on his cock before you can get further into the night. But pulling away means there is nothing to muffle your cries, and you force yourself to stifle a loud moan of his name to make sure that the house doesn't echo with the sounds of your pleasure.
The good thing about his strength is that he can move you around like a leaf on the wind. Bolting upright so your legs are dangling over his shoulders, the snarl Max gives is feral as he feasts in your juices. Slurping them down as if they were ambrosia, and they are. It’s the best something has tasted since he’s been turned into a vampire.
"Gods—" You hold tight to him as he drinks you down, every last drop licked from your lips and then from his.
He chuckles, a dirty, self-satisfied sound as he smacks his lips. “Was that good enough for our opening act? Or shall I show you again?”
You could prolong the night. You know you could. Make it last as long as possible and truly wring each other out. But you’re craving the closeness of having him with you and inside you in a way that you can’t quite describe. When Max cradles you in his arms again after you catch your breath, you can’t help the soft, breathy tone in your voice when you promise him: “I’m ready.”
Gently, probably the gentlest he’s ever been, Max repositions you. Wanting to make sure that you are comfortable and looking him in the eyes when you assure him. His eyes are light, almost yellow with desire but his words are soft. “Are you sure? You want me to make love to you?”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything.” Lying beneath him in this borrowed bed, it seems like the strangest thing in the world to say that this is right, but it’s all about him. It’s all about this time spent with your soulmate and finding your strength again — because he has loved all of you. Even the parts you thought were broken forever.
“Alright.” It’s out of character for him, or maybe out of character for the facade he wears for others, but Max is almost shy right now. The tenderest love shining on his face as he leans in to press his lips to yours. You trust him with the most vulnerable of things, your heart and the intimacy of your body. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” More fiercely and completely than you ever thought possible, and yet somehow that doesn’t make you scared. It makes you sure, and so you surge up to kiss him another time.
You are the bold one and Max finds that incredibly sexy. Groaning into the kiss as his body floods with a warmth that can only come from you. Easing you back down to the silken sheets and slowly starting to cover you with his own frame and your breath escapes into his mouth.
It feels also surreal to be desperate to be touched again, but when Max’s hand closes over your side to shift his weight above you and his lips connect with your pulse, you shiver. “I love you.” Murmured again with every ounce of honesty in your body, your legs wrap lightly around his waist to encourage him to settle in the cradle of your thighs.
“I love you, Dolly.” He nudges his nose against yours and slowly settles between your legs. His cock is achingly hard and throbbing against your core. “Tell me if you don’t like something.”
“I promise.” The welcome pressure of having him between your thighs only makes you pant more heavily, needing him as much as wanting.
“Good girl.” He hums, kissing all over your face and down your jaw. “My beautiful soulmate. All mine.” His hips slowly grinding against you, feeling you get even wetter as you squirm under his cool body.
"All yours." The first real press of the head of his cock against your entrance has you squirming, practically begging for more.
Max slides his hand between you, wanting to make sure there’s no slips, no uncomfortable misses that would cause you a second’s discomfort. Wanting this to be experience you deserve. “And I’m yours.” He promises, sealing that vow with a kiss as his hips slowly push forward and the head of his length slips inside you seamlessly.
That familiar first press is almost foreign after so long without it, but wanting it makes you sigh and lets your whole body relax to take him in. Blazing hot, soaking wet, and squeezing his cock tight, your body is as welcoming to him as it possibly could be — especially with your head tossed back on the pillow and a low moan of his name on your lips as he rocks his hips forward to fill your pussy more and more with each stroke.
“That’s it, pretty girl.” Max moans, kissing your neck where you bare it. He wants nothing more than to sink his fangs into your throat but he resists. “So good, taking my cock. You like it filling you up?”
“Fuck—” Even just the groaned out curse comes with a fervent nod of your head, and you squeeze your eyes shut or open them wide alternately and he presses inside you, slowly but surely. “Fuck, Max, oh gods—I—feels so fucking good, love.”
“That’s it, you’re so perfect. Fuck, I’m about to cum you’re so tight and hot.” Max groans into your lip, trying to stay connected as much as possible.
“Slow and steady, baby,” you encourage him breathlessly, rolling your hips under him to tell him it’s okay to move.
“I’ve got you.” He groans. “Gonna take care of you. Make sure you don’t have any complaints.”
“Could never.” Complain? About him? Fuck no. If anything, your mind is fogged with happiness.
It’s taking so long but finally, finally, his hips are flush with yours and he’s buried to the hilt again. Pausing for a second before the slow drag out of you begins. He wants to take his time, but he also can’t bare to pull out of you.
Slow and steady is truly it. Like Max doesn’t even want to leave the clutch of your body but he knows it will feel so Fucking good when he does.
Hissing, Max rolls his hips quickly back into you. “Fucking perfect.” He praises. “You’re fucking perfect, Dolly.”
The rhythm he sets is exquisite, carrying you through waves of pleasure by clinging to you every bit as hard as you cling to him. Of course everyone says that your soulmate is your perfect match, but you had never really thought it would extend this far. Never thought that when he slid his arms under you in bed to keep you as close as possible, you would feel like you had finally come home.
Max has always been a thorough lover. Call it ego, call it pure pride, but he wants his partner to sing his praises during and afterwards. This time, it’s more about giving. Wanting you to have nothing but bliss when you’re in his arms. The slight slap of his hips isn’t enough to jar you, just a subtle little sound.
Every roll forward is somehow the fullest and most blissful you’ve ever felt. Stifling your moans into endless kisses and letting your hands explore the plains of his body as he moves above you and never hold back from letting your own body respond to his. Every inch of you seeks him out, so your hips roll to match his and your hands clutch to keep him close even as he has you cradled against his chest.
“Never gonna let you go, Dolly. Never gonna let you go.” He groans out, holding you close and nearly panting against your throat. He’s so fucking overwhelmed by the feel of you, of your scent and softness. The feelings bursting inside of him has him melting into you.
"Staying right here," you promise him, gasping with every thrust forward. "With you."
"You are my other half, my better half." He moans, scattering your skin with kisses. "My Queenie, my queen, my life." Until you arrived, Max had been so focused on success that it was what he lived for, now he just wants to live for you.
"Love you —" A sharp, strong thrust makes you groan into his shoulder, and you clutch him tighter. "Forever, baby."
“Forever.” Forever is a long time, especially for him and yet if there is anyone he believes would love him for an endless amount of time, he believes that it would be you. There's no second guessing or doubting when it comes to you. Just love.
You both felt like you might shake apart when you were finally joined together, and that feeling hasn't abated. Every stroke is a scrub of your pussy walls as he pushes inside you until you feel so full that your heart swells along with everything else. It's lovemaking, in the purest and simplest definition of the term, and you've never felt so lucky in your entire life.
"Never felt like this." Max admits, pulling back to look into your eyes. His own are yellow now, his facial features slightly sharper than before but he's holding back from transforming. Taking more effort than usual due to how much you affect him. "Never."
"Max—" Your chest heaves and back bows under the shaking pleasure. "Do you—" Seeing his eyes makes the thought swirl, and you would be lying if you said it was the first time it had occurred to you since arriving in 1885. "Drink from me."
The vampire above you shudders, a full body shiver that races through him and vibrates against your skin. Eyes widening and brightening even more. Tinged with hunger, desire and concern all swirled together. "Are you sure?" His voice is deeper, raspier and stopped mid-thrust to stare at you.
“Yes.” There’s no hesitation in it. No worry or hidden anxiety. Only the surety that it will make this night — this first time together — all the more meaningful. “I said forever, love. And I mean it.”
He hisses, fangs popping out of his gums and it's a miracle he doesn't bury them in your throat that second. "Tell me a word." He begs, sounding slightly pained. "A safe word."
The conversation in the woods seems ages ago, and napkin was never going to be a serious safe word to begin with. So when you force your mind to function just for half a second, what you come out with is “Traffic”, and that seems like as good a choice as any. There’s never going to be any reason to say the word traffic in bed otherwise. “And you’ll… you’ll let me drink from you, too?”
"Yes." He all but groans the word, nodding at the thought of you having a bit of his blood inside you, carrying him with you. "I will. Let you have it whenever you want." Although it wasn't technically addicting, the more vampiric blood a human drank, the stronger it made them. Some humans loved to drink as much as they donated in return. "It won't hurt." He promises, kissing your lips and then ducking his head to lick over your pulse.
“I love you.” Words of trust are the only thing that come from you now, as if to say that your love for him and your trust in him are entirely intertwined. That no matter what else happens between the two of you, the tether of this togetherness holds those two things in it for both of you forever.
"I love you." He growls the sentiment, pulling his tongue away from your skin just long enough to get it out. "Forever." He reminds you, right before his razor-sharp fangs slice through the thin layers of your skin to the beautiful, pulsing vein below the surface.
It’s pressure and a sharp pinch, just like having blood drawn at the doctor, but the difference in the moments after is enormous. At the first feeling of blood being drawn up through his fangs, your body shakes in pure pleasure and kickstarts the most unexpected, swirling, lasting orgasm that has ever wracked your body.
He had known you would cum from it. Had predicted it as sure as the sun rising every morning. Groaning as he mouths against your skin and retracts his fangs so he can suck, his cock still buried deep inside you is twitching as you pulse around him.
“Fuck— fuck— oh gods—” The feeling is so much more intense than you expected and so much more pleasurable, making you moan and whimper beneath him as the hot rush of orgasm courses through you. If that is going to happen every time he bites you, you’re going to need to be sitting or lying down each and every time.
He keeps rocking into you, filling you with every snap of his hips. Slightly harsher than before as he gulps down mouthful after mouthful of your sweet blood. It's like ambrosia and he has to remind himself not to drink too much.
His pace quickens, pushing you toward yet another orgasm even faster than normal, and you’re swimming in a lighter-than-air, almost out-of-body feeling as your moans grow louder and sharper. You have to untangle one hand from the silk sheets to slap over your own mouth because Max is still drinking from you, and it takes you another few seconds to realize that you have to be the one to stop him. “Max—” Keening his name into the night, The fingers of the one you still have on him are clawing into his back while the coil in the pit of your stomach tightens all over again. “Baby—traffic.” Starting to feel lightheaded is what tips you off, though you know that could still just be the sex.
Max freezes. The cool coil of dread knotting in his stomach as he pulls away. Lips stained with your blood as he searches your face. “What’s wrong, what hurt?”
“I’m okay,” you promise him, pressing a kiss to his lips and tasting the irony tang of your own blood in the process. “Just starting to feel pretty lightheaded.”
"That happens sometimes during sex." He assures you, leaning in and licking your neck to heal your wounds.
“I’ll remember for next time.” He’s frozen still inside you, but your body is aching and needed more despite multiple orgasms. “I didn’t kill the mood, did I?”
"Do you want to keep going?" He asks, frowning slightly. He wants to make sure that your safe word didn't mean a full stop for everything. "What do you want, Dolly?"
“I want to keep going.” You pick your head up and kiss the place where his pulse beats whenever your lips meet his. “Please?”
You can have whatever you want but he's relieved that you want to keep going. Not that he would have been upset, but because he never wanted to do anything to make you feel like you had to stop. "I love you." He promises, leaning in to nudge his nose against yours and slowly starts to move again.
“I love you, too.” Shifting beneath him, your legs come around his waist and your arms twine around his back, letting each thrust hit that much deeper inside you.
“Will you cum again for me, sweet girl?” Max groans, the taste of you still so robust on his tongue. “Will you cry out for me again?”
“Feel so good…” Already your breathing turns heavier, that powerful heaviness and electricity of just being connected to him piquing every feeling in your body. “Gods you feel so good, love.”
"I'm a lucky bastard." Max grunts, gathering up the remains of his control and feeling even closer to you now that he's drunk from you. Pulling you closer and rolling his hips and grinding into you rather than pulling out.
The intense grind of his hips rubs your swollen clit with each roll of his hips, working you up that much faster. Every thought but Max leaves your head, letting you focus on him and him alone. He can sense the changes in your breathing, in your heart rhythm. "You're gonna cum." He promises, ducking his head down and kissing along your throat. "Gonna come apart for me like a firework."
“Need you to cum with me.” You’re so close to the edge that you know this one is going to shatter you, holding yourself on the precipice of breaking apart at every seam and all you can do is beg him to follow you.
"Gonna." He promises, groaning out the word. Even though he doesn't need to breathe, he's choked up. Overwhelmed by the pure beauty of the moment. "Right after you do."
Whether he knows he’s giving you permission or not, you tumble off the cliff of one last climax, pouring your cry of his name into a kiss that tangles you together that much more. You shake apart underneath him, cunt squeezing him tight and heart pounding with every wave of your release.
Max shudders, absorbs the reaction of your body. Taking it into his soul and letting it burn inside him. Watching you as starlight burst behind your eyes. Making sure that you’re tumbling into pleasure before he thrusts deep, giving into his own needs.
The two of you lay together for long moments afterward, with Max cradling you close while you catch your breath. The feeling of being full is remarkable and oddly comforting, as the depth and the meaning of the moment washes over both of you. “I love you.” Another whisper into the candlelit-night, but it’s weightier this time. Most witches and vampires could only dream of bearing children together — but with your bloodline it is actually possible. Unlikely. Exceedingly rare. But possible.
He can sense what you are thinking about, the weight of it is also on his mind as well. "If we don't, we will still be happy." He promises you, stroking your shoulder lovingly and hoping he can keep that promise. "We can adopt or rescue puppies, whatever will make you happy and fulfill you."
“We have forever,” you remind him, within an almost wistful note in your voice. “We can do all of it.”
"Forever." He smiles. "We can do everything you want. Travel the world, and now, through time."
******
The next night feels like it's been pulled right out of a movie. The red, gold, and cream gown that Renee had laced you into is accented by a bold, beautiful set of ruby and citrine jewelry that Max and Yayo had found at the same jewelry store where Max picked out your ring. The elaborate hairdo and long, cream gloves make the long red velvet cape look positively purposeful, and you feel as made-up as could ever possibly imagine. The realization though, that you are not nearly the most elaborately dressed woman there, comes when you get out of your carriage. Annie and Emmanuel stand excitedly by on the steps waiting for Max to help you out onto the cobblestone, and her own pearl and diamond jewelry winks in the moonlight. It's simultaneously mystifying and yet so very easy to remember that this young woman is the same person who will one day be your mother, especially when she looks even more dressed up than she did in the photos of her wedding to your father. Annie is eager and smiling, eyes wide in the flickering gaslight on the street as the sign behind them proclaims the details for the production of Carmen that you are all about to see.
“I am so thrilled to be here.” She moons happily, clutching Emmanuel’s arm and smiling dreamily. This trip has been perfect and she cannot even imagine a more wonderful evening. “Box seats!”
"Your parents were very generous to allow us to use their box." Emmanuel is beaming with his newly minted fiancée on his arm.
“Yes, and I believe that we will have a grand time.” She coos, batting her lashes at him innocently. “Especially since we are also having a late dinner and dancing with the Vanderbilts.”
"We're looking forward to meeting more of their family." The invitation from Cornelius and Alice to join them at his brother's home for a soiree after the opera tonight was most appreciated, and from the way that Alice worded the invitation, you have a feeling that she might be looking forward to bringing guests who are exceptional dancers.
“Yes. I am so happy that we are here.” She turns her gaze to you and smiles. “And I get to enjoy your first opera by your side.”
You comb your mind for a long moment trying to decide exactly which kind of irony that statement is, considering your mother also took you to your first opera when you were ten years old and there was a production of The Magic Flute being performed in English nearby. Deciding it doesn't matter, you reach out to squeeze her hand when you reach the top of the stairs with Max and smile warmly. "I cannot think of anything that could make tonight better," you promise her honestly.
There is a dramatic sound of a bell, signifying that the guests need to find their seats so the opera can begin. “Oh there is Mrs. Astor.” Max leans in to tell you. “Everyone is here, apparently.” He’s smirking slightly, curious to interact with her now that he knows she’s also a modern woman in a primitive time.
“We should go and say hello to her at intermission.” You return Mrs. Astor’s small wave when she spots you across the lobby but follow your mother and Emmanuel and the young man who is escorting the four of you to your box. The blur around you — of color, of sound, of so many people so excited for the evening — has you grinning and giddy for the night in your own right.
"What I wouldn't give for my phone." Max murmurs to you. "Not to call anyone, but for the fucking selfies." He's joking of course, but high resolution colored photos from this time would be amazing.
“We could start an Instagram trend,” you joke quietly, holding into his arm as you take the stairs inside the opera house’s lobby. “Photoshopping your selfie into a historical period. Except ours wouldn’t be photoshopped.”
"Do you think people would question a selfie stick in this time?" Max asks, chuckling at the reaction to him pulling out the long telescopic tool.
“You’d get questioned like an inventor. Nobody loves gadgets like they do in this time.” The theater around you is so incredibly opulent that you really can’t look away — eyes bouncing from one thing to another like a kid in a candy store. “This place is gorgeous,” you murmur to him as you walk.
"Yes it is." The opulence cannot be replicated in your time. The attention to detail and craftmanship lost through modernization and mechanization of the world. They called it The Gilded Age for a very good reason and Max is mesmerized by the sight. "Nearly as gorgeous as my wife."
You throw him a grin and roll your eyes teasingly for good measure, but Annie overhears the last comment and coos dreamily at the two of you. “Flattery is Max’s middle name,” you tell her with a little laugh.
"A beaming bride makes for a lovely night." Max tells Emmanuel seriously, changing the popular phrase 'Happy wife, happy life' to fit into the times and your situation. "Romance her as much as possible and she will flourish."
“Every day,” the younger man promises, with sparkling stars in his eyes every time he looks at his soulmate. Emmanuel is a gentle, romantic soul and absolutely worships Annie. “Every day for the rest of my life.”
It's haunting, because he knows that it will be true. Just that the life will be cut tragically short and the rift from that time will vibrate through time to affect you. His hand is over yours that is wrapped around his other arm and he squeezes gently. Encouraging and supporting you. "Waltz with her." He tells the other man. "Every chance you get."
“I shall have to have a few pointers from you on that front,” Emmanuel chuckles. “I have never claimed to excel at dancing, although I do enjoy it.”
“I will give you lessons.” Max promises, unsure of when the horrible events with Emmanuel went down.
“And I will sing your praises to all of society for it.” Annie giddily leads Emmanuel to the open door of her parents’ box and takes your hand to have you sit beside her. “Not that you need my help. Your wife is a favorite of Mrs. Astor now.”
"Except Dolly never wants friends because of how they benefit her." Max explains. "My wife is a very loving and loyal creature. She has friends because of how they make her feel. And you are one of her dearest."
“I’m sure we should all benefit from such a shining example.” Emmanuel praises, smiling at how Annie reaches across to hug you tightly just before the lights begin to dim over the audience assembled for tonight’s performance.
One thing that Max doesn’t care for in this time, is the fact that to show too much affection is frowned upon. He releases your hand and wishes he could wrap his arm around you, but he doesn’t wish to cause a scandal, so he leans back and waits for the performance to begin.
Unbeknownst to both of you, wishing the very same thing, you slip your hand into his to thread your fingers together in his lap. This time may discourage public shows of affection, but your relationship does not. It’s all about balance.
Max looks down at your hands and smiles, catching your gaze when he looks up and he winks at you. Loving that you are in tune with him and his body leans in closer to you as the first lines are sung.
Carmen is a stunning opera. Dramatic, groundbreaking, emotional, and inspiring. By the time intermission comes you’ve been on the edge of your seat. The first half of the show has left both you and Annie breathless in the best way possible and your heart is hammering with it when the lights come up.
Max stands, helping you from your seat and he smiles at the dreamy expression on your face. "I can tell this will be a tradition now." He teases, having enjoyed himself immensely even though he had also been observing everyone else in the theatre as well.
“Modern operas have subtitles,” you assure him, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “So you can follow along in English and not have to fight through the French or German or Italian.”
"How do they put subtitles on a live performance?" Max asks seriously.
“Screens.” Although the visual of actors with lyrics written on cards makes you grin as you whisper to him. “We’ll go. You’ll love how swanky it is, though nothing is swankier than chatting with the Astors at intermission and having dinner and dancing with the Vanderbilts afterward.”
"I don't think that we would ever be able to top this." Max admits with a grin, shrugging slightly.
“For now, let’s just enjoy it.” You hum, squeezing his hand again as you lean into his side. In this time, these people — they take their summers and seek out the beaches and the grandeur of Europe or beauty of mountains. And it’s clear to you after just a short amount of time that both you and Max love it here, but it isn’t where you belong. Perhaps, though? Just perhaps…you might take a leaf out of their book. And like the socialites of Gilded Age New York City take their summers away from home, you and Max might one day to decide to ‘summer’ in the Gilded Age. “For now, let’s go see the Astors.”
"Your wish is my command, my dear, sweet wife." He coos, smirking at you as the two of you glide down the stairs to the lobby. Refreshements are being served and no doubt you will have to leave his side to attend to your needs in the toilet, but for now, he will be satisfied by escorting the most beautiful woman in the room around.
Annie and Emmanuel elect to stay behind in the box and you don’t say a damn thing, preferring to just let them have their time to flirt and whisper back and forth while you and Max go and mingle. A glass of lemonade is procured for you so that no well-meaning friend or acquaintance will attempt to offer you wine out of politeness, and soon you spot the Astors at the center of a crush of admirers.
It takes a few moments for them to move through the crowd, too many people stopping to chit chat with her and her husband, but soon enough Lina is standing in front of you and pulls you in for a quick, fierce hug. "I am so glad you came." She whispers.
“How could we possibly turn down the invitation?” It doesn’t matter whether you mean the invitation from her or from your grandparents. Either way, you are here. “Are you enjoying it so far?”
"I did not think that I would, but I am immensely enjoying it." William skirts around the trains on your dresses and shakes Max's hand, speaking to him quietly as Lina chats with you.
“He’s enjoying himself here.” The two of you now your heads to murmur between you as though you were simply gossiping. “I think we might try to come back, if I can get the hang of traveling back and forth.”
"That would be wonderful." She squeezes your hand gently. "William and I would be willing to host you anytime you wished to visit." She promises quietly.
“And if you ever wanted to come forward, we would be glad to have you.” You promise her just as earnestly.
"Perhaps one day." She hums. "Although I believe that William is a bit...stuck in his ways." She offers with a small smile.
“We have an excellent staff.” A wry smile on your lips twists her way. “He would be treated the way he is accustomed. I promise.” By the very same people who currently care for him anytime they visit your grandparents, but you can’t say so here.
The glass of punch in Lina's hand is quickly drained and she fans herself. "I must excuse myself." She hums. "Unless you also need to use the facilities?"
“I’ll follow you.” You drink the petite glass of lemonade easily and set it on the tray of a waiter passing by before turning to Max. “We’ll be right back, love.”
"Of course, my love." He smiles at you and nods, watching as you and Lina Astor walk off.
Around two corners, it is not the busy, central bathroom that Mrs. Astor leads you toward but rather a smaller and more concealed one that she seemingly has special privilege to use. The attendant inside even offers her a polite smile but departs after you both step in the door.
"Now, you seemingly have a glow about you that wasn't there before." Lina eyes you with a knowing smirk before she moves over towards the mirror to check her hair.
"I have no idea what you mean." Is a complete but polite lie, and you have to stifle a smile as you peak into the mirror beside her. Not that you would know how to fix your hair even if you tried. Renee had put more pins in it than should ever even exist together on earth.
Even though it's thoroughly unladylike and she would never do such a thing in public, Lina snorts and rolls her eyes. "You are aware I have five children, correct?" She hums. "I know when someone has been naughty."
"We're married!" You defend, even though that isn't technically true, but the fact that you've just been called out by Lina Astor for getting it on practically makes you double over laughing. "Surely the Gilded Age isn't so prim that they look down on that sort of thing?"
"Again, I have five children." She teases and winks at you in the mirror. "All we have for entertainment is fucking. Especially in the winter."
This time you can't swallow it, snorting in amusement and shaking your head at her. "It was the first time," you admit a little sheepishly. "So I'm still a little...giggly, I guess?"
"Obviously the boy was good to you," She eyes you carefully and approves of the starry glaze to your eyes. Since she was a child of the sixties, she was a little more liberal in her views of sex and love and had been fortunate enough to teach William what she likes. Her own children were carefully guided but it was freeing to talk about this with another modern woman. "It's a good thing. I would hate to slap his shins with my walking stick."
"There's no need for that." Although the mental image is fairly amusing. "I'm very lucky to have him for my soulmate." Typically you would adjust your makeup. Or the way your shirt is hanging on your body. But since you've been pinned within an inch of your life and aren't wearing any makeup at all, all you can do is stand there and feel the intense heat in your cheeks while you talk to Lina. "He's very— he takes good care of me. In every way."
"Good." She offers you a small smile. "I feel that a good relationship, a good marriage is a partnership." She huffs slightly. "Although in this time, some men might not appreciate that, but a woman's part of her husband's life either adds value or causes stress." She smirks. "It is up to his attitude on what that might be."
"Thankfully, Max's misogyny is all show at this point in his life. He's spent enough time in board rooms and business meetings that he can blend in, but at home it's a partnership." Since you're standing in front of the mirror anyway, you smooth your hands down the front of your dress and make sure you're in one piece before turning away. "I'm glad that your soulmate seems to have been enlightened a little on the way things can be."
Lina chuckles and tilts her head. "History books do not show it, but honestly? Women control much more than the men would have believed. If a wife is unhappy, he will receive cold tea, sour brandy, his cigars 'disappear'." She lifts a brow at you and smirks. "Itching powder in his long johns."
"Happy wife, happy life," you laugh, absolutely loving what you're hearing from her. "And I hope you taught all of this to your girls, too?"
"Absolutely." She tuts and shoots you a grin. "And my daughters-in-law."
"Brilliant." You can't help thinking that every one of these encounters is going to make a hilarious set of stories to tell Allison when you finally get back, and you are just constantly filing away little bits of information as you go. "Absolutely brilliant."
She grins before she nods towards the stall. "If you'll excuse me, I have to wrestle with my petticoats to go to the bathroom before intermission is over."
"I wish you all the luck in the world." It gets a laugh from both of you, and you nod to the door. "Enjoy the second half of the show, Lina. I'm going to go track down our soulmates."
"Before you go." Lina stops at the stall door and looks back at you. "The book is coming along fabulously. It will be ready on time."
"You're very kind to make the copy." You soften a little at the reminder of it, feeling the ache of gratitude in your chest. "I can't imagine it's the sort of thing that is easy to share with just anyone. I promise it will be in good hands."
"I have no doubt." She hums. "My daughters are not terribly interested in magic right now, so it will be a relief to know that the knowledge might be passed down if none change their minds."
"I promise." Instinctively, you make at 'x' over your heart with your finger and are grateful that the gesture can be shared with someone who doesn't think you're incredibly odd or childish for doing it. You say your good night here, figuring that you won't be have the time to say anything appropriate later on when the opera gets out and you're swept away to dinner, and go back out to the lobby to find Max before intermission is over.
“Hey Dolly.” It’s not as if he were staked out by the bathrooms, but Max has been looking out for you. “Refreshed?”
"Refreshed, and a bit teased." You take his arm when he offers it and start back toward your seats. "Mrs. Astor noticed how particularly happy we are tonight."
“Our wedded blissful status was noticed?” Max preens smugly and he waggles his eye brows. “Or are you just walking funny?”
"Even if I was, you wouldn't be able to tell under all these petticoats." The slight smirk on your face is a beaming smile all over again and you lean into his side as you walk. "Yes, our bliss was noted. Which means I'm sure it was by other people too. But I don't give a damn. If anything, they should be very jealous of me." For last night, and also for this morning. Max had decided to wake you up before the rest of the house began their day, and he did it with his head — and then his cock — between your legs.
“We could always fit a quicky in during intermission.” He suggests, cock twitching in his trousers.
"Intermission's almost over." And while he may be quick, you're enjoying taking your time with him.
He pouts, but he knows that the scandal would be more attention that you would want to bring down on yourselves. “Next time.” He promises and offers his arm.
"Next time." There is no doubt in your mind that there will be a next time, and that gives you a sense of anticipation that you can't deny loving. "Of course, I'm not saying that when we get home tonight, that there won't be time then..."
“No?” He arches a brow. “What are we doing when we get home?”
The box attendant is in sight and there are people around you, but you know his hearing is far better than anyone else’s in this opera house tonight so you whisper with a barely contained smirk. “It’s a very good night for a ride. Don’t you think?”
He grunts and his brow goes up even higher. “You mean-“ he waggles his brows and leans in. “I’m your horsey?”
It probably shouldn’t, but the endearing silliness of Max’s choice of phrasing makes you almost snort when you laugh, and you squeeze his arm as the attendant opens the door for you to return to the box just as the bell rings to tell patrons to return to their seats. “Yes, love,” you snicker and shake your head in amusement. “That’s exactly what I mean.”
“Oh goody.” The playfulness is simple to keep the gorgeous smile on your face, but if he had his way, he would be ordering the carriage be brought around.
“It’s our reward for a very productive evening in society,” you decide, although that’s just the excuse. In reality, now that you’ve had a taste of Max? You’re addicted.
Max chuckles and helps you into your seat. Annie and Emmanuel are positively beaming and Max doesn’t miss the way both of them are a bit mussed. “Ready for the second act?”
“Terribly excited for it.” Annie hums, trying and failing to look as innocent as possible.
His eyes slide over to you and he makes a face. Not believing your mother for a second.
The face you make back very distinctly reminds him that’s my mother! but it’s none of your business. You face forward as the lights come down again and make the executive personal decision not to say a goddamn thing. At least, not right now.
Max smirks and reaches over, lacing his fingers through yours. "Remember..." He coos in your ear. "Technically her daughter is getting railed right under her nose as well." He teases playfully.
You can’t help it — cracking a guilty but extremely pleased grin and letting out a small laugh as the lights come back down. He’s right, of course, even if Annie doesn’t know what you really are to her. “Behave yourself,” you chastise, barely even meaning it, and lean over to kiss him.
"Naaaaaah." He kisses you happily and winks. "What fun would that be?" There's a sense of freedom in being able to tease you, to see you light up when his corniness comes out and it makes Max adore you even more. "Now watch your opera." He chides as the lantern lights are lowered again, as if he wasn't the distraction all along.
******
It quickly becomes apparent, as soon as just a few minutes into dinner, that you have made friends with the loving-if-slightly-snobby branch of the Vanderbilt family. Any and all attempts at conversation with Mrs. Willie K. Vanderbilt — gods forbid anyone call her Alva — is met with one upmanship and a quality of narcissism that you have rarely encountered in real life. There are a lot of truly terrible people who would have loved Alva Vanderbilt, and that thought makes you shudder. Instead, you come away from dinner and dancing in that house very glad to be unlaced and untied from all of your layers and flop down on the bed in your dressing gown to wait for Max to come upstairs. Cornelius had sidelined him about something or other when you back to the house and you can’t wait to have him back in your arms.
“Is there anything else you wish tonight, Mrs. Phillips?” Renee asks, just inside the doorway so she doesn’t intrude on your relaxation. “Tea, perhaps?”
“Nothing tonight, Renee. Thank you.” As warm and gossipy and giggly as you got to be with 21st century Renee, you’re worried about saying too much in front of her in this time. In this place. So you just try to be as polite and appreciative as humanly possible every day. “I think Mr. Phillips and I are going to take a long walk in the park tomorrow, and I know that Annie is planning on doing a little shopping, so you should have some time to yourself tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Phillips.” Even if she doesn’t smile, the nod is polite and her expression has softened. “If there is nothing else, I will wish you a good evening.”
“Good night, Renee.” In lieu of being able to embrace your friend, you offer her a heartfelt smile and climb into bed, armed with a book from the library to read until Max appears.
After a nightcap that Max did not enjoy, and some stimulating business talk that did, he is finally climbing the stairs to the wing where you are waiting for him. Taking his time and hating it because of the human staff in the Vanderbilt household, he is eager to get behind closed doors with you.
Max slips in the door and grins as he shuts it behind him, flicking the lock behind him. “Hey, sweetheart.”
“Hey.” Your book goes down in your lap immediately and you can’t help but beam a smile at him. “What did Cornelius have to say?”
Max smirks, shrugging out of his jacket and laying it over the back of the chair in the sitting area. "Wanted to bend my ear about a project he was considering."
“Oh?” You know he loves the fact that these powerful men are taking his opinion seriously, and you smile a little brighter. “What project was that?”
"There's a tract of land that is for sale that he was considering." He shrugs slightly. "Wanted to know if I was familiar with North Carolina."
“So more than one Vanderbilt was looking ably building down there? Interesting.” Shifting over in bed makes extra room for him. But it’s not that he’ll need it. The second he gets in beside you, you’ll be cuddled up anyway.
"Maybe." Max leans a hip on the writing desk and shrugs. "Or the land sits unused until that estate is built."
"Maybe." It’s not as if either of you is a Vanderbilt historian. It could be anything. "History will tell. But for now...are you coming to bed?"
"Absolutely." Max smirks and within seconds, he's standing bare in front of the bed, looking down at you.
“Show off.” It’s endearing, though, and you grab his hand to pull him into bed with you.
He snickers and winks as he presses close, ducking his head and pressing his lips to yours.
For the first time, you pull back from Max’s kiss abruptly and frown, feeling anxiety rise in your throat. “Did you—um—is that—” It’s okay. Breathe. Just breathe. It’s not the end of the world. Take deep, long breaths. “Did you…have a drink? Before you came up?”
Max's brows furrow for a second, wondering why you are pulling back but then he winces. Cornelius wouldn't take no for an answer, so he had quickly tippled back a disgusting drink. "I- uh, he- he wanted a nightcap." Max rushes to explain. "I refused but he insisted and it would have been- uh, rude to refuse."
“Oh…um…okay.” Despite you saying it, and nodding profusely, there is a spark in your fingertips and anxiety rolling down your spine. “Would you…” About to ask him if he minds brushing his teeth, a bubble of fear opens in your throat and the words get swallowed. “N-Never mind. Never mind.”
Max frowns, not liking the way your suddenly turned stiff and hesitant. “Dol-” he stops talking and he closes his mouth. Realizing that you can smell the alcohol. “Shit.”
“I know you’re not drunk.” But that doesn’t stop the fear from settling deep into your bones where it lived for so long.
"I should have refused." He shakes his head and pulls way, slipping out of the bed and backing away from it. "I'll go brush my teeth and...." He doesn't know what he can do to reassure you, but it feels like he's failed you. Without another word, he disappears.
Oddly, the feeling of panic in your body is less actual fear of him, and more fear of the feeling. You know in your mind and heart that Max would never hurt you. Fuck — you let him drink from you last night. But the gut reaction of terror behind smelling alcohol in his breath makes you afraid that you’ll always be afraid, and that’s the reason that you’re turned over on your pillow shaking subtly and trying not to sob as he goes into the bathroom.
In the bathroom, Max is cursing himself for not thinking about brushing his teeth earlier. He knows you don't like alcohol and why but he hadn't even thought of it. Alcohol has zero effect on him and honestly it had tasted horrible. "So fucking stupid." He hisses at himself.
“I’m sorry.” As soon as he walks back into the room you’re apologizing, and it seems like you’ve reverted back to simply apologizing for existing, but the truth is more complicated. The sparks from your fingers had started arcing while he was in the bathroom, and now they’ve created a sort of woven magic protective blanket around you that you did not conjure on purpose nor do you know how to get rid of. “I don’t know what’s happening.” The fear is for this now, as fear starts to be the most dominant emotion in your mind all over again.
Max frowns and his eyes widen as he starts to take a step towards you it's like an invisible barrier has been set up between you. "You don't need to be sorry." He shake his head, lifting a hand to try to push against the barrier. "It's my fault sweetheart. Mine. I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry."
“I didn’t do this,” you rush to promise him, as bound on your side of the barrier as he is on his. As confused and shocked by its appearance as he surely is. “I don’t know how to do this.”
"It's okay, we- we'll figure this out." He promises, holding up his hands and backing away from the barrier. "Are you- do you think it's because of me?"
“I think it’s—it’s like the woods—” Thinking back to the fear you’d felt in the woods, it was like your magic had been called up out of necessity. Things had been unlocking in your mind for weeks now but you didn’t fully understand any of it. How could you, when it had been kept away from you for so long? “Like…my magic is trying to protect me?”
"From me..." Max whispers, looking devastated at that prospect. "I- I'm going to go get Annie." He decides and turns around to throw a dressing gown and pants on to rush from the room so he doesn't shock your mother.
******
Knocking on a door is a simple thing. Simple enough, anyway. But Annie Brown — sitting quietly in bed with a book and a cup of tea — is immediately convinced that someone has brought a battering ram to the second floor of the Vanderbilt’s home. She pushes everything aside and wraps herself in her robe before pulling the door open in concern. “Max?” Her eyes are wide, having expected that racket to be nothing less than the news that the house was on fire. “What is it? You look…rather upset. Is everything alright?”
"It- it's Dolly." He shakes his head and rushes to explain. "Her magic. It's- it- there's a barrier." He doesn't know what the hell she can do, but hopefully she can help you break the spell. "Because of me."
“Can’t she dispel it?” Even as she asks the question, Annie is already shifting back into her room to put in her slippers and follow Max out into the hallway. “What do you mean it’s because of you? What happened?”
"I- Dolly doesn't like drinking." He huffs, embarrassed by this. "Her- it's not a pleasant memory for her and Mr. Vanderbilt wanted a nightcap." He explains. "She- when she smelled the drink on me, she was upset." The two of them hurry towards the rooms he was sharing with you. "When I came out of the bathroom there was a barrier between us. She said she didn't do it."
"She doesn't have much experience with her magic." Annie knows that. You haven't talked about magic very much together, but you've said just enough to her for her to know that. "I will do anything that I can." She rushes upstairs with Max and follows him to your door, not knowing which one to find you behind.
"Dolly....I- I brought Annie." Max pushes the door opened and lets your mother, another witch, go inside ahead of him. Hoping that it would be for naught and you would be sitting there embarrassed and with no barrier around you. Obviously not the case since you still have a shimmery essence around you. "Oh fuck, it's still there." He hisses.
“Mo—Annie!” With your blood pulsing in your ears and panic in your throat, you barely manage to stop yourself from calling her Mom, but the tears running down your face don’t care what you call her so long as she helps. “What’s happening?” You beg, as though she could know the answer as soon as she’s walked in the door. “It’s a protection spell.” Clearly you had already figured that out, but Annie feels the need to assure you since you seem terrified. “And Max says you didn’t do this on purpose?” “No.” You shake your head adamantly and try to remember to breathe. “Ever since I arrived in—in—in Newport…my magic has been haywire.”
Biting his lip in worry, Max wishes he could go back in time and fix his mistake. He closes his eyes and sighs, wondering if you have now subconsciously linked him with your ex, the same danger. "I- I'll - I should go."
“No!” The last thing you want is for him to leave. He hasn’t hurt you and he wouldn’t hurt you, and you’re going to prove that to yourself — to your magic — somehow. “Stay, love. Please stay?”
He swallows, even though he doesn't really have to and looks around. "I - I don't know if I should." He admits quietly. "This happened because of me."
“If this happened because of you, my dear friend, then it might also undo because of you.” With the door carefully closed and locked behind her, Annie moves to the side of the bed to be as close to you as she can be while the magical barrier has you firmly protected. “Will one of you please explain to me what happened? In detail?”
Max looks over at you and senses the hesitation in your eyes. The fear of blurting out too much. "Dolly's ex used to abuse her when he drank." He admits quietly. "She doesn't like alcohol. He- he attacked her once and she managed to save herself with her magic." He rubs his hands on his pants. "When she smelled the drink on me...I guess she panicked and thought that I was like him. Or maybe her magic took over to protect her from me."
"Ex?" Annie questions the term, wanting to make sure that she understands completely. "A lover. Before—before I found Max." Gods if she only knew how much more uncomfortable this conversation is for you. You just can't afford to dwell on that right now, as you just remind yourself to breathe through the fear. "I don't think Max would ever hurt me, it's like...like my magic just jumped out of me on instinct." "Oh my..." Annie crosses her arms, looking between you and Max with concern and care written across her features. "It seems...that is, it sounds...as though you have been spellbound, my dear."
“What does that mean?” Max frowns, relieved that Annie knows what is happening but not sure it’s a good thing.
"It means that at some point in your wife's life," Annie purses her lips together, squeezing her arms around her own waist in concern. "Another witch did not trust her to wield her magic carefully. A powerful witch." Whimpering in discomfort under your magical blanket, you could scream for the irony of the thing. "My parents." The irony is terrible, but more than that, you're distinctly afraid that this might give you away. After all, some spells can only be undone by those who have cast them.
“And what do we do? What happened? How do I help my wife?” He demands.
"There are three choices," Annie tells you both, chewing on her bottom lip as she inspects the nearly invisible edges of your barrier with interest. "The simplest would be to have the witch who cast the spell unravel it. Without that option, either Dolly must break through the spell with her own force, or a witch more powerful than the original caster must break it for us."
Max knows that all of those things are impossible. He cannot give up your true relationship to your mother, and he knows you don’t trust yourself enough to break it yourself. You’re still so unused to magic. And your grandmother had already admitted through her letters that your mother was a more powerful witch than her. There was possibly another option. “What if the threat was no longer around?” He asks Annie quietly.
She sighs, understanding, but shakes her head. "You left the room and the barrier remained. I do not think this is about you as much as you fear it is."
“That’s- it’s not what I meant.” His eyes are haunted, heavy with emoting and he refuses to look over at you. “I left but I was still here.” He rationalizes. “Would she- would it work if I- I- um, wasn’t?”
"Don't you dare." There is gravel in your voice. A growl that is as unfamiliar to you as it is to them, but at least you know where it comes from. From the very bottom of your soul, where you know you wouldn't survive this world without him. You aren't as strong as your mother. Not by a longshot. Life without your soulmate is impossible now that you've found him. "You're staying right here and we'll find another way." It's like a magical weighted blanket, holding you to the bed, and all you can manage to do is shake your head at him. "Promise me. Promise me you won't do that."
Max frowns and he huffs seriously. “What if it’s the only way?” He demands quietly. “I- it’s worth it to me.” He admits. “For you.”
"It's not the only way." You would rather give up every ounce of truth to your mother than lose him. Break your promise to your grandfather and risk unknown complications. You would rather gamble with the world than lose Max. "A—Annie can dispel it." "I can?" She wheels around, looking at you as though you have just nominated her for queendom — disbelief and a touch of pride in her voice. As though she were touched that you would think so well of her. "Yes." A shaky breath comes with your nod, because you aren't technically lying but it feels that way. "The daughter of a powerful witch and a vampire? You must be able to."
“I don’t know if I am able to.” She worries, frowning as she looks between an equally devastated husband and wife. “But I will try.” She turns her head and pins Max with a stare. “Do not do anything foolish.” She cautions. “If you upset Dolly, it could provoke her magic even more.”
“Please help.” There is something about asking your own mother for help when you’re scared that makes your chest tighten, but stead of more fear it’s nearly nostalgia. Like being a little girl all over again. Except as a little girl you had had no idea that your own parents had spellbound you.
Annie frowns and nods, “of course I will help you.” She rushes to assure you “However I can.”
“Tell us what to do.” It’s entirely possible she doesn’t know, but you has to believe that she has some kind of idea. Otherwise the ace in your sleeve is calling Lina Astor to the house in the middle of the night.
“Think about touching Max.” Annie bites her lip and pushes the sleeves of her nightgown back after removing her robe. Moving towards the barrier. “Visualize it in your head.”
That is the easiest thought to have in the world, and you reach out to him under the shimmering barrier instinctively. “Um…right…” She said visualize, and you obediently close your ideas and imagine being in his arms instead.
Annie swallows harshly and turns to Max. “Give me a drop of your blood.” She demands, holding out her palm flat.
You watch with worried eyes as Max complies immediately, letting his fangs out to puncture the skin on his fingertip so a single, full bead of dark red blood wells up above his skin.
Annie thinks back to every lesson her mother has taught her, aware that this is probably the most important magic that she has ever done. “Thank you Max.” She whispers, flashing him a reassuring smile as she turns back to the barrier. Closing her eyes, she starts the incantation, hoping that she is strong enough to undo the spell with Max’s blood as an aid.
The barrier starts to vibrate around you as Annie murmurs her incantation low and steady. You can't even hear the words from a few feet away, but you can feel the affect that they're having. The barrier bends around you, the magic that was shimmering now starting to blink abruptly and then flash like bursting lightbulbs.
There's nothing more that Max wishes for on this earth than for this to work. He bites his lip, not bothering to heal his wound on his hand. Watching with baited breath, even though he doesn't breathe as the barrier continues to twist around you.
Words like reverse and shine and will and power spill from your mother's lips as the temperature in the room drops. An imperceptible chill floods the space. Not a breeze or a draft, but a chill that settles into bones and sets hooks into hearts. The cold takes hold even in Max, who has been technically icy to the touch for years. The colder you get the more you concentrate on that feeling of touching Max's cool skin with your own warm hands. The way his kisses warm against your lips. The way it made moving under him last night feel even more powerful, friction and heat and the rush of pleasure in both of your bodies making him feel warm for the first time since he was turned.
"Dolly." He murmurs quietly, stepping forward and wishing that he can just pull you out. "Please." he closes his eyes. " I need you." He's helpless and he hates that. Strong, fast, and resilient, but there is nothing he can right now but watch your mother try to undo the spell that binds you. That has you wrapped up and pulling away from him.
"Talk to her, Max." Annie gets a rush of energy back at her when he does, as though your magic responds to his voice instinctively. "About anything. Anything happy."
"I want to waltz with you again." Max tells you honestly. "I want to waltz with you every day. I missed today. I should have swept you up into my arms when you were folded into that beautiful dress you were wearing tonight."
“Tonight wasn’t your fault.” There had been so many other guests at dinner that your dances had been taken up by the other gentlemen, and Alice had sung Max’s praises as a dancer so that the ladies had very nearly stood in line for him. It was a pleasure to watch him be so sought after. To see the way his eyes found you on the dance floor regardless of his partner and know that you would be the one sharing a bed with him tonight. He thrives on feeling wanted and valued, and you never would have taken that from him.
“Still….” Max shrugs. “I only want to dance with you, Queenie.”
“I love you, too.” You shift forward without realizing it, instinctively wanting to be closer to him, and gasp softly when you realize the barrier has moved the tiniest bit. “Oh gods…I think it’s actually working!”
He can only hope. Max steps a fraction of an inch closer to you and continues on. "I want to travel with you. See the world. Experience everything with you." He takes comfort in the fact that Annie is aware of vampires, is the daughter of one, so he doesn't have to censor himself. "Watch the world change with you."
“When you see the barrier start to come apart,” Annie pants with effort but concentrates, pausing her incantation to give you instruction. “Try to pull at it. Like you’re picking apart embroidery. Max, keep talking to her.”
“Our lives are going to be perfect.” Max tells you desperately. “If we can have children, I’ll give you as many as you want. Gorgeous little girls, who look like you and handsome little boys who have your sweetness.”
As Annie chants and Max makes endless promises, the barrier binding you to the bed loosens slightly in halting amounts. It waves like oceans waves and turns a vibrant, flashing purple. It squeezes you tight, as if trying to retain control, but you keep your eyes closed and concentrate on imagining all of the things that Max is promising. Your life together. Your happiness. If you can let go of everything else, maybe you can grab at the happiness. “Good!” Annie cries, seeing you move under the waves of magic. “Open your eyes, Dolly. You have to take it apart yourself.” The magic has bent to your mother’s will — or what you have to assume was her will — and looks now like pearlescent threads of satin ribbon fraying in every direction across your body. It is not the neat, directed weaving you expected but knotted and gnarled tangles of wispy white, and you immediately grab at the nearest knot to find it astonishingly solid in your hands as you furiously work it open to release the threads.
Max steps forward. “You can do it, sweetheart. I know you can. Please do it.” He begs quietly.
The only other time in your life that you have broken through the barrier of your magic was for Max. To protect him. And now you understand why your attempt at a protection barrier didn’t work at all — because you’ve been surrounded by one for most of your life. Fear is what made you leap into action last time. Fear that something would happen to take Max away from you. Even if you knew in the most logical parts of your mind that a bullet could not kill him — you feared it. And fearing that one drink could turn Max into the same monster Derek was, while illogical, is the definition of a knee jerk reaction. Every single thread you grasp is a reminder to yourself that it won’t happen. That alcohol has no effect on Max. That the dangers of the pst will never repeat themselves. Every knot you grasp, tugging at the strands of your gnarled fears, is a step toward being stronger. For Max.
“Come to me baby.” He begs, holding out his arms to you as you attempt to break through the barrier. “I choose you, I’ll always choose you over everything.”
“I—I’ll always choose you, too.” Your fingers dig into the knot of magical threads at the heart of the barrier, feeling the way the power — your power, untouched and unwielded — bends and droops at your words. The threads don’t merely break, they seep into your skin like sun rays and light you from the inside. Annie and Max watch in awe as every shred of magic untangles itself after that large knot, absorbing into your mind and body so thoroughly that you begin to glow.
“Beautiful.” Max whispers, completely enthralled by how powerful you are. A wind that doesn’t come from anywhere ruffles your nightgown and blows around you. A byproduct of the magic being harnessed and absorbed by you.
“Gods above…” Annie presses one hand over her heart, watching in awe as you take the last threads of your binding apart. You look like an angel, and she cannot tell why but her heart aches over the image of it. “Max!” Throwing yourself forward is easy now, as though you could simply fly wherever you needed to go without any effort, and you launch yourself toward your soulmate with one hand outstretched to bring your mother close as well.
Max cradles you, wrapping up in the security of his arms with palpable relief. He had honestly worried that it wouldn't work, that he would be separated from you. Now the warmth of your body is surrounding him and all he can feel is like you've come home.
Characterizing it as crying would be an understatement. What you are doing is weeping into Max’s shoulder as you cling to both him and your young mother in sheer relief. It feels, for the first time since you were a child, like you are whole again, with a in one of magic running in your veins alongside your blood. There is no other way to explain it — you feel whole again. For her part, Annie hugs you tightly, tears of effort and - yes - more relief in her own eyes. She cannot explain why she feels so close to you, but now it feels even more important that the two of you had met. “We should discuss this with my mother when we return home,” she murmurs, knowing that her mother is a far more power witch than she is at this time. “I wish I knew other witches nearby to consult. But you must learn to control your powers. They will act out, now that they are free.”
Max frowns, concerned. “She will.” He promises Annie. “She will, even if I have to learn magic myself.”
“Lina.” You remind him, not wanting Max to think that he has to take the entire world into his shoulders. “We should go and see Lina tomorrow. She might be able to help.”
Annie frowns slightly and pulls back. "Lina Astor?" She asks curiously. "Oh- I had completely forgotten." She admits, huffing slightly. "She is a very accomplished witch. And when we go home, mother will be a boon to you."
“Thank you.” Putting aside completely the fact that it was most likely Annie herself who spellbound you as a child, you high her tightly in thanks now. Without her here, who knows if you ever would have figured out what had happened or been able to break the enchantment at all. It might have been a lost cause without her incantation.
“You are most welcomed.” She hum, pulling back and biting her lip. “For now…perhaps you should have your soulmate hypnotize you.” She suggest. “To relax you.”
“I’ve…we’ve never…” you glance at Max curiously. “Does that work?”
Max winces, but nods. “The powers I have…I could make you do anything.”
“Then maybe a relaxing night’s sleep is the thing after all.” Hugging Annie tightly once more, you sit back and realize how truly exhausted you feel in the moment and huff a laugh at yourself. “Though I may not need you to do anything more than tuck me in, love.”
"If she's not needing it, I would rather not hypnotize her." Max admits. "It takes away her free will and I don't want to do that."
“Your love is very clear.” Annie nods in understanding, though her own mind is racing and she very much doubts her sleep with be restful. But her exhaustion is different from yours.
"Thank you for your help." Max takes her hands and kisses the back of them profusely. "Thank you." He repeats. "I'll escort you back to your room as soon as I get Dolly settled." He promises.
“I know my way.” She assures him, not wanting you to have to be left alone even for a few minutes. Not after what you’ve just undergone. “I’m glad you’re well, Dolly. That we could figure out what was wrong.”
Max sends her a grateful look and closes the door behind her after she slips out. He hadn't want to leave you, couldn't stand the thought, and now he doesn't have to. "Dolly..." He murmurs quietly, turning back and looking at you with nothing but pure relief.
“I’m sorry.” The words are out of your mouth immediately, and you practically throw yourself at him again to hug the proverbial breath out of him. “I know you wouldn’t have hurt me. And I know I’ve said that you could have a drink if you wanted. It just took me off guard and I panicked.”
"No." He shakes his head and holds you tight. "You have nothing to be sorry for." His hand moves up and down your back. "Not one goddamn thing. This is on me." He tells you. "My mistake that you nearly paid for."
“It’s done now.” That’s the important part, after all. That it’s over and that you’re both safe, and you can have your arms around him now. “Are…are you okay? I know I scared you, but…I scared me, too.”
"I think my heart stopped." Max jokes dryly.
“Har Har.” You intone, rolling your eyes at him to continue diffusing the tension left in the room. “Thank the gods Mom was here.”
"Yeah...thank God." He murmurs quietly, deciding to let the fact that your mother was the one who most likely put the spell on you lie. "Let's get you to bed, Queenie, you look like you are about to pass out."
“I’m exhausted.” In fact you’re nodding without evening meaning to, and halfway to sitting in the mattress already.
"You should be." Max whispers as he quickly lays you down and climbs into the bed beside you and pulls you close. "You did something amazing. Something I would never believe if I didn't see it for myself."
“I don’t even believe it.” You mumble, letting Max pull you in close and wrap you up tight in the safety of his arms. “I thought spellbinding was a myth. A magical boogeyman than witches threaten their kids with. I didn’t know it was real.”
"Surprise." He huffs sarcastically, shaking his head and slowly starting to rub your back.
"Will you rest tonight?" The last thing you want is for him to sit up worrying, but you know you're on the verge of crashing and won't be able to stop him one way or another. What matters to you more than anything is that he tries to rest.
"I'll try, sweetheart." He promises, unable to guarantee anything right now. Nothing expect he needs to hold you. "You just sleep." He whispers. "I'll be right here, watching over you and making sure nothing happens to you."
"I love you." And having that love for one of the things that goes bump in the night means you sleep a little more deeply in his arms. In the waking hours, you'll have to seek out more help in harnessing your magic. Tonight? Max's arms are all you need.
______
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First Date Night
Fandom: Path to Nowhere
Characters: Cinnabar, Zoya, Langley
Warnings: First-date nerves?
Requested by: @mossmosis
Prompt: For Cinnabae, Zoya and Langley. How would they ask their s/o out for the first time. What they do how do they dress. Gimme everything.
Comments: My first time writing for PtN, eek! I'm not super confident with Langley's tbh, but I hope it's good regardless. I got a little carried away with Cinnabar's, too... oops? Enjoy, kiddo <3 I'll try to do the second part of your request soon~
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Cinnabar
Cinnabar is all cool and confidence.... until now. Now, she's completely and totally out of her depth, and she has absolutely no idea how to even begin this conversation, much less accomplish her goal.
What makes it so, so much worse is that the person she wants to ask out is the Chief of all people! Cinnabar, who has turned down countless women because they were her clients and she strictly believes in not mixing work with pleasure, not getting romantically involved with anyone she has a professional relationship with... and that, unfortunately, includes the Chief. But she can't help it! And after a long while of desperately pretending to keep up this silly ideal of hers, she gives in. The Chief is more than her technical boss, they're her friend, too... and, she hopes, soon they might be her lover.
She beats around the bush a lot. Asks about the plans for the weekend, wearing her Strictly Professional Persona to hide the anxiety turning her stomach to jelly. For a few weeks, the Chief has told her of various missions, and Cinnabar has enthusiastically volunteered to go on them, to protect the Chief of course. But now, for once, the Chief merely smiles at her and explains that they don't have any plans, that the various crises are more stable than they have been, and nothing is too urgent to wait for a few days while the Sinners take a well-deserved weekend off... not to mention the poor overworked Chief themself.
And now, of course, Cinna panics. She'd gotten so used to asking the question, being told of the missions and experiencing equal relief and disappointment... now that she's faced with the opportunity to ask them out, she's not entirely sure how to go about it. She probably stammers a little, bringing up this nice place she knows of in town, talking about how hard the Chief has been working, how they deserve a break too... and they're watching her so gently, so openly, she eventually just takes a deep breath and spits it out, asking if they'll go out with her for dinner and maybe drinks. And, of course, the Chief accepts with a warm smile that melts her heart far more than it should, and it takes every bit of trained composure she has to not jump for joy or melt into a puddle in the middle of the Chief's office.
Cinnabar decides to treat the preparation as if she's preparing for a mission. That's the only way she can stop her hands from trembling. She takes a long shower, scrubs every speck of dirt off of her body in anxious preparation, but then comes the question of... what exactly should she wear? She considers a dress, though that means she'd have to borrow one from one of the other Sinners, and then she worries she'd look horribly out of place in a dress - how would she style her hair, wouldn't she need makeup, god forbid she'd need to wear heels... how on earth could she protect the Chief in something like that, should the need arise?
Eventually she settles on digging out some of her nicer clothing, something comfortable and practical, but distinctly different from her preferred Serpent Eye uniform. She brushes her hair a dozen times, fidgets with the style and tries to get it perfect, but it ends up looking no different than it usually does.
She's waiting for the Chief outside their office, or by the front door, at exactly the time they'd agreed upon. Despite her nerves, she's nothing if not punctual. She's there, standing at attention, greeting the Chief with a smile that she hopes looks as confident as she always feels and asking if they're ready to go.
Despite all of the anxiety, because this is likely Cinnabar's first time taking anyone out on a non-work-related date, she'll relax soon enough and begin to enjoy herself. The Chief has a way of putting her at ease, after all, and she feels as though everything will be just fine. She finds herself wondering why she was so nervous to begin with.
She walks the Chief to her door after they return home, and a bit of her former shyness returns. She fidgets a bit, making casual small talk, and then start off by saying she had a wonderful time, searching their gaze nervously as she leans in a bit, eyes flicking from theirs to their lips and back as she quietly asks, "Chief.... may I?"
All in all she's a nervous wreck, the poor darling. Want her to attend a million fancy events to protect people? Sure, no problem. She'll walk into the middle of the Syndicate without batting an eye, will throw herself between innocent people and danger without a moment's notice... but this, this is different. She can face down the most dangerous enemies and come up with five different strategies for neutralizing the threat, but she doesn't know how to handle the swarm of butterflies in her stomach, the way that particular smile the Chief gives her makes her weak in the knees.
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Zoya
Zoya isn't afraid of anything, and a date is no exception, but she doesn't have much experience in a situation like this. Or... any experience, actually. She's always been a hard worker, never quite giving allowing herself to relax properly, because she couldn't. Her entire life has been walking a tightrope, always being ready to launch into action, into battle, at a moment's notice. She doesn't really even know how to relax, truth be told. But she will try, because she has someone worth trying for, now.
She doesn't overthink things too much. After she finishes doing something with the Chief, be it a sparring match or a mission, she glances over at them, calm as ever, and says, "hey, we should go out sometime. Just the two of us. You wanna get drinks tonight?" The Chief says yes, and she nods casually, tells them to meet her at seven, and pretends not to feel the fluttering in her chest when they smile and agree.
She's surprisingly nervous, but hides it very well. The Chief has learned her well by now, though. They can tell, something in the way she holds herself, a particular stiffness in her motions that isn't usually there when she feels fully in control of the situation. Plus, they can likely feel it through the Shackles.
She doesn't really get all fancy for the date. Not the first one, at least. Later, she might, but... not tonight. She does try to make herself look a bit more presentable, though, cleaning herself up a bit, though she's careful to preserve her effortless badass appearance. But hey, the least she can do is make sure her clothes are free of blood when she goes on her date, right?
They go to a bar somewhere, preferably somewhere either no one knows her and they can fade into the shadows, or where everyone knows her, where the Big Bad Dangerous Sinner Zoya is feared and respected and won't be bothered. They sit at a table tucked into a back corner, Zoya comfortably draped across her chair, throwing back drinks and slowly loosening up as they talk.
They stay until the bar closes down, then head back, either returning to the Bureau or Zoya's home. Either way, she stays for a while, and this is where she finally learns the meaning of relaxing. She's had enough alcohol to take the edge off, and now she's in an environment where she feels safe. It's an odd feeling, one she isn't entirely used to -- she'd argue that she feels safe anywhere she goes, because she can handle whatever threats are thrown her way, but deep down she knows that isn't true.
They talk for a long while, about anything and everything, and she slowly lets her guard down, just a little. She trusts the Chief, but their relationship is different than the other people she's trusted in her life. The members of the Legion look to her as a leader, and she feels as though she must always be seen as the leader they expect. No matter how comfortable she is with them, there's that subconscious power imbalance. But the Chief... the Chief doesn't feel that way. They aren't one of her subordinates. She can give them orders all she likes, but they won't always follow them - on the contrary, she's learned they're far more likely not to obey her commands. The Chief feels like her equal, like her... partner. It's an unusual feeling, but one she likes all the same.
The night will likely end with the two of them getting far more intimately familiar with one another, and Zoya lies awake for quite a while after the Chief has fallen asleep in her arms, watching them sleep and trying to process everything that has happened, how exactly she's gotten so lucky as to end up in this situation.
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Langley
Langley doesn't hesitate to ask the Chief out. She's hardly subtle about it, either. "Hey, Rookie. You, me, dinner, tonight at eight. My treat. Wear somethin' nice, I'll pick you up in front of the Bureau." Leaves no room for arguments, just states that her intention is to take them out, and that's that.
She works hard but she plays hard, too, and she's no stranger to the dating scene. Most of the times she's taken people out have been for an ulterior motive, admittedly, but she's always enjoyed herself in the process, and she's quite skilled in seduction. She doesn't want anything from the Chief, though they might be suspicious that she's using them for something. She just finds them intriguing and wants to get to know them a bit better.
She meets them out front as instructed, looking even more stunning than she usually does. She's wearing an elegant dress - nothing so elaborate as the banquet one, but stunning nonetheless, a dress made of shimmering silvery fabric, rather low cut in the front with a slit in the side of the skirt nearly up to her hip. She's done her hair and makeup too, giving herself a more ethereal look than normal.
She takes the Chief to a surprisingly fancy restaurant, treats them to anything they want off the menu along with a bottle of wine. She seems to be at home here, completely relaxed and in her element. If asked about it, she'll merely wink and say something about being a spy.
She flirts like mad the entire night. Lots of small gestures, holding the doors for them, pulling their chair out, pouring them more wine, feeding them bites of her food off of her own fork with a suggestive smirk... Gives them endless compliments, while also continuing to call them Rookie every chance she gets and making it clear who's in charge here.
Don't be surprised if Langley anticipates a lot of things about the Chief's preferences, from the type of food at the restaurant to the wine she orders, to the color of gemstone in the necklace she's wearing... she is a spy, after all, and a damn good one. It's her job to know her targets, and while the Chief isn't her target for the usual reasons, they're certainly the target of her affections, and she'll learn everything she can about them in order to best impress them.
Probably regales them impressive with tales of her work over dinner. It's impossible to tell how much of them is true and how much is exaggerated or completely fabricated, but they're fascinating all the same.
Once the night ends she'll take them back to her place for a bit if they're willing, probably feeds them some fruit or sweets, pampering them a little more before she inevitably has them on their knees for her.
Her curiosity and longing for the Chief only grows stronger after she's had a taste, and she continues taking them out on dates quite often. The dates themselves are spontaneous and unpredictable, much like Langley herself, and the more time the Chief spends with her, the more they'll begin to see the woman behind the mysterious exterior as she slowly lets her guard down around them and they grow closer to her.
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Yo you had a Joong dream? Tell me why I had a San dream. Specifically(here comes the delulu) I woke up several times bc I’ve had a migraine for two days and it’s been miserable 🙃, but when I fell back asleep this morning and woke up from this dream was at midnight(on his birthday) in Seoul.
The dream was a cute date, I can’t remember much but there was cuddling I think. I distinctly remember we were walking side by side outside, and he put his arm around my shoulders and I leaned in and put my arm around his waist. I leaned in further and wrapped my other arm around his waist from the front so I was like side hugging him while we were walking. I remember him being so warm and cozy(literally physically felt how warm he was) and very solid(?) if that makes sense. I just felt so safe and warm and cared for kinda. Like he was being very sweet, duh it’s San 🙄. And it started raining and he grabbed my hand and we started running to get to cover. And we did and ya ya blah blah we were soaking wet and laughing super hard and he was being cuddly while we waited for a ride so I didn’t get too cold. (That’s when I woke up) He was just so fucking warm and like solid and strong? Like big arms around me and like hugging him like just solid is the only word I can think of.
Annnyyywwaaayyysss now I want that gross cute shit and cuddles but I’m ALONE
But imagine you get under the cover after running through the rain and his tshirt is wet and stuck to him and yours is too and you’re freezing and he’s cuddling you but you can’t help but notice how fucking hot he looks because he’s being so so affectionate and caring and at the same time I can see his “rippling pectorals” through his shirt and his hair is wet and he just pushed it back with a couple pieces hanging in his face. So you get in a taxi and go back to his place and dry off. He changes into dry clothes and gives you a dry hoodie and sweats of his. He starts making you some tea and some soup, but you can’t shake the way your skin lights up every time he touches you. You decide sneak a cheeky little kiss on his kind of neck/shoulder and then he kisses you back on the forehead and tells you how beautiful you are in his clothes. He then strokes your cheek and asks if you’re still cold. You say yes so he pulls you into his arms. When you look up at him, the tension in the room could be cut with a knife. He leans in to kiss you and you accidentally let out a lil whimper. He pulls back to look at you quizzically and read your face but your pupils are blown out. You don’t even notice but you have a death grip on his shirt sleeves so he turns off the stove and says he’ll worry about the soup later and picks you up by the backs of your thighs and carries you to his room and proceeds to really warm you up and kisses every inch of your skin and then devours you like the good service top he is.
*sigh* yeahhhh….
Happy Sannie Day(and Sunday or whatever day it is for you) thank you for continuing to feed us romance and filth and I’m obsessed with your page. Keep being amazing and wonderful and stay thirsty 😉.
Xx,
🖤Anon
Babygirl, thank you so much for the DETAIL!!!
You left an entire bakery here for me and I ate ALLLLL THE CRUMBS AND PASTRIES!
I have nothing but appreciation to contribute to how beautiful your mind works and how romantic and sensual this moment feels.
San with dark, wet hair hanging in his eyes just does SOMETHING! ALOT OF THINGS TO ME!
The man could wear a potato sack and still look sexy and he's so talented and has such a soft soul and sparkling personality!!!
San honestly shows more care and nurture into Atiny's than I see some men do in their REAL-LIFE RELATIONSHIPS with their REAL PARTNERS!
I think that's why parasocial relationships with the members of Ateez are so severe because their paid fanservice is more fulfilling than most situationships and casual partners now.
They also need us as much as we need them which I didn't realise until I saw so many of fancalls with San where his face genuinely lights up at atiny's remarks and compliments.
So, I feel like the parasocial relationship on their end is more than what I was anticipating.
Anyway, I got my attention diverted but thank you for this beautiful piece of work, I will dream well tonight.
PLease keep commenting, sharing your thoughts, supporting and just being you :)
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ifidiedinadream · 1 year
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Hi 🥰
Could I maybe request something were the reader is a little insecure to get naked in front of her partner (Olli), because she has some old SH scars on her hips and thighs.
And one day they get caught in the rain after a date and she has to change in front of him or Olli walks in on her. The reader would try to hide them, afraid Olli would be judge her. But Olli just comforts her about it, telling her how beautiful and strong she is.
hello anon!! of course you could 🖤
tw: old self harm scars
The date was almost perfect. 
Olli took you to a coffee shop, something simple but it’s not like you need grand things to enjoy each other’s company anyway. The relationship is in its infancy and there’s still a lot to discover about each other, so spending your time together mostly talking and enjoying each other’s presence is more than enough for both of you. 
The date was only almost perfect because, whereas the first part of it made you feel like you were on cloud nine (Olli’s profound blue eyes boring into yours for long moments, your hand in his, sharing your coffee shop orders), the second part had you soaking wet and not in the fun sense of the term (which was still uncharted territory because you want to take things slow (and for another couple of reasons) but that’s beside the point). 
A sudden downpour caught you and Olli by surprise while you were walking back and no amount of running could spare you from all the water falling from the sky. On the spot, you decided to head to Olli’s apartment (the original plan was for him to walk with you to your house - he didn’t want you to go alone, since it was getting dark and he wanted to make sure you’d be safe) and you even managed to laugh together a bit, especially when he struggled to keep up with your pace and had to leave your hand in the process. 
“Let’s stay inside until the rain stops,” Olli says as he disappears in one of the rooms. “I’ll drive you back home later.” 
“Thank you,” you say when Olli comes back with one of his hoodies and hands it over to you. You almost forget about feeling in awe for being at Olli's apartment for the first time ever at the kind gesture. 
“You can change in my bedroom,” he says. “I’ll make us something warm in the meantime.” 
Olli kisses your lips before showing you the door to the bedroom (it’s the same room he took the hoodie from). He closes the door behind you to head to the kitchen. 
You smell the hoodie before you undress yourself. It smells so distinctly like him, like honey and something else, like the rest of the house after all. You glance around: this is where Olli sleeps, and you can’t wait to share that bed with him one day. Waking up cuddled up to him in the morning, him still asleep with a ray of sunshine illuminating his golden curls after a night of slow, romantic sex; this and god knows how many other dreamy scenarios await you once you decide to take that big step. You sigh. It feels so close yet so out of reach…  
As you take your soggy clothes off, your reflection in the large mirror on the wall catches your attention. And obviously, so do the old scars on your hips and thighs. 
You cross your arms on your chest. Olli will have to know about them one day and the thought terrifies you: will he understand? Will he think less of you? Will he still want to be with you? 
You thought about it before, imagined every possible scenario: you could tell him, or he could find out himself; he could make a fuss about it, or not care, or he could pretend he didn’t notice them, never acknowledging them. He could think you’re immature, attention seeking, or out of your mind; he could act surprised or like he knew all along. 
Would he be too disgusted to even touch you there? 
You don’t know how long you’ve been staring at yourself in nothing but your underwear, deep in thought and making yourself anxious in the process; but at some point the door flings open, and you startle and drop the hoodie on the floor. 
“Ah, shit, sorry!” Olli says and you swear he’d cover his eyes if he wasn’t carrying two fuming cups in his hands. He turns his face to the side, red in the cheeks. “You didn’t answer the knocks on the door and I thought you’d be finished by now…” 
You don’t know what to say, only try to cover your scars with your hands. You don’t know how to tell him it’s not that you don’t want him to see you naked, but… 
“I - I made us tea,” Olli tries to keep his head turned as he hands you one of the cups. You’re petrified and not really eager to remove your hand from your hip to accept the tea. 
Your hesitancy and silence make him turn to look at your face. His brow is furrowed and his gaze betrays confusion. “Are you okay?” he asks softly. Your hands flat on your hips and thighs only draw his attention there. “Wait - what’s…?” 
You almost burst into tears on the spot, not at all ready to have this conversation now. Olli notices your mood drop, sets the cups on the nightstand and hastily walks over to you. 
“Hey,” he says softly. “What is it? What’s wrong?” 
But you just fall right into his arms and start sobbing. 
Olli caresses your hair soothingly. “This is not about me walking in on you, is it?” 
You shake your head against his chest. 
“Do you want me to leave?” 
You hesitate, then shake your head again. He holds you tighter. 
“What are those… marks on your body?” he asks slowly, cautiously, when you’re calmer. 
You take a deep breath and distance yourself from him. 
“They’re what you think they are. I’m sorry I kept it from you but -” you can’t finish your sentence for you start tearing up again. 
“Hey,” he says again, cupping your cheek. “It’s okay, I understand why you did. I’m not mad, okay?” 
“It must look… so fucking vile to you,” you say, unable to look into his eyes. 
“What?! No, not vile at all. I just think you’re so strong. And it doesn’t make you any less beautiful.” 
With a gentle finger, he lifts your face so that you’re forced to look at him. He has a kind smile on his face, tender and genuine. You smile back, hesitantly, allowing yourself to believe him even if it’s difficult. 
“You don’t have to be ashamed. Not with me,” Olli tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. You nod, the quiet sound of his voice soothing you. 
“Can I kiss you?” he asks and you let him, and in that kiss there’s all the reassurance you need. 
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rozzywell · 3 years
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>:) shenanigans
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hxseok-honee · 3 years
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sundress || part 7
written portion under the cut!
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
sundress [part 7] || she needs him.
previous || masterlist || next
a/n : [tell me how good it feels to be needed] needy x ariana grande
taglist [open] :
@deepseavibez @thetrueghostqueen @reddeathraven @dingzerenistall @skyrro @unadulteratedlyunique @ramyagovindraj @itismochirice @wwhseokjin @drpepperobsessed @monamone @thekookiecorner @army-moa75 @burningupp-replies @lele-bb @pb-n-juju @red-kebab @heonsbebe @peachyyoongs @superloverpielamp @marifujioka @butterflylion @heyitsgigi @lochness-butmakeitsexy @miki-chi @cahowlkook @worshiphoseok @lilacdreams-00 @bongsbeforebibles @miriamxsworld @oasiswithmyg @peonyplace @annewrighthglc @calling-dips-on-j-hope @yoongiofmine @loveyoongles @instantspot @missmadwoman @x-xjaeminx-x @luvtaeha @vanillxangxl @renhold-nightspear @taeshuworld @lvrseok @supahumbreon
__________________________
Friday, 17 September, 9:50pm
The moment Yoongi and Y/n are stepping into Gryffindor common room, having come down the stairs from her room hand in hand, Jungkook is on his feet. His eyes are trained solely on Yoongi, and there’s a kind of burning anger there that has the rest of their friends tensing, especially when the Gryffindor heads right for them. Yoongi wonders with brief amusement if Jungkook’s going to hit him.
And he does try -- rather, he tries to grab at Yoongi’s shirt. But Y/n’s stepping in the way just as Jungkook’s reaching out for the Slytherin, and he has to raise his arms and stop short, his sneakers slipping on the rug beneath his feet as he struggles to avoid making contact with her instead. He looks like an idiot, and he knows it, but the thought of almost having put his hands on Y/n sobers Jungkook quickly.
They stand there in silence for a moment, their friends watching with bated breath as Jungkook looks at Y/n with wide eyes, shocked that she’s looking at him so coldly. He barely notices that Yoongi’s looking at her, too, his gaze examining her fondly. Because somehow, even though he knows her better than she knows herself, she always manages to surprise him.
“I think… maybe we should all sit down and talk like real people.” Jin speaks from one of the loveseats, Jimin perched next to him. Y/n doesn’t move when Jungkook doesn’t, refusing to step out of the way until her ex is backing down. And he eventually does, lowering his eyes and moving to one of the armchairs. He’s acutely aware of Y/n pulling Yoongi to the other loveseat, directly across from Jungkook.
“Okay… not totally sure what we’re supposed to talk about, since it’s not like anything’s going to change…” Namjoon speaks from where he half-sits on the ledge of an open window, a joint in his hand. Tae’s standing behind him, leaning on the wall, Namjoon’s back pressed into his chest. The Gryffindor sighs lightly, pinching at the bridge of his nose, and Y/n feels distinctly bad for him -- he’s the one that has to live with Jungkook, and she knows all too well how annoying he can get.
“Look, let’s just start with the facts so that I don’t have to listen to Jungkook theorizing and scheming all night.” Tae’s roommate turns to him, clearly offended, but the bookworm puts a hand up, silencing him before he can even say anything. He looks at the pair on the couch. “How did this happen?” He gestures vaguely to Yoongi and Y/n when he says this, not wanting to outright call them a couple, considering the ticking time bomb sitting in the armchair.
Y/n looks to Yoongi in slight alarm, careful to mask her expression because she knows Jungkook’s watching closely. But they hadn’t had a chance to discuss a backstory, and she doesn’t want them to say any conflicting information. It seems Yoongi has it handled, though, his face perfectly composed as he makes something up.
“Over the summer -- just a drunk night. We decided to forget it happened because it was better for our friendship, but… I guess I just couldn’t.” He looks to her when he says it, almost smirking when he sees the surprise in her eyes -- surprise that he’d made it sound like he was the one who’d caught feelings. She makes a mental note to talk to him about it later, but Jungkook’s already talking, unable to resist taking a jab at the boy.
“That’s bullshit. Y/n wouldn’t just sleep with you and let it go. She’s not a whore like you.” Yoongi finds it funny, if he’s honest, but he knows by the way that Y/n tenses next to him that she very much does not. So he pulls his hand from hers and slides it over her leg, squeezing at her thigh and letting it rest there, his thumb tracing circles of comfort into her skin. Jungkook’s eyes flick down to watch it happen, and when he raises his gaze again, there’s renewed irritation there. Yoongi almost feels bad that he finds the Gryffindor’s anger amusing. Almost.
“Well, I don’t know, Jeon. Maybe if you hadn’t fucked up and dumped her, she wouldn’t have spent the summer with me. Then that drunk night wouldn’t have happened. So… should I say thank you?” Y/n purses her lips and hides her face in Yoongi’s shoulder, somehow both exasperated and deeply amused by his words. Jimin whistles from the couch, not even bothering to mask how entertained he is by what’s happening here. Y/n lifts her head, figuring she should try to ease the tension somehow.
“Look, Jungkook. There’s nothing you can do about this, okay? Yoongi and I are together now, so I would just… appreciate it if you’d let this go so we can rebuild our friendship.” The group nods, finding her words reasonable. It’s the truth -- what’s done is done, so they might as well all move on and find a way to return to normalcy.
“I don’t believe you.” Namjoon throws his head back and groans loudly when Jungkook refuses to cooperate, Jin dropping his head to his hands because they’re really never going to get anywhere like this. Jungkook doesn’t even notice. “You want me to let it go, huh? Almost like you’re just pretending to date so that I will.”
“I feel like that says more about the fact that you won’t leave her alone than anything it says about Yoongi and Y/n.” It comes from Tae, who is clearly getting very frustrated. He’s a man of knowledge, fact. He puts weight in words and sees the world for what it is. So he’s very annoyed at Jungkook’s delusions -- at the fact that he won’t just accept the situation. That, even in a world where he might be right, he’s not seeing that Yoongi and Y/n would only pretend because he’s being relentless and they’ve had to turn to a drastic last resort.
“Prove it. Prove you’re dating. You two hold hands and shit all the time, this doesn’t prove a thing.” Jungkook all but ignores Tae, hyper-focusing on Yoongi and Y/n across from him. Yoongi turns to Y/n with a knowing look, one that says ‘What’d I tell you? Cringey TV shit’. It makes her smile widely, even as she’s reaching to place her hand on the side of Yoongi’s neck, pulling him in. He slides his hand from her thigh to her waist when his lips fall to hers, the action already easier than it’d been less than hour ago.
They can hear the various noises of reaction from their friends -- Jin hums in contemplation as Jimin quite literally starts to laugh, and Namjoon is choking on the hit he’d just taken, Tae whispering ‘oh, okay then’ behind him.
Yoongi presses one last kiss to Y/n’s mouth before pulling away with an obnoxious smack of his lips, winking discreetly at her and smiling when she rolls her eyes. They turn to the group, Yoongi taking her hand in his and pulling it into his lap as he threads his fingers through hers. Their friends seem relatively unaffected, if only amused or intrigued by them, but Jungkook.
Jungkook’s looking at them with hardened rage, because there’s really no way he can explain that one without ending up at a romantic relationship between them. That fact clearly bothers him enough that he’s leaning forward, elbows on his knees as he looks at them, and Y/n can see the childish malice flashing in his eyes. And she knows he’s about to say something bad.
“Tell me, Yoongi -- are you enjoying my sloppy seconds?” The entire room is standing immediately -- Yoongi because he’s perfectly certain he’s about to put Jungkook in the Hospital Wing, and everyone else because they have to make sure Yoongi doesn’t do exactly that.
Y/n had seen it coming -- had seen the way Jungkook had shut down just before saying it, because she knows what that looks like -- so she’s able to react the fastest out of everyone. Latching onto the back of Yoongi’s shirt before he’s able to get too close to Jungkook, she yanks him back to her, slipping her arms around her waist and holding tight. Jin and Namjoon have moved to Jungkook’s side, hands on his chest to stop him from moving -- because at the end of the day, Jungkook’s the athlete here. He could easily knock someone back if he wants to, so they know they need more than one person to stop him from acting rash.
Y/n slides her hand over Yoongi’s mouth, knowing he completely lacks a filter and not wanting him to make things worse because he’s angry. She pulls him backwards toward the stairs to her room, turning when she gets there and urging him up the steps before waving at the rest of the room.
“Well, this has been great -- goodnight!” And then she’s taking the steps two at a time to catch up to Yoongi, who’s stomping angrily up to her door. He makes his way inside, pacing the room as Y/n shuts her door behind her, and then he’s turning to her, his eyes alight.
“After that, you still won’t let me kick his ass?!” She knows that, if all their friends are still downstairs, then they can definitely hear him yelling. The whole house can probably hear him yelling. She rushes forward, taking his face in her hands and shushing him, because she really needs him to calm down.
“Yoongi, it’s fine. I don’t care, it doesn’t bother me--”
“It should!” He’s ripping his face from her hold, going back to pacing as he pulls at his hair in frustration. She sighs, moving to him again and wrapping a hand around his wrist. He tries to pull that free, too, but she holds tight, so he turns to her with annoyance. “How can you just be okay with what he said?!”
“I’m not. I’m not okay with what he said.” He stops, breathing deeply to calm down when he sees how serious she is. Turning so he’s facing her properly, he waits for her to continue. “I’m not okay with it, Yoongi, but right now I’m more concerned about you.”
“Why? I’m not the one he was insulting--”
“It’s not about him, Yoongi. I will deal with what he said later. Let’s just… go to bed? Hm?” It hurts, what Jungkook had said to her. That he’d called her a cheater over text and then blatantly insulted her to her face. That he’d let his pride get so in the way of his head that he couldn’t see how terrible he was being.
But it’s Yoongi that worries her. Because he’s fiercely protective, whether he’s aware of it or not. Because she knows how quickly his mouth can get him in trouble when he’s seeing red. Because her problems with Jungkook are hers, and she doesn’t want Yoongi burning a bridge with Jungkook over this, no matter how hard her ex is trying to start the fire himself.
So she’s pulling him to her bed, shuffling toward him once they’re both under the comforter. Taking his face in her hands again -- and smiling when he doesn’t pull away this time -- she’s squishing his cheeks, glad to see the way he rolls his eyes. It means he’s calming down, however reluctantly.
“You okay?” He sighs when she asks, sliding his arm around her waist and pulling her close. Her fingers move to his ears, where she plays with his piercings, an unconscious habit. Pushing his nose against hers, he doesn’t respond, only searching her eyes.
“Are you?” A small smile, a nod. But he doesn’t find the reassurance he’s looking for in her eyes, so he knows she’s lying. But he lets it go for now, scooting around until he can tuck her into his chest, his chin coming to rest on her head as they drift off to sleep, trying to put this day behind them.
--
Saturday, 18 September, 3:48am
It’s the shaking that wakes Yoongi up. Not the gasped sob that precedes it, muffled into a hand desperate to keep her quiet. Not the sniffling that follows, tearful and devastated. It’s the shaking — the pure force of the cry that tears its way through her body, jostling the mattress and pulling Yoongi out of his slumber.
Y/n keeps her curtains drawn at night, blocking any moonlight that would have filtered in through her window, so he can’t see her in the dark — not until he’s blinked enough times that silhouettes start to take shape around him. When he notices the shadow sitting at the edge of the bed, he’s sliding his hand across the sheet next to him, almost as if to check that she’s not there, sleeping peacefully beside him. She’s not.
Scooting his way along the mattress until he’s close enough to touch her, he’s sitting up, the comforter falling off of him as he goes.
“Hey…” Yoongi puts his hand on her back to draw her attention, his palm flat against the curve of her spine as he leans over to try to see her face. Y/n jumps, clearly not having noticed that he was awake.
“Shit— did I wake you?” She gives one last sniffle, and he can see her wiping frantically at her face. He doesn’t respond, only moving closer until he can press his chest to her left shoulder, trying to make as much physical contact as possible so she knows she can lean on him.
“Talk to me… please?” He doesn’t need to see when she shakes her head. He can feel it, the way her whole body moves to say no — to shut him out. It leaves a dreadfully bad taste in his mouth, guilt crawling up the back of his neck.
“I’m just gonna... I need to shower.” Yoongi furrows a brow at her sudden remark, pressing his chest closer to her, his face coming to rest on her shoulder.
“Now? It’s the middle of the night…” Y/n moves to stand, Yoongi’s fingers clinging to the back of her shirt until she’s too far away for him to keep holding on. She heads to the bathroom, the sudden flick of the light blinding him for a few seconds. He blinks it away, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and perching there, just as she had. He hears the shower turn on, and his heart aches at the thought that Y/n’s only doing this so she can cry beneath the sound of running water again. The guilt that had been dancing along the edges of his skin flows into his chest now, settling there like a ton of bricks.
He’s so busy staring down at the floor, trying to figure out how to make this better, that he doesn’t notice Y/n’s slowly making her way back to him until she’s standing over him.
“Yoongi?” The Slytherin blinks, lifting his head in surprise at the call of his name. Y/n stares down at him, taking in the way the pale yellow light from the bathroom washes over his features — it shows her the darkness in his eyes, the turmoil sitting there. She reaches out to him, wiggling her fingers slowly until he’s taking her hand in his, waiting for her to tell him what’s on her mind.
“Come with me?” Eyes widening, he stares up at her silently, unsure why she’s asking him this. But he finds himself nodding, knowing that, whatever it is, she needs him. She needs him there with her, so he’s rising from the bed and following her to the bathroom, because — right now, in this moment — he needs her to need him. He’s too scared to think of the alternative — that he’s caused this pain in her eyes, that it’s his fault.
Compared to the bedroom, it’s uncomfortably bright here in the bathroom, so much so that they just stand in the middle of the room for a few seconds, unsure how to proceed. Finally, as if coming to his senses, Yoongi’s looking toward the door, finding the light switch easily. With an apprehensive glance in Y/n’s direction, he moves toward it, setting his fingers on the switch and flicking it down.
They’re bathed in darkness immediately, but there’s a small window on the far wall, one that lets in just enough moonlight that they won’t hurt themselves trying to navigate the room.
Yoongi steps slowly back to where he’d been before, hovering in front of Y/n and waiting for her to tell him what to do. After a moment of nothing, she’s reaching out to him, taking his fingers in her own and guiding his hands to the hem of her t-shirt. She leaves them there, looking to him to continue.
With a nervous breath, Yoongi grasps at the material, lifting the shirt up and off her body as gingerly as he can, his eyes on the wall behind her head. He only glances at her once he can see her crossing her arms in front of her chest, covering herself.
He steps in just enough that he can set his hands on her hips and push at the waistband of her pajama pants, turning away and giving her privacy once she’s able to kick them the rest of the way off, working slowly at his own clothes while he waits.
When his shorts and shirt are pooled on the floor beneath his feet, he’s glancing over his shoulder at her. He can see out of the corner of his eye that there’s no break in the expanse of her skin where her panties should be — she’d removed them while his back was turned. For some reason — and although they’ve been in this situation before — the idea of that makes his face uncomfortably warm.
They make eye contact as he hooks his thumbs into the elastic of his boxers experimentally, but when he sees how her eyes widen just slightly in panic at the idea of him being fully naked — never mind the fact that she’s fully naked — Yoongi pulls his thumbs free, deciding it’s best that he leaves them on.
He waits until she’s stepped past the shower curtain to follow, giving her time to curl into herself again because this is objectively the weirdest thing they’ve ever done, and he’s not sure either of them is ready for him to pretend he’s completely comfortable seeing her naked. She pokes her head out after a moment, hair and face wet, and he knows he can join her.
He’s not exactly sure what he’s supposed to be doing here — if he should be standing on the far end of the shower like he had been the only other time they’d done this, or if he’s supposed to be showering, too. After all, it hadn’t been his idea this time.
He’s just about decided to keep his distance from her when he sees her silhouette moving toward him. It’s a lot darker behind the shower curtain, which he’s partially glad for because he really can’t see any part of Y/n that he’s not supposed to, but the other part of him is stressed because he isn’t really in the mood to slip and die tonight.
Y/n’s wet hands find his forearms, pulling him slowly toward her and into the stream of hot water. They’re close enough now that they can see each other’s faces, but she’s dropping her forehead to his shoulder soon enough, arms slipping around his waist loosely.
“Can you help me?” As if running on autopilot, Yoongi’s moving, hands fumbling for the bottle of shampoo on the shelf to their left. Squirting some on top of her head — admittedly difficult since she’s got her face buried in the crook of his neck — he scrubs gently at her hair. Knowing she likes having her head scratched when she’s having a bad day, he rubs the pads of his fingertips against her scalp, feeling both accomplished and like he’s just made a terrible mistake when she shivers and unintentionally pulls him closer, almost no space left between them.
Lowering an arm to the small of her back so she doesn’t fall, Yoongi walks her backwards until she’s fully under the water, where he rinses her hair for her. He’s about to reach for the conditioner when Y/n lifts her head, grabbing the shampoo herself. Pouring some into her palm and setting the bottle down, she meets his eyes before letting her eyes drift up to his hair, now wet from standing under the water with her.
Wordlessly, Yoongi lowers his face to her shoulder just as she had, giving her permission to wash his hair for him and sighing when she drags her nails through his hair. With his eyes shut and the soothing feeling of Y/n breathing against him, he’s left with his thoughts. It’s not long before the guilt is rearing its ugly head again.
“I’m sorry…” Things had been quiet between them, Y/n working at rinsing the soap from his roots, when he’d whispered it. She hears him perfectly, and, although he doesn’t lift his eyes to look at her, she knows he’s waiting to see if she’ll respond. When she doesn’t — only slowing her movements in his hair — he continues. “If I hadn’t started all of this — if I had just talked to you before telling him we were together — then he wouldn’t have…” He doesn’t finish, but he doesn’t have to.
Then he wouldn’t have said those things about you. Then you wouldn’t be hurting right now.
“If you’re mad at me—“
“I’m not mad at you, Yoongi.” Yoongi lifts his head now, searching her eyes for any sign of a lie. There isn’t one — he only finds hints of amusement, a smile dancing on the edges of her lips. “I’m not mad at you. I know why you did it — I get why you did it. I’m okay with it — with this.”
Yoongi’s not sure he’s ever felt as much relief as he does now, his body almost deflating from the pent up stress leaving him. Y/n grins when she sees how his entire being untenses, his shoulders dropping as he sighs. Reaching up, she pushes his hair out of his face, almost laughing when she sees how his eyes twinkle with renewed energy. She hums, pretending to think about what she’s going to say next, because there is one thing she’s decided in the last few minutes — in the span of time it’d taken her to see how the guilt of potentially being responsible for her pain had torn at Yoongi. At the only boy in the world who would do anything in his power to never hurt her.
“There is one person I’m mad at, though.” Yoongi raises an eyebrow, knowing what she’s going to say but still waiting for the name to leave her lips. “Jeon Jungkook.”
Yoongi feels himself swell with something akin to pride when he sees how the sadness that had been in her eyes turns to anger, almost mischievous in the glint of the moonlight. She continues, eyeing him with an evil grin.
“I think that, no matter how dumb and ill-prepared your plan had been… you really might have done something there, Yoongi.” The Slytherin beams, loving the way revenge looks on her as she stands there in his arms at damn near 4 o’clock in the morning.
“Yeah? You got something in mind?” Y/n hums conspiratorially, a bubble of laughter escaping her as she loops her arms around his shoulders and pulls him closer, because they’re really standing in her shower scheming about how to get back at her horrible ex, like this is normal for them.
“I mean, I just think we could really make this work… We’d just have to work out the logistics of the ‘relationship’, but nothing between us will really change since we’re already so close.” She gestures vaguely down at their current state for emphasis, and Yoongi throws his head back to laugh at how incredibly strange this entire situation is. He nods when he’s done, running his hands up and down her back, hot water flowing over his arms as he wraps them tighter around her waist.
“Well, I know that being naked with someone might not be the most obvious act of affection to you, but to me, there’s nothing better.” Y/n rolls her eyes at his playful smirk when he says it, because at the end of the day, Min Yoongi’s still an idiot.
”So… since we’re clearly in quite the romantic situation here, I think this is the perfect place to ask.” Yoongi smiles when he says it, shockingly sweet given the teasing lilt of his voice. “Y/n, would you do me the honor of pretending to be my girlfriend so that we can tear your dumbass ex-boyfriend apart from the inside out with how perfect we are together?” Y/n snorts, nodding once.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” With a toothy smile, Yoongi lifts his right hand to her hair, playing with the ends of it as he hums contemplatively.
“Should we make it official?” Y/n eyes at him suspiciously.
“Listen buddy, I might be naked right now, but I’m not having sex with you.” With an annoyed huff and a mumbled 'you're an idiot', Yoongi rolls his eyes, grabbing a fistful of her hair and tugging until it’s pulled taut, giving him full control of her head. Leaning in, he angles her so he can slot his lips against hers comfortably, almost smiling when she reciprocates right away.
Yeah. This is definitely getting easier.
Y/n’s arms tighten around Yoongi’s neck as her hand lifts to card her fingers through the hair on the back of his head. She barely notices that the arm he has around her waist is pulling her in, only registering it when she feels her chest press flush to his. She doesn’t even have time to feel embarrassed, though, because Yoongi’s tilting his head, the pressure of his lips on hers suddenly changing.
She isn’t ready for the wet swipe against the seam of her lips, and she hates that she gasps because she knows it’s given him a chance to push his tongue into her mouth -- he’s brushing against her tongue roughly, almost challenging her to fight back. Feeling him smirk against her lips at the victory when she doesn’t, she tries to resist him now, nipping sharply at his bottom lip and snickering into his mouth when he groans.
The laugh in her throat is drowned out by a whimper when Yoongi tightens his hold on her hair until it’s bordering on painful. She doesn’t mind the sting, and she’s wondering if he can tell. That thought goes quickly out the window, because he’s already testing it again, tugging harshly and taking note of the way her breath catches. It had been a game before, push and pull -- but now she just can't think straight.
The fog in her mind masking every form of smart decision-making that she knows, Y/n’s sliding her arms off of his shoulders. Scratching her nails lightly down the expanse of Yoongi’s chest and torso, she smirks when his muscles are jumping under her touch, his breath shaky as he rubs his tongue against hers. And then her two pointer fingers are hooking into the waistband of his wet boxers, and Yoongi’s whining low into her mouth.
He can feel her pulling the elastic away from his skin, and he’s shuffling toward her to close the distance, mostly because he’s afraid she’s going to purposely let go and snap the band painfully back to him -- but also because there’s only one thing Yoongi’s sure of right now, and it’s that his boxers have to stay on. But her fingers are still hooked into the band -- because apparently she’s decided that that’s a good place to rest her hands -- and she keeps accidentally tugging the material down, so if he doesn’t keep up with her, they’re both gonna be in trouble.
Dropping his hands to Y/n’s waist, Yoongi turns her slowly toward the shower wall, his thumbs rubbing heated circles into her skin as he nudges her backward. His brain feels like mush, especially when he accidentally pushes his hips against hers, because she’s sighing into his mouth, and he finds himself wanting to do it again -- so he does. The white noise in his head only gets louder, because she’s whimpering when he stumbles forward, pinning her roughly to the wall as his hips rock into hers. But then she’s gasping suddenly and his heart is dropping, because it doesn’t sound the same as the others.
Yoongi pulls back right away, searching her face in the dark to see if she’s hurt -- if he’s made her uncomfortable. But she only seems shocked, her eyes wide and confused.
Shocked is exactly what she is. Because when Yoongi had guided her backwards into the wall, the cold tile against her skin had made her jump. And just like that, the haze had cleared, the reality of what they were doing -- what they might have kept doing if not for the shock to her system -- setting in. She looks him over, taking in his confusion and only offering a single sentence.
“You’re Yoongi.” Eyebrows disappearing into his hair, the boy’s nodding slowly, like he’s worried about her current mental state. She offers one more line, and this one does the trick.
“I’m Y/n.” Almost like a switch had been turned off, wiping Yoongi’s brain free of his own fog, he’s grimacing immediately, a noise of discomfort leaving him. Because she hadn’t filled in the gaps, but he had.
He’s him, and she’s her. And they… they don’t do things like this. They don’t lose themselves in each other like this. Because there’s nothing there between them, so much so that even the thought of continuing what they’d been doing is bringing a frown to both of their faces. Yoongi swallows hard, smacking his lips in slight disgust.
“Way to kill a boner, loser.” He hisses when she lands a well-aimed smack to his bicep, fully aware that he deserved that. Planting her hand on his chest, Y/n’s pushing him away -- slowly, because the last thing they need is him slipping and trying to explain to Pomfrey how they’d gotten here when he ends up in the Hospital Wing. Once there’s distance between them, Y/n’s crossing her arms over her chest, like that really will do much considering the last five minutes of their lives. She does it anyway, grateful that he has the decency to look away instead of making a snide remark about the futility of hiding from him now. She clears her throat, drawing his attention from where he leans against the wall.
“So -- making out in the shower at 4am was a bad idea.” Yoongi laughs loudly, and the tension between them is immediately dissipating with his nod.
“100%. Cross it off the bucket list, but let’s never do that again.”
--
Saturday, 18 September, 10:05am
“…ke up… Y/n… come on, wake up… Y/n!” Jumping from the sudden yell of her name, Y/n’s eyes fly open, startled. She turns her head toward the voice that had called her, finding that Yoongi’s hovering right over her. He’s got his lips pressed to the shell of her ear, clearly having decided that yelling right into her eardrum would wake her, because of course it would.
“What?” He pulls away when she snaps at him, looking down at her with a sleepy grin. He’s got an arm around her waist, his body having been curled tightly around hers the whole night. After they’d finished their shower, she’d sat on her bed in her towel for a few minutes, too lazy to get dressed, and Yoongi had thrown one of his baggy t-shirts and a pair of her panties at her face in irritation because he’d really wanted to go to sleep. It’s all she’s wearing, something that had made cuddling much easier since she gets cold at night -- he’s not happy about having his body heat stolen, but it’s only a minor inconvenience if he’s honest.
He sets his chin on her shoulder now, breathing in the scent of her shampoo mixed with the smell of him, all over his t-shirt. He wonders briefly if she’s going to start smelling like this new hybrid scent from now on -- if she’d be wearing his clothes more often now. It doesn’t elicit any particular reaction out of him, only a curious hum leaving him. He makes eye contact with her again, seeing that she’s giving him an irritated look, probably because he’d woken her. With an innocent smile, he says--
“‘m hungry.” She shoots him a look, rolling back over onto her side and shutting him out.
“Then go eat.” He pulls at her shoulder right away, forcing her to lean against him again and give him her attention.
“Go with me -- I don’t wanna sit alone in the Great Hall, and we’re supposed to do shit together now! Couple-y shit!” Y/n groans angrily, because now all the sleepiness she’d felt is fading away, leaving her awake and annoyed.
“Dude, it’s a Saturday at 10am, and we just went to bed like 5 hours ago! Go without me!” She’s about to turn away again, but Yoongi’s scooting impossibly closer, pressing his face into her neck and whining loudly -- it’s really obnoxious, and he knows that. It works, though, because she’s sighing loudly, about to give in. But--
“Min Yoongi.” His whining stops, replaced by a confused hum because her voice has an edge to it that makes him feel like he’s in trouble.
“Get your fucking morning wood away from my ass. Before I push you out the window.” Yoongi stills, pursing his lips and shutting his eyes in embarrassment, because he hadn’t even noticed that he’d been pushing the front of his shorts against her backside while he was complaining. Hiding his face in her neck, he’s about to apologize and move away, maybe even resign himself to going to breakfast alone after all -- but then a snort of amusement is leaving him, and he’s staying right where he is.
“Maybe if you get out of bed, you won’t have to feel it anymore. Unless… you want to?” It’s definitely the wrong thing to say, and he knows it, already rolling away from Y/n in a panic because she’s turning to him, her hands curling into fists as she locates her target.
For no less than five minutes, Y/n chases Yoongi around her room, flinging clothes, shoes, heavy objects -- anything she can get her hands on. Finally, she latches onto the front of his shirt, wrapping her legs around his waist and pulling angrily on his hair. He yelps, snaking one arm around her and using his other hand to break his fall against her bedroom door, because they’re both about to topple over.
His back slams heavily into the wood, and Y/n can’t tell if he’s crying or laughing, but either way, he’s yelling -- and it’s very unlikely that anyone in the vicinity of her room can’t hear him.
“I had you naked up against a wall last night, and you’re mad about my morning wood?!” Y/n pulls on his hair extra hard, enraged, and he yelps again, losing his footing -- they crash to the ground in a pile of limbs, both groaning loudly. It becomes laughter almost immediately, exhausted and full of disbelief that they’d just spent all that time trashing her room. After a moment of heavy breathing and pained complaints, Yoongi turns to her, an obnoxious grin on his face.
“‘m still hungry.”
--
“Oh my God, would you hurry up? If we miss last call for breakfast and have to eat in the kitchens, I’m gonna be so pissed--”
“I told you to go alone--”
“And I told you that I wanted you to go with me--”
“We coulda been there already if you hadn’t been all up on me and pissed me off--”
“I’m sure you’ll get used to it, babe--”
“Min Yoongi--”
“Ow! Okay, I’m sorry!”
After cleaning up the mess in Y/n’s room, she and Yoongi had gotten ready together, because there would have been no way for her to go back to sleep after that. He had rummaged through the part of her wardrobe designated for his belongings -- it had become convenient for them to keep clothes in each others’ rooms after a couple years, clearly serving its purpose now that Yoongi’d needed a clean outfit.
Still, even with fresh clothes on, it’s obvious that Yoongi had stayed the night -- rather, it’s obvious to Taehyung and Namjoon, who are sitting in the Gryffindor common room doing work when Yoongi and Y/n stumble down the stairs, on the edge of laughter even though they’re bickering. And it’s especially obvious to Jungkook, who’s reaching the bottom of the stairs to the boys’ dorm at the same time -- because he’s stopped at a close enough distance to Yoongi that he can smell the scent of Y/n’s body wash all over him. A smell he’s very personally familiar with.
Y/n chokes on her spit, realizing with a reddening face not only that her friends had heard the conversation she and Yoongi had just been having, but that they had definitely also heard what had happened upstairs -- what Yoongi had said about having her naked up against a wall. Y/n wants to hide in a corner and never make eye contact with them ever again, but they don’t mention it, Taehyung only waving with an amused smile as Namjoon hides his laughter behind a hand. She points at the door to the common room awkwardly.
“We’re… going to breakfast… if anyone wants to come.” The pair of boyfriends shake their heads simultaneously, and Y/n turns her head to where she knows Jungkook is when she sees Namjoon glancing in slight concern over to the boys standing beside her. When she looks, she sees why he might be worried.
Yoongi and Jungkook have yet to say a word or even acknowledge that Y/n had spoken, too busy staring each other down. It’s obvious that Jungkook’s angry, but Yoongi would never back down from a challenge. Y/n reaches out, sliding her hand down Yoongi’s forearm and threading her fingers through his.
“Come on… we’re gonna miss last call…” Jungkook doesn’t tear his eyes away from Yoongi’s when she grabs the Slytherin’s hand, but he’s definitely seen it out of the corner of his eye, his gaze hardening. It brings a smirk to Yoongi’s lips, knowing Y/n’s affection had gotten under his skin. Looking Jungkook up and down with that infuriating curl of his lips, Yoongi only cocks an eyebrow at the Gryffindor before turning to Y/n, pulling her toward the door as he responds, his voice carrying through the silent common room with distinct clarity.
“I don’t mind if we eat in the kitchens, babygirl -- I like being alone with you.” Y/n rolls her eyes internally at how obnoxious Yoongi is, but she can hear Jungkook letting out a restrained sigh behind them, and she can’t help the smug satisfaction that fills her. And when Yoongi glances at her as they step out into the corridor, his eyes dancing with amusement, she knows he feels the same.
Well, this should be fun.
238 notes · View notes
stylesharrys · 3 years
Text
Tastes Like Strawberries
A/N: Wow I've had this idea in my drafts since we got the watermelon sugar music video and I completely forgot about it and never got round to actually writing it. Anyway, after a dry spell of Harry content, it's here, and it's smutty!
WC: 4,433
He shuffles closer—impossibly—and lets her lift the fruity treat up to his mouth. Harry doesn't take his eyes off her when he parts his lips and takes the strawberry into his mouth. Y/N's eyes are hooded as she watches, the stem still between her fingers as he takes a bite. 
A soft squelch can be heard as the juice trickles down the corner of his lip. Y/N's hand is frozen in place by his face, thighs involuntarily clenching at the sight. Harry does nothing to disguise the smirk that rises to smear across his mouth, and his ungodly tongue outlines his lower lip until he catches the bead of strawberry juice. 
They both know what he's doing, but Y/N isn't about to call him out on it. She thinks she knows precisely what his plans and intentions are behind this seemingly innocent and idyllic picnic. 
He's a sick man, and she can't get enough. 
or
Harry takes Y/N on a seemingly innocent and romantic picnic.
//
Romantic little getaways have always been fond things for Y/N and Harry to do. Last year he took her to Rome for the weekend and a few months later, they cruised on his personal yacht for a week. Y/N used to travel a lot when Harry was on tour two years ago, but as of recent with his busy schedule in the studio, neither of them have had much time together to chat, let alone to plan a spontaneous trip away. 
So when Y/N gets home from shopping and Harry is back from the studio early, prepping a little wicker basket full of fruits and finger foods, she's eagerly jumping at the mention of a spontaneous picnic in the park not too far from their London home. 
He's always been a hopeless romantic, even more so since he proposed three months ago over a homemade, candlelit dinner in their dining room. Y/N knows he won't fail to make the picnic anything short of romantic and magical, and so, putting on one of her favourite ditsy sundresses, she lets him drive them to the chosen destination. 
It's a little late in the evening, the summer air still warm on their skin, the sky still bright and winds still blowing a caressing breeze. While Harry carries the picnic basket out of the car, he lets Y/N set up the blanket a little way from other couples and families that occupy the different spaces. 
He's dressed in the suitable summer attire; some cargo shorts and a plain white t-shirt that hangs a little loose around his middle. It's been a while since Harry's had a haircut, and over the past few weeks, Y/N has thoroughly enjoyed coursing her fingers through his thick waves. 
Harry's enjoyed it just as much — especially when she tugs just right at the root when he's got his face buried deep within her sweet thighs. 
He has no shame watching as the gentle breeze blows the skirt of her dress up when she bends over to unroll the blanket. Harry gets the most perfect view of the swell of Y/N's ass, the way the lace string disappears between her cheeks, and the clothed triangle of her cunt. 
There's no need for him to look away bashfully, not when he's the one that knows what he's got planned. But knowing Harry stands right behind her, Y/N makes no attempt to push her skirt back down. Instead, she lets him get a good look, and knowing his stare is boring into her backside sends warmth across her body. 
"You're gonna need to put the basket down to stop the corners from blowing up," she huffs out over her shoulder, effectively breaking Harry from his little trance of pleasure. 
He hums, nodding his head. Sinking to his knees, Harry places the basket to the side and reaches out for his girl. She squeals when she feels his hands grip deliciously at her waist, eyes fluttering closed, but Y/N has to remind herself where she is and who's around. 
"Stop it," she chastises under her breath, a fire of excitement burning her skin. 
A lazy grin sits wicked on Harry's lips as he helps her hold down the corners of the blanket. They sit on either side of it, Y/N admiring the green scenery while Harry unloads the picnic basket and lays out the array of finger foods he had prepared. 
A hearty smile makes its way on Y/N's lips as she watches. He's had this prepared on the off chance that she would agree, and the thought warms her heart. She can tell he made the sandwiches herself, and she wonders when he found the time to cup up the fruit and cook a batch of her favourite chicken pasta salad. 
Y/N sighs, eyes bright. "Harry, this is so cute. Can't believe you did all this." 
His grin only spreads; her praise an influential stroke to his ever-growing ego. Harry reckons this evening will be one to go down in the books — one he knows she'll remember and think back to every time they have a picnic again. 
He isn't sure when the idea came about. Maybe it was some shitty porno he watched when he was on tour a few years back, and Y/N was sleeping. He dubiously remembers watching some video of a couple fucking on a picnic spread, and Harry quickly decided that's something he wanted to do with his girl. 
Call him an exhibitionist, call her a good little girl. Either way, in the years they've been together, Harry and Y/N have exposed quite distinctly the rush they get at the possibility of being caught. But with Harry's status and profession, it's a little difficult to sneak a public fuck on a field without someone watching and having it make the headlines. 
They'd both much favour their private lives stay out of the mouths of others. Leave them guessing and unknowing. Harry savours his privacy, and Y/N prefers being unknown to the world. Despite them being together for the past five years and Harry recently proposing, all the public know is her name and face. Nothing more, nothing less.
Harry intends to keep it that way for as long as he possibly can. He doesn't want his precious love being imperilled to the vultures of the media. Harry wants her protected forever, where she can live her pure little life without the apprehension of being mobbed or followed. The thought of the latter happening has his hands tensing at his sides, but he calms when she crawls across the blanket to settle a kiss to his lips and give him a turkey sandwich. 
"Definitely won the jackpot with you, didn't I? Taking me on a romantic picnic for no reason." 
Y/N's skin is warm as she chooses to settle beside him. Harry reaches for her thigh, resting a heavy hand on her smooth skin and giving it an affectionate squeeze. The sundress isn't helping him control himself, but he wonders if Y/N had a notion for what he has planned. Because a short, flowy sundress is objectionably convenient for them both. 
Harry takes a bite of his sandwich. He doesn't need to peer down at her to know she's peeking up at him in apprehension. She isn't a silly woman. While Y/N knows Harry will make romantic gestures like this for no reason, she also knows him well enough to know when he's plotting something. 
"I don't know about being the jackpot, babe. Your friends just go for shitty men."
Y/N snorts at that, nodding in agreement because she can't argue. She knows all of her friends are envious of her relationship with Harry — not the toxic and resenting kind, more of the longing and wishing kind. They want a man that will treat them like a Princess. They want their own Harry. 
And maybe Y/N sometimes likes to brush it in their faces how he always puts her first or is so devoted and passionate. And most definitely, she likes to observe their jaws drop when she lets loose how he still makes her cum before him — at least once. 
But of course, just like any other relationship, with the good comes the bad. For them, the flawed being that Harry has to travel a lot for work, and sometimes, they can go months without seeing each other in person. Y/N gets lonely, and Harry gets homesick. It almost invariably ends up in a fight over FaceTime, but neither can fall asleep angry with each other. 
It's an unspoken rule since they first started dating. No matter what, no one goes to bed angry without saying they're sorry. 
"I won't argue with you there." 
It's tranquil around them, the sun slowly starting to set as the evening dwindles away. They've eaten most of the picnic food, both cradling their glasses of wine. Y/N's on her second, Harry topping his with lemonade so he can still drive them both home safely at the end of the night. 
There's a fresh breeze in the air as it brushes Y/N's hair over her shoulder. The gentle contrast of temperature sends goosebumps across the surface of her skin, and she instinctively curls closer into Harry's side. 
They've migrated beside one another as time passed. Harry lays on his side, head propped up by an arm that's bent at the elbow. Y/N mirrors his position, but her head isn't in her hand like Harry's is — both of hers cradle her wine glass and Harry reckons she's got a gorgeous radiance to her skin in the golden glow of the sun. 
He reaches out to trace a piece of hair out of her face, his thumb brushing across her cheekbone, and she nuzzles instinctively into his touch. There's a Tupperware tub of fresh strawberries wedged between them as he caresses the side of her face, a lazy smile on her lips and Harry thinks she's the most beautiful thing to have ever walked the planet. 
"Let me feed you a strawberry," she murmurs, pulling away from his hand, so it drops to the blanket. 
He shuffles closer—impossibly—and lets her lift the fruity treat up to his mouth. Harry doesn't take his eyes off her when he parts his lips and takes the strawberry into his mouth. Y/N's eyes are hooded as she watches, the stem still between her fingers as he takes a bite. 
A soft squelch can be heard as the juice trickles down the corner of his lip. Y/N's hand is frozen in place by his face, thighs involuntarily clenching at the sight. Harry does nothing to disguise the smirk that rises to smear across his mouth, and his ungodly tongue outlines his lower lip until he catches the bead of strawberry juice. 
They both know what he's doing, but Y/N isn't about to call him out on it. She thinks she knows precisely what his plans and intentions are behind this seemingly innocent and idyllic picnic. 
He's a sick man, and she can't get enough. 
"My turn," he rasps out. 
Y/N's arm hesitates back between them as she drops the stalk of the strawberry into the tub, and Harry retrieves another. Heavy eyes chase his every movement as he lifts the fruit to her mouth, the cool tip of it tracing lightly across her lips. 
She has to take a breath to ground herself, but as she inhales, the scent is sickly sweet, and her mind is clouded by want and need. Y/N wants nothing more than to squeeze and smush strawberries across Harry's chest, and take her time licking it all off, inch by inch. 
To any passerby's, the act they share looks nothing short of innocent. A man feeding his lover — just a couple enjoying the summer air and tasty fruits. Oh, how naïve the unknowing can be. 
Y/N takes a bite into the fruit, humming at the sugary taste and chewing. Their piercing gaze never falters, and just like Harry, a drop or two films her lip and begins to trail down the corner of her mouth. Only this time, she doesn't get the chance to trace her tongue across it like he did. 
Harry is dropping the stem back into the tub and leaning forward to encapsulate her lips in his. He kisses her, tongue swiping across her lower lip and the corner of her mouth to lick up the sweetness that dared to drip. 
She swallows the strawberry when he licks into her mouth, and his body begins to lean closer. Harry lays her on her back, crawling above her with both hands resting by her head to keep him up. His legs tangle with hers, Y/N's fingers brushing through his unruly curls. 
A content hum echoes from the back of her throat. Harry can never get enough of the noises she makes, so the little whimper of need is greedily acknowledged, and spurs him on more. 
Their tongues play a forbidden dance. They're both too encompassed by each other to really be concerned where they are or who may be watching. But when Harry traces a hand up the length of her thigh and starts to let it disappear under the hem of her dress, she parts her lips form his and takes a heavy breath. 
"H… we can't. Not here," she tells him. 
He can sense the inner turmoil in her voice. She wants him, even now, with strangers likely watching them. She doesn't care, not really. She thinks it's the hottest thing ever; someone watching Harry make her feel good. Her Harry.
Harry doesn't give a shit, shaking his head and kissing her again — more demanding this time. He can't get enough of her taste. It's fucking intoxicating, and she lets him continue to trail his hand further up her thigh, squeezing deliciously at the extra fleshy parts that he always loves to kiss and suck on when his head is buried between her thighs. 
He doesn't need to feel her to know she's already soaking through her panties. The position they're in under the large oak tree works as the perfect disguise. The shade it offers alludes to the most innocent of acts. Two lovers sharing a searing kiss as the sun begins to set. 
Innocent. 
"No one's gonna know," he whispers into her mouth.
It's a piss poor attempt at encouraging her, but she didn't need much reassurance in the first place. She trusts Harry and his judgement. She knows he would never do anything to put either of them at risk, especially not just to get her off when they could do that at home — or even in the car. 
There's a thrill, but Harry knows better than anyone how to cover something up. Maybe that's what makes her so hot about the idea: Harry protecting her. 
Y/N's eyes start to roll to the back of her head. Harry's fingers play with her clit over the fabric of her knickers. She's soaked, just as he had expected. He can't help himself from rutting his hips into her thigh; he's painfully hard, and she's too sexy for her own good. 
"You're soaked. Fuckin' knew you'd be dripping over this. Dirty thing." 
Y/N's lips are parted at his words, her mind so frazzled that her body can't comprehend how to kiss him back and focus on the pleasure at the same time. She gets like this when she's so fucked she's nothing but an obedient little girl. 
Harry fucking loves it; sends him on the incredible power trip of his life. She does anything he asks of her, lets him have his way. Y/N falls into a state of complete submission, and knowing she trusts him to do anything he pleases tends to give him the biggest love boners of all time. 
She's nodding against his mouth. Harry's still trying to kiss her, knows how much she likes it, even when she can't focus enough to kiss him back. Harry's smearing his lips against hers. The pressure is put back on her clit as he sucks her tongue into his mouth. 
Y/N's body is entirely relaxed on the picnic blanket like they're not out in the open for any hiding pap to see. The thought doesn't even cross her mind. And it doesn't cross Harry's either, because he knows he doesn't need to worry—not right now. His main concern is making her cum. 
Harry loops his index and middle fingers into the edge of her knickers, tugging it away from her hot skin. Y/N shudders out an uneasy breath of anticipation, thighs rubbing across his trapped cock that throbs in its tight confinements. 
She starts to whine, bucking her hips in eager want, but Harry isn't going to have any of that. He pulls away from her, just enough to see her eyes struggling to flutter open. She's blissed out, a hazy glow in her gaze; the desperate look he's all too familiar with. 
"You know needy girls don't get what they want, baby." 
The warning tugs another whine from the back of her throat. Harry retracts his hand from her cunt to prove his point. She pouts, brows frowned in the cutest of faces. Harry struggles not to give in to her and give her anything she wants. Y/N has that effect on him, especially when she's as needy as she is. 
"Please."
Her voice is quiet, a whimpering and quivering mess. It's been a while since Harry last saw her in this state. He thinks he might want to take his time, or at least, as much time as he possibly can. He knows when they get home, she'll be a bit more with herself than she is right now. He wants to revel in the moment. 
Harry traces his hand up her body, ruffling the fabric of her dress as he goes. He halts at her chest, palm over her tit and his fingers toy with the low neckline. Her doe eyes are staring up at him, bottom lip caught between her teeth. 
He raises a brow, earning a nod. Harry doesn't bother looking around for any other passerby's. Instead, he tugs down the neck of her dress just enough to expose a breast and massage it in his warm palm.
The air is cold, causing her nipples to pebble hard under his touch. He takes it between two fingers; pinching, twisting. Y/N tries to fight back the need to arch her back into his chest, swallowing a loud whimper that threatens to escape. 
Harry leans down, lips parted as he envelops the hard nub into his warm mouth. The sensation is heavenly, Y/N thinks. He's warm as he laps her up, hot tongue swirling and flicking across her nipple. She knows how much Harry loves sucking and licking at her tits. 
Y/N's fingers tangle through his hair again, tugging at the roots and scratching at his scalp. A low growl vibrates through her chest due to her actions, which only makes her tug harder. 
Harry's teeth graze across her nub, nipping tauntingly before pulling off with a wet kiss. Y/N blinks, watching him blow cool air against her nipple and a hand quickly flies to her mouth when a moan slips past her tongue. 
His eyes are challenging, but a grin is wicked on his mouth. He finds it amusing to watch Y/N struggle to not make a sound. Harry knows how loud she can be, loves all the fucking noises that she makes. But Y/N needs to remember that they're not in the safe confinements of their home, so she can't be as loud as she wants. 
She has to be a good girl. She has to be quiet. 
The warning is evident in his gaze in the way he raises a brow and tilts his head ever so slightly to the side. It's a look she's all too accustomed with when she's been misbehaving. 
Y/N swallows, pressing a kiss to his hand in both an apology and silent promise she won't make another sound. Slowly, he removes his hand and lets it trail back down her body, squeezing and rubbing at the expanse of her thigh before he's settled back on her clothed cunt again. 
"If you don't wanna get caught, you gotta be quiet, angel."
She nods, quickly and eagerly. There's nothing she wants more right now than Harry's fingers buried deep in her cunt. He doesn't make her wait long. His lips are back on hers as he tugs her panties to the side, exposing her gushing core. 
Y/N inhales sharply, Harry's middle finger swirling through her folds. She's swollen from excitement and anticipation, eager and desperate for him to just fucking touch her properly; the way he knows she likes. 
Harry's thumb rubs tight circles on her swollen clit, a sharp gasp teetering off the edge of her tongue, but Y/N clamps her mouth shut before it has the chance to turn into anything more. He praises her silently, rewarding her with a kiss as the tip of his finger taunts her pulsing hole. 
She's gushing, a slight tremble to her thighs as he probs tauntingly at her cunt. Harry uses one finger at first, pushing in all the way and feeling her velvety walls clamp around him. His middle finger stretches her better than her own, and he twists and curls against her spongy spot. 
Y/N can't help her eyes from fluttering closed and rolling to the back of her head. Her grip on Harry's bicep is firm, likely carving half-moons with the blunt of her nails on his skin, but he doesn't care. He welcomes the hesitant sting and relishes in the way she clamps around him. 
"So tight, Princess," he praises. 
Her skin is warm, nipples still pearled and one peeking atop the low neck of her dress. Y/N hums, nodding ever so slightly but Harry sees it nonetheless. 
He peers up, eyes hooded to get a look around them. His cock throbs at the sight of a family across the other side of the park — how they have no idea he's got his finger buried in his lovers cunt. He's fucking feral, clenching his teeth to control himself. 
"Please," Y/N whispers out into the crook of his neck. 
Harry hums, pulling a finger out and trailing it up to his mouth. Her is heavenly sweet, the sight causing pools of need to overtake Y/N's iris'. Harry sets both digits on his tongue, swirling it around his fingers to lick off everything she has to offer. He wants nothing more than to bury his face in her pussy and make her cum all over his mouth. 
He supposes this will just have to do. 
"Tastes like strawberries," he teases. 
Y/N whines, throat tight. "Harry, you're gonna fucking kill me."
He grins, wickedly, and decides that's enough teasing for the both of them. It takes mere seconds for his hand to return between Y/N's quivering thighs, for his fingers to soak up her arousal and smear it around her pulsing clit.
It takes half as long for him to massage at her sopping hole, and ease two thick fingers in. She sucks him up, takes him so well that Harry's mind is keening. It's not like he hasn't had his cock buried in her recently, because he has. Last night and this morning. He's fucking infatuated with that perfect little cunt. 
"Best fuckin' cunt I've ever had." 
The praise goes straight to her head, just like it always does. Y/N steadily rolls her hips into his palm, begging for his fingers to travel deeper, curl harder and faster. Harry doesn't do any of that pathetic thrusting shit that so many men had done to her before. He knows what makes his girl tick; what she likes. 
His middle and fourth finger are knuckle-deep in her pussy, languid strokes and haunting curls. She's squelching; noises so obscene he wants them looped on every song he ever makes. He can feel her arousal gush around his fingers with every curve and curl he makes, can feel her g-spot pulses against his fingertips the same way she can hear her heartbeat in her ears. 
Y/N's grip on Harry's arm tightens, eyes squeezed shut in pleasure. Her teeth are clenched, jaw locked in place and chest heaving for desperate and shallow breaths.
He knows she's close already, knows precisely how to have her coming in a matter of seconds. Her cunt is tightening fiercely around his digits, mistaking them for his cock that she's eager to milk dry. Y/N feels his dick throb and twitch against her thigh, lets a hand reach for him and squeeze hungrily at his length through his shorts. 
Harry snatches her wrist as he picks up his pace, warning her to stop. She knows the rules right now. She doesn't get to touch him, not until they're home. 
"Hands to yourself if you want to cum, baby." 
And just like that, he fucks her cunt harder, faster. Harry shakes his wrist in swift movements, fingers curling sharper this time, scissoring her cunt open. His thumb rubs at her clit, applying a little more pressure than usual, but it's what she needs to send her over the edge. 
He fucks her through the blinding orgasm, the hand around her wrist leaving to clasp over her mouth. She's a mess, completely blissed out in post-orgasmic aftershocks. Her body is convulsing, but that doesn't stop him.
Harry keeps going until he feels her start to gush again, and just as she's about to make a mess—squirt all over his hand and the picnic blanket, he stops. 
Y/N's eyes are at the back of her head, gentle shivers of arousal still prickling her skin. Harry tenderly removes his hand from between her thighs and traces his fingers up her thigh, leaving a soaked trail in their wake.
He moves his hand from her mouth, gauging her reaction. Her lips are swollen, parted as a heavy breath slips past them. Harry thinks she's the sexiest thing he's ever laid eyes on and he's painfully hard at the sight of her. 
When Y/N starts to blink, she's completely dazed. Harry is sitting upright, repositioning himself in his pants and cleaning her up as discreetly as he can with a spare napkin. Y/N can't even muster the energy to sit up, so she remains on her back, gazing at the cloud above. She feels like she's in fucking heaven. 
Harry crawls closer, tucking her breast back into her dress properly and caressing the side of her face with the palm of his hand. Y/N nuzzles into his familiar touch, pressing a kiss to his wrist. He grins, pleased with himself at just how fucked she is. 
"You're something else." Y/N breathes. 
Harry plants a loving kiss to her pouty lips and strokes the hair from her warm face. Birds chirp from the branches that span out above them, blocking them from what once was the scorching sun. A lazy smile finds its way across Y/N's face, and she turns to Harry. 
"What?" 
She shakes her head. "You wait till the girls hear about this one." 
//
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sidespart · 3 years
Text
The Fall of King Romulus Part 3
Summary: Twin Princes Remus and Romulus are cursed at birth with Honesty and Obedience. When Romulus, who cannot disobey any order, is told to kill his brother the next time he lays eyes on him, he changes his name to Roman and runs away. Roman joins up with a misfit group of adventures and plans to never return to his homeland. But the fae have other plans for him…
Warnings (for whole fic not necessarily individual chapters): Violence, mind whammying/memory altering, curse of obedience related consent issues, references to sex, references to war related injuries/PTSD, references to child abuse/neglect (YMMV on that one but just in case), antagonstic-but-not-exactly villian!Janus, Extremly-moraly-dubious-but-not-exacty-unsympathetic-Remus
Pairings: Mostly Platonic LAMP and all the found family feels. Could be read as pre-slash.
Feedback appreciated. 
NOW ON AO3 :D
Prologue     Chapter 1   Chapter 2  
Remus. Remus, Remus, Remus.
The mad Prince of Notaleveale.
Remus was coming here. Remus was coming to Steveange and if Romulus saw him-
Roman had to leave.
Which was easier said than done; when the streets were crowded with hoards of shoppers and revellers all pressing against him, blocking his path, stealing the air out of his lungs-
“Roman!”
He needed to go. He need to find Virgil and Patton in whatever rooms they’d managed to find, collect his belongings and-
No. That would take too long – he could replace the clothes and books, he already had his sword-
“Roman, what’re you-”
- but he needed his lute. To make any kind of living he had to be able to perform. It was the only thing he was good at and once he’d got away he’d be -
He could do it. He’d run away before. He survived alone, without anyone, he could do it again and-
“Roman! Stop!”
He stopped.
Logan. Heading towards him. But he hadn’t given a time frame and if Roman grit his teeth and pushed past the spike of pain he could start to move again in just a second-
“Wait!”
Dammit.
Roman waited. Fists clenched by his side, until Logan was next to him.
“Roman.”
His chest was tight. His brain wasn’t -wasn’t working right and Logan looked so odd, with his glasses askew and his face flushed – had he been running?
“I thought I saw Patton.” Roman blurted.
It was the first excuse that popped into his head and it was clearly not – not good enough. Logan was frowning at him, a pinched expression, studying him like an experiment and-
Roman hated him, suddenly.
Logan was an upstart swot with ideas above his station and a chip on his shoulder. He poked and prodded and lost them jobs with his terse words and his better than you attitude. He reminded Roman of the tutors who snap at him for his lack of understanding and bark orders for him to recite, repeat, remember, to be better, smarter, stronger: someone worthy of his title.
He reminded him most of all of Julius. His fathers closest advisor, who had been charged with unravelling the Princes’ curses. He was the one who had helped Romulus learn how to push against his curse. He would give him orders that were almost impossible to follow and watch with cold eyes as Romulus struggled to disobey. Together they’d categorised how much pain he could withstand, what orders could be navigated and misinterpreted and which ones he was truly helpless against.
Once, he’d bid Romulus to stand on one leg. And left him there until his muscles started to cramp and shake, waiting to see if gravity or the curse was stronger. Romulus had been in tears by the end. Had even wondered, briefly, about complaining to his parents. But is was such a silly, innocuous order compared to other experiments. What had truly upset him was how Julian had just stood there, not speaking, his eyes distant and cold and calculating as he noted down every twitch and whimper from the boy. Even when he circled him, Romulus could feel those eyes boring into the back of his neck like a-
“Princey.”
Roman blinked. Julius’ practice room disappeared, replaced with the sights and sound of the Steveange street. Logan was in front of him and his eyes were far from cold. When he spoke it was with the same gentle tone that Roman had heard him use when Virgil’s worries overwhelmed him or when Patton woke from a nightmare and didn’t know where he was.
“Did the cro- the woman. Did she say something to you?” Logan was holding his hand. Gently but firmly, he tugged at Romans tightly clenched fingers, encouraging them to unfurl. Roman stared uncomprehendingly at the deep crescent marks he’d made in his palm.
Slowly, Logan released his right hand and reached for his left, repeating the process.
Roman felt shame ripple through him.
Logan wasn’t Julius. Logan would never push him so far he broke.
Logan was his friend and Roman has made him worry with his silly behaviour and his slapdash lie. But he could fix it.
He forced a smiled. Flexed his fingers and straightened up his full height. Made a show of looking around him.
“I swear I saw him. Big man, big sword, big smile – he’s hard to mistake!”
Hesitantly, Logan glanced around too before quickly refocusing on Roman.
“Are you sure you –“
“Ah well, the mind plays trick I suppose – must be hunger getting to me, speaking of which…”
Roman reached forward and deftly snatched the bag from Logan's grasp, reaching in blindly and shoving the first pastry he found into his mouth.
“Mmmm so good!” He beamed at Logan with berry stained teeth, flakes of pastry flying through the air. “Aren’t you going to have one?”
Logan stared at him. Roman kept his smile sweet and his eyes clear. He held up the bag and wiggled it enticingly.
Hesitantly, Logan took the bag and selected a tart. Keeping his eyes on the bard the entire time, he ate his treat with much more refinement then Roman had shown. “Holding back?” Roman asked, teasing, “I’ve seen you eat jam before, there’s no point pretending to have table manners now.”
Logan just hmphed but his shoulders relaxed slightly and Roman decided to take that as a victory. “We should get going” Roman said and started walking, Logan easily falling into step beside him.
The streets were crowded enough that none of the sellers seemed to feel the need to call to Roman specifically, and so this time he was free to investigate the stalls he was actually interested in.
But instead he stayed by Logan's side
Logan was a good friend. For all he claimed to lack an understating of emotional nuances he was letting Roman have his space. He’d even distracted him earlier, when his biggest concern had been the a spike of homesickness after meeting their northern customer.
He was nothing like Julius.
Roman was going to miss him so much.
***
Roman kept up his performance of normality all the way back to the main square, where they had agreed to meet the others once their mission was done. The sky was beginning to turn dark by the time they got there, though it was easy enough to navigate from the sheer number of stalls still in operation, each one boasting its own selection of colourful lanterns.
“This is fantastic!” Roman gasped theoretically, spinning on one foot to take in the whole spectacle.
“It’s a fire hazard.” Logan muttered with a frown.
They found Virgil waiting for them by the central fountain. He had manged to find a seat on the fountains edge but was wedged between two young couples who had clearly taken the romantic festival atmosphere to heart. The healer’s shoulders were up by his ears and his cloak was wrapped so tightly around himself it looked constricting. When he saw them he sprang to his feet so quickly he almost knocked one of the young ladies into the water.
“Took you two long enough.”
Roman and Logan glanced at each other.
“Logan got lost-”
“Roman kept wandering off.”
“-We brought you baked goods!”
Virgil took one of the two remaining pastries with minimal grumbling and led them out of the square. They took the north east road, a path that curved its wary upwards into the higher levels of the city. Here the buildings were all built of a blush-pink marble that sparkled in the evening twilight. The streets were wide, with neatly arranged flowerbeds and street lights which had the steady glow of Arkazeii glow lamps rather than the flicker of oil. There were certainly no traders spread out on blankets. Logan looked distinctly unimpressed.
“Was this inn you found an…economical choice?”
“It was a ‘the whole town’s rammed and this was the only place with a room left’ choice.” Virgil snarked “and don’t worry – its one room for all four of us with no breakfast included, if you were worried about getting too… bourgeoisie…or whatever."
Logan raised his hands for peace.
“I’m sure you did the best you could.”
“Well …we were lucky.” Virgil told him, and then glanced over at Roman, his lip twitching.
“Apparently they give discounts to performers.”
***
The inn was certainly a cut above their normal haunts. With brightly painted walls almost obscured by well pruned climbing plants, outdoor seating, and a wrought iron gate leading to spacious stables behind the building.  Even the doors were of better quality then your typical village tavern – made of wood heavy enough to make a satisfying crash when Roman stormed in.
The room was crowded, but Patton really was hard to miss. Roman shoved his way through to the back table where the big man sat waiting. Leaving other customers cursing in his wake.
‘Hey kiddo!’ Patton greeted him with a wide smile “Did you-“
“Key.” Roman snarled.
Patron blinked and him, shock writ large on his face. “Sorry?”
“The key. To my room.  Give it.” Roman snapped. “It is mine right? Since you seem happy to pimp me out in exchange for-“
“Hey!” That would be Virgil. Roman half thought he had left both men behind in his rage after Virgil’s little announcement, but the elf at least seemed to have kept up. He’d reached the table just in time to hear the start of Roman’s rant. “What the hell is your problem Princey?”
“My problem? Oh I’m sorry, I’M not the one signing other people up to sing for their supper without permission Virgil.”
“You like singing for your – we thought you’d want to!”
“Well it would have been nice to have a choice!”
“Virgil. Roman.” That was Logan, it had taken longer for the shorter man to force his way through the crowd but he wasted no time now in inserting himself into Romans business. “whatever this is… it’s not about putting on a show.”
He turned to the other two. Virgil scowling, Patton wide eyed.
“He had an…episode in the market.”
“Excuse me?” Roman shouted.
“Roman, whatever disturbed you, you practically ran away.”
“Well perhaps I had simple grown tired of looking at your face? Had you considered that?”
He turned his back to Logan, rounding on Patton again: “Now, give me the-“
Patton already had his hand out, wrought iron key resting loosely in his palm.
“We’re on the fourth floor.” he said calmly as Roman snatched it from him. “First door once you get up the stairs.” Roman spun on his heel only to find Virgil blocking his path.
“Move.” Roman hissed.
“What is wrong with you?” Roman narrowed his eyes. Virgil looked angry. Looked one second away from telling him to sit down, shut up, stop causing a fuss. He wondered if he could get past him without using his sword.
“I’ll bring you up some food in a bit,” Roman blinked glancing back at Patton, startled. The warrior still hadn’t moved from the table - admittedly no easy task in the cramped corner- and was looking at him calmly.
“I don’t want anything” Roman muttered, sullen.
“But you might later.” Patton smiled at him. Not knowing how to respond Roman turned back to Virgil. The elf glanced between the two, chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, before sighing and stepping to the side. Not fast enough to prevent Roman from knocking his shoulder with his own as he pushed past however.
It wasn’t as satisfying as he hoped.
**
At a guess, the room was normally meant for storage not guests. Two rickety looking beds had been shoved in, so close together they might as well have been one. There was one small table forced between the end of one bed and the wall, with a basin of water perched on top. Someone,  presumably Patton, had organised their bags neatly at the end of the beds. Roman’s was at the far end, closest to the window. Then Patton, then Virgil with Logan closest to the door, next to the only built in shelf where a candle had been left for the night. Roman would be able to wake with the dawn, as he liked to do, and Logan would have light for the longest to stay up and read.
Romans lute was not on the floor with his pack.  Instead he found in had been placed on the bed itself, propped up on his pillow, away from any potential harm.
Whatever righteous anger he had been able to hang on too as he stomped upstairs dropped out of him now like a stone from a cliff. Without it, the despair he had felt in the market came rushing back. He sank down right there by the door, bringing his knees up to his chest as he’d done in the forest. As he used to do in Julius’ room.
He almost wished Julius was here – at least he would tell him not to cry.
The through was so absurd he let out a weak snotty laugh and buried his head in his arms.
He needed to leave Steveange.
He didn’t want to leave them.
But they had planned to stay for a week at least, hopefully longer.
Convince them to leave early? Except he couldn’t explain why. Find them a job out of the city? How? When the coronation and accompanying celebrations were over it would be easy enough to find a traveling group in need of a little extra protection, but for now no one was leaving.
They’d been excited to come. Virgil want to try the city baths, famed for their heated pools and soothing water. Logan had been talking about the library for half the trip. Patton was just excited to explore the city itself, meet the people and try the food. He loved when they stopped in busier towns but it was a rarity.
There was no way Roman would be able to convince them to leave just because he wanted to.
Roman did what other people wanted. It was all he knew how to do.
And even if he had a convincing reason…well, they probably didn’t want him around anymore anyway.
He scrambled up, grabbed the first pillow he could reach and buried his face in it to muffle a scream of frustration which turned into more sobs.
He was so pathetic.
Since he’d left home, he’d kept his memories, kept Romulus, buried as deep as he could. But now it was like Romulus was just under his skin. Ready to jump out If he let himself slip. With all his anger and hurt and fear.
Romulus was a liability.
Romulus was a murder. Or would be. If Roman couldn’t think.
He stepped over to his pack, still hugging the pillow to him like a teddy bear, and started to review the contents. He didn’t need to take all of this with him, surely? Half of it wasn’t even his, their belongings having become more and more intertwined the longer they travelled.
The healing salve was rightfully Virgil’s, the soft shirt he wrapped himself in during cold nights was actually Patton’s, at least one of the notebooks belonged to Logan.
He opened the nearest book to check, but instead of Logan's neat lists his own sloppy scrawl stared back at him. Song lyrics and passing thoughts and, on the next page, an unfinished sketch. It was of Virgil, hand covering his mouth but eyes betraying his laughter. The other pages, he knew contained scribbles of all three of them. He flicked back and found his favourite, the page marked with a yellowed leaf he couldn’t remember picking up.
It showed all three in one sketch. Logan, sleeping and so looking years younger, head pillowed on Virgil’s thigh. Virgil was turned towards Patton, rolling his eyes as if to say ‘can you believe this?’ but making no move to actually shift scholar off him. Patton was laughing, he was the most well rendered of the three figures, you could almost see his shoulders shaking.
Roman looked at it for a moment. Then slowly replaced the book mark and closed it. This would have to come with him.
A knock at the door startled him so badly he dropped the book, which bounced under the bed.
“Kiddo? Can I come it?”
Fuck.
Patton. He had -he had been so, so unbelievably rude to Patton.
His first instinct, which was admittedly not a good one, was to jump out of the window.
Roman took a deep breath. Focusing on the mundane task of sorting items had cleared his head somewhat. He was still a little shaky but his eyes were dry. He knew what would be expected of him now - Romulus had spent most of his life apologising.
“Come in.” he croaked and stood, squaring his shoulders.
Patton entered alone, two bowls of something that smelled delicious cradled in his arms.
Roman ignored the sudden spike of hunger – the fruit tart seemed a long time ago now- and bowed from the waist. He kept his back ramrod straight and bent low enough that it quickly became uncomfortable. It was the kind of bow Romulus would only have given his father or elder brother.
“Patton, I owe you my most humble apology I-“
“Roman I am so sorry.”
“The way I spoke to you was the height of disrespect and unprin- ungentlemanly behaviour I – wait, what?”
He straightened up and looked at Patton, confused. “Why are you sorry?”
“Roman, I – wait hold on.” Patton handed him one of the bowls and turned to close the door. “Do you mind if we sit?” he asked and Roman nodded, smiling despite himself. Patton was the politest person he had ever met.
Once they were both seated, Patton’s bad leg stretched out in front of him, Patton looked at him seriously.
“Roman you were right downstairs. We should never have promised you’d perform without asking you first - no it's true!”
But Roman was already shaking his head. “Patton you were fine, you know I love singing! I was the one acting like, like some sort of beast I-“
“I know you love singing but that doesn’t mean we get to pick and choose when-“
“But I wanted to perform as much as possible whilst we were here- I’d told you that!”
“-especially after travelling all week. We were, er, presumptuous.”
Roman stared at him.
“Unlike this soup, which is pre – scrumptious.”
Patton beamed at him. Roman groaned.
“Anyway I’m sorry for letting you stew-“ he held up the bowl again waggling his eyebrows “- up here for so long, but we needed to make things right with the landlord.”
Roman, who had been starting to relax under the force of two puns in a row, tensed again. “What things?”
Patton smiled. “We paid the difference – you don’t have to perform! Uhh unless you want to of course, but it’s your choice.” He nodded decisively whilst Roman gaped.
“b-but isn’t it expensive?”
Patton just shrugged, “Well, the last job paid well didn’t it?”
“Not that well!”
“Aw c’mon kiddo, what’s the point of having money if we don’t spend it? Right?”
Not knowing what to say. Roman shoved a spoonful of stew into his mouth without tasting it. Guilt turning the meal to ash.
“Patton…how many days did you pay for?”
“The rest of the week! And there’s still enough to have some fun at the markets, don’t worry, we can all have a – hey!” Patton put his bowl down, shuffling closer to put one warm hand on Roman’s knee.” Roman, hey kiddo, buddy what’s wrong?”
Roman found, quite to his surprise, that he was trembling. He followed Patton's example and put the bowl carefully on the floor before digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I…can’t Pat. I can’t stay here. I have to go.”
“Go?” Patton looked at him with confusion clear in his big brown eyes, “But why kiddo? You don’t like the inn?”
Roman groaned shaking his head “not the inn. The city. I’m not – I can’t – if ‘m here it- “ he let out a whine of frustration, hating his curse heavy tongue.
Never tell anyone about our conversation.
“I just-“ My brother is coming and if I see him I-
“If – “ my brother is coming and he won’t be alone. There are people who know who I really am and I –
“Okay.”
Romans head snapped up.
Patton still had a frown on his face but when he looked at Roman his eyes were as serious as Roman had ever seen them. “If you can’t tell me the details it’s fine but-“ he lent forward, “Roman, are you safe here?”
Without breathing, Roman shook his head. No.
Patton nodded and squeezed his knee. “Well then of course we’re not staying.” Hesitantly, he lifted his arm and rested one large hand on the back of Romans neck. Forcing their eyes to meet. “Whatever it is – we will help you. You know that don’t you?”
Embarrassingly, Roman felt his eyes filling with tears.
“We’ll leave in the morning.” Patton told him. Patton stood up, taking Romans congealing stew and his own empty bowl and headed to the door. He paused, one hand on the door handle. “Everything’s going to be okay kiddo.” he smiled, “We love you.”
And he was gone.
For a long moment Roman sat frozen, staring at the closed door.
“Yeah.” He agreed, eventually. “Right.”
Except. They didn’t. Not really.
They loved Roman.
Roman had screamed and insulted them and instead of kicking him out of their group like they had every right to do, they had given up what little money they had just to make Roman feel better.
And Roman was a lie.
Roman was Romulus with a bad haircut. And Romulus was everything they weren’t’ – a stupid, pampered, prince with no power or pride.
Patton might be willing to upheaval their lives just on Roman's say so, But Logan and Virgil were more practically minded. They would want explanations. Might even demand them.
Never tell anyone about your curse. Remove yourself from anyone who might ask you about it and put as much distance between you as you can.
Romulus was a liability.
One they shouldn’t have to deal with.
He strapped his lute to his back and secured his dagger in a hidden pocket that Virgil had taught him how to sow.  Everything else he left, including, after a moments hesitation, his sword. He had been training Logan to use it, on and off, and whilst the scholar was no solider he was improving. At the very least, it would be some source of protection until they could hire another swordhand for their travels.
The climbing plants he had noticed on the way in made getting down from the window much easier than he had originally anticipated. Dusting off his hands he skirted the building, taking care to avoid the large windows of the main hall, until he found the entrance to the the stables.
He wasn’t proud of it, but he had stolen before when he first left home. He would have to again now in order to put some distance between the city and himself.
It wasn’t his worst plan.
And it might even have worked, had they not already been waiting for him.
When Romulus was eleven, and had taken to following the young Marquis de Orenlla around like a love sick puppy. Even now, under the weak light of a covered lantern and with almost fifteen years distance from the memories, he still recognised him instantly.
“Good evening, your highness.” The Marquis smile was as dazzling as he remembered, although his eyes were colder.
He had no army with him, and no weapon that Roman could see. But then, why would he need one?
“Come with me.”
Roman went.
part 4
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purekesseltrash · 3 years
Text
Chapter 12 of Bury Them Deep, the final chapter, is out!
Fave Excerpt:
Mezou jammed his hands inside of his coat pockets, unsure of what to say or even do besides grin like an idiot.  Tokoyami came to a stop finally and stared at Mezou, mouth open as if he was about to speak.  He gaped for a moment more before a distinctly annoyed look came across his features.  “Fuck,” he hissed, “I had a whole speech that I was thinking up on the way here and suddenly I have found my mind to be a blank slate.”
Mezou laughed, unable to help himself, “I don’t need speeches.”
Tokoyami stepped forward to grab at Mezou’s coat, his grip firm and his face honest, “You deserve them.  I fear I am an incurable romantic and this is simply how I function.  But my words have fled like cowards and the only part of the speech that I can remember is this, but it is the important part.  Let me take you on a date.  A real one.”
“I’d like that,” Mezou said softly.
Fun Facts:
- Hand to god, I had not decided on names for all of Shouji’s siblings until I had to write them.  Thank you, Japanese Name Generator.  Though Makoto is another Sailor Moon reference.  I also had not know that Shouji’s mom was where he got his artistic eye from, though I am glad for it.
- My favorite Hip song is ‘Lake Fever’ or ‘Scared’.  I thought that the lyric in Lake Fever was ‘You whispered Courage’ for the longest time, legitimately until I checked the lyrics to write the pivotal fucking scene only to find out that no, it was ‘hurry’.  It all worked out, thank GOD.
- IDK if anyone noticed, but I ship them as Tokoshouji, as opposed to Shoutoko.  I like the idea of Tokoyami being one taking the initiative better and it seems to fit his character anyway.  I don’t see this dynamic often and it drives me nuts because I could write an ESSAY on why it works so well.  Idk.
- Not even gonna lie, the last Mic segment made me cry.  It was like my final good bye to everyone reading, it’s personal.  And it’s basically me peeking out there, as opposed to just Mic.  For all of hockey’s shitty aspects, it’s the best game in the world.  I love it and I want it to be good and I will do what I can to make it be good.
More stuff under the read more about my future plans with this universe:
- So I have written a chapter and a half of an Erasermic prequel, basically telling the story of what happened when Shouta retired and ended up drugged to the gills and numb to the world at Hizashi’s doorstep, despite the two of them not having seen each other in legitimately over 10 years.
- I also have a side story of Kirishima and Bakugou, both with an idea of how they got together as well as what happens to them when they get to the NHL.  (Spoilers:  Kirishima does not have a good time as the first out and gay NHLer.  He basically gets buried in the minors despite being legitimately good.  Eventually he finally quits hockey way too young.  Bakugou meanwhile is a generational talent and is legit too good to bury in the minors.  When Kirishima retires, Bakugou flies to Tokoyami and Shouji’s house, where Kirishima is licking his wounds, and is like ‘Marry me.’  Kirishima tells him that he’s only going to say yes if Bakugou proposes with a Cup ring and Bakugou is like ‘Bet’.
- I also have one in mind on Ojiro and Shinsou.  They had an amicable breakup when they graduated, both understanding that the life of a hockey wife wasn’t gonna work for Ojiro.  Ojiro went on to meet a super cool alt girl through the info sec community and they got married and had a daughter.  They end up splitting up amicably when their daughter is around 7 and split custody without much of an issue.  Ojiro works remotely and lives in what is basically a lake cabin up in northern Minnesota.  He and Shinsou have kept in touch and when Shinsou finally retires, he comes to visit Ojiro.  The fic would go over them meeting up again.
- And then, of course, there’s Shouji and Tokoyami.
They get their shitty apartment in Atlanta.  Kenta helps them with the deposit and also goes with Shouji as he tries to find one.  Shouji ends up getting taken on by Orca, a buddy of Loder’s who generally doesn’t take Midwestern farm boys on as apprentices but he makes an exception, despite the fact that his work very afro centric.  Shouji is a nice guy though and a damned hard worker and has a good eye so Orca keeps him on for a long while.  Shouji still ends up picking up a bunch of odd jobs here and there, mostly grunt work like putting up drywall, but it gets him and Tokoyami through the absolute agony that is legal school.
Tokoyami goes into intellectual property law.  He knows how much work goes in to art and creative stuff and he wants to protect people like Shouji.  He ends up making a pretty nice living and they’re able to pay off the credit card debt that they accumulated during Tokoyami going through law school.  Shouji actually starts doing pretty well for himself too, mostly with his pottery but still with some sculpture.  Eventually Tokoyami proposes that they move to Raleigh, both because it makes sense for both of them and their jobs and well... because they have a hockey team.
Shouji never gave up hockey.  He had some years right after college where he did struggle to even look at his gear.  He had told his parents that he was gay and not going to the NHL over the phone as they were planning to come to his graduation, because he just couldn’t take them wasting money when he knew that they would never want to talk to him again.  Unfortunately, he was right.  Kenta still came to his graduation though and had two bullhorns that he slammed the entire time that Shouji was accepting his diploma.  He even brought Shouji his own pride flag and insisted on taking a picture with him holding it.  He posted the picture on his facebook with a very bold pronouncement that he was very proud of the first Shouji to get a college degree and how anyone that had a problem with his little brother could take it up with Kenta.  Still, Shouji went through some real mourning with the loss of his family and he took a small break.
But then he came back to it, once they started to get a little extra spending money.  He found a beer league group in Atlanta and started to really get back into the game, researching ways to improve in his downtime.  It got a little weird sometimes at the beer league games because sometimes Shouji would forget that he’d decided to wear eyeshadow or would forget that he had on entirely wrong undergarments but everyone accepts that goalies are weird so it was accepted.  Eventually he ends up having people ask him to coach for their kids, which he is loathe to do until Tokoyami points out that it’s better than Shouji do it, as someone who knows how damaging expectations and pressure can be, than anyone else.  So that becomes a little part time job of his.
Everything isn’t perfect for Shouji and Tokoyami.  Nothing is perfect.  Tokoyami is a borderline hoarder and Shouji can’t stand mess and that causes them to fight enough that they wisely seek counselling. But they’re happy.  Tokoyami eases up on the goth stuff and accepts his accent a bit more, though he still dresses in dark colors, especially for court.  Shouji actually gets to play around a little with the whole genderqueer thing and makes up for the time that he spent avoiding anything that would make him seem too gay.  And they still work really well together, becoming the pair that everyone from college kind of groans at, because they’re so ridiculously in love, but also envies.
They get season tickets to the Carolina Hurricaines.  You’ll see them with Tokoyami in a Devils jersey and Shouji with one of many from his massive collection.  Tokoyami will make comments here and there during the game, showing that he does actually listen when Shouji talks about goalie stuff and they only ever miss a game for gallery openings or work events.  Otherwise, they are there in their seats, holding hands and watching the game.
Feel free to ask me any questions!  I’m more than happy to talk about this, if you couldn’t tell.  (Also, I do have some half written smut so uh.... yeah.)
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mochibrokenheart · 2 years
Text
SVSSS: Guardian of the Museum
Mobei Jun x Shang Qinghua
Word Count: 2,756
Summary: Of course there's ominous growling and destruction to the building on Shang Qinghua's first night as a museum curator. Of course there is! Besides being desperate to keep the job, he's not sure what possesses him to actually walk toward the dangerous situation. His survival instincts were better trained that! Except...wait a minute...the terrifying creature causing all the ruckus is actually the hottest thing he's ever seen???
My first contribution for Moshang Monsterfucking Month (and my first fic for the fandom in general!) Heavy on the monster part as the nsfw is not explicit. Who knew that it would be hard to write something short. Inspired by the Day 2 prompt: horny.
Also posted on my Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34305571
A nearby bell tolled at midnight just as Shang Qinghua locked up the museum for the night, which meant that he was officially off for the weekend. Being a party of one, he celebrated with a groovy victory dance while turning the key over in the lock.
There was a little click and he rattled the knob, checking that the door was properly locked—if anything was stolen or vandalized during the night, he would most definitely be blamed as the recent hire!
The job was an important stepping stone in his career path plan to being a rare artifacts curator. He really needed the experience. It was hard enough to land the job, so he wasn’t above looking neurotic by double, and triple, and quadruple checking everything before he left.
A chilly breeze tussled his hair and raised goosebumps down his neck. It was October, he supposed while drawing up his hood to block the chill, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to complain.
He was much to delicate for cold temperatures and would exercise his right to curse out the changing seasons. Of course, he could move somewhere further south, so that he wouldn’t have to put up with it anymore, but still!
The only good thing about the loss of summer was the bugs, he decided.
Clearly, Shang Qinghua was irresistible because bugs treated his blood like an all-you-can buffet. If only hot men thought the same. But alas.
Sighing, he turned up to admire the full moon, who seemed to sympathize with the sad state of his romantic affairs, being the moon and all. Something about it’s pale gray-white color naturally emoted a sad, longing reflection.
It was as he was looking up that he heard a growl, loud not because of its pitch—it was actually quite low and gravelly—but because it vibrated the very air around him.
Shit. Shit. He wasn’t equipped to deal with some beast! He had no weapons and there was no way his body was going to get the job done either. He was a delicate flower, just ask the bugs who always feasted on him!
He rummaged through his bag frantically for his phone. That was what the authorities were for.
Opening his phone, his mind was racing. Who did you call when there was a potentially wild animal on the loose? The police? Animal control?
Gasp! What if it turned out to be a demon?
…!!!
He didn’t have any shamans or priests on speed dial. There had never been a reason to until then but if it would save him, he’d buy up every type of religious necklace he could and wear them around his neck daily. It was like insurance—it never hurt to cover all of his bases.
While he was wasting time on the sidewalk, what appeared to be small bits of gravel drifted down from what seemed like the roof. Scurrying to get closer to the streetlight, which casted a circular light on the steps of the museum, Shang Qinghua bent down to get a closer look.
It felt dusty when he rubbed his pointer finger against his thumb and did match the shade of stone the building was…The new evidence presented a bit of dilemma. Yes, he was still itching to call somebody have them do the dangerous work, but at the same time, his boss might fire him if something happened to the museum under his watch.
“Well, if there’s more damage, I guess I’ll take a look,” he muttered. He clasped his hands together. “But please, take mercy on me, moon! I promise that if you get me out of this that my next erotica will be dedicated solely to you, and in very large print, so that my readers know the reach of your mystical power!”
His hands remained clasped high above his head as he waited. So far so good.
There was still the scary growls, of course, but those didn’t count because he wasn’t going to investigate that. It was absolutely common knowledge that people who investigated weird sounds always ended up dead, at least in horror movies, and that was all the proof he needed to wash his hands of it.
No, the only thing that could sway him from his crouch on the front steps was…was…
Tears shimmered in his eyes as more rubble was knocked off from the roof, the fine particles irritating his nose and causing him to sneeze.
Thoroughly betrayed, he used his sleeve to wipe at his nose. Forget the moon. Clearly the bond he felt had only been one-sided, and now he was obligated to actually suck it up and put himself in harms way.
The Shang Qinghua of five minutes ago would’ve screamed and called himself a fool. Why ignore those highly honed flight instincts?! Even the Shang Qinghua of the present was screaming and calling himself a fool when he took the first hesitant step inside.
It was deceptively quiet in the stairwell but that wasn’t enough to calm him. As the saying went, it was the calm before the shit storm and he was about to be right in the middle of it. How careless of him.
Just in case this was the end, he started to draft an epitaph—it’s not like anyone else would put in the same amount of effort. 
His minor following would be too busy wailing about the permanent book hiatus; his boss would have their hands full dealing with insurance over the architectural damage; and that hot-and-cold cucumber bro of his would still be nagging him in the afterlife, criticizing him for his stupid plan when it ‘clearly would’ve been better to do such and such’. But back to him.
We are gathered here to mourn the passing of one Shang Qinghua, a bright hamster that was taken from Earth far too soon. His exhibit work was flawless, his knack for collections cataloging unrivaled. There was never a day without bountiful office supplies with him around. We thank him for his singular brave—foolish?—sacrifice in the name of historical value. Shang Qinghua is survived by several dying houseplants and the stray dog he usually fed on his way home from work.
There. That sounded as good as he was likely to get. Wait. No. He almost left out the most important part: the secret letter of last words meant only for cucumber bro’s eyes. Bro, if you’re reading this it’s because I died a terrible and scary death. Please take pity and wipe all of my search history. It was all for research, honest! It’s bad taste to judge a dead man.
The access door to the roof was large and imposing in front of him, even though there was still no noise coming from the other side. He was going to be mad and then relieved, in that exact order, if this turned out to be nothing.
He inhaled. Exhaled. Jumped around and shook his hands where they hung down beside the length of his body. He’d watched enough athletes—for research!—throughout his short life and getting loose always seemed to pump them up for competition. The same principle should apply here.
The door gave with a loud screech and he suspected that it wasn’t in regular use. Not that there was probably much to see up there anyway. Just roosting pigeons, stone slabs, and—
His mind went blank.
Crouching in the corner, so close to the edge that all it would take was a gust of wind to send him tumbling down, was some sort of winged creature. And the wings were massive things that arched up before curving downward completely over it’s back, the tips draped on the ground. Judging by how large they were, they had to be functional, which nearly caused him to wet himself. 
He didn’t want to imagine that thing taking flight after him. Not that he would be exciting prey. Gods, this probably how a mouse felt when a hawk was flying overhead.
But it was the horns that really caught his attention. They were hulking black spirals and the sharp points were pointed right at him. Even in the poor light, it was obvious that they were pure black. Any other time, he might comment on how cool they actually were, how they were a cosplayer’s dream, but it wasn’t cool when it was a matter of life and death. 
And he would most certainly die if those menacing horns and wings were any indication.
Trying to keep the element of surprise, he slowly let the door swing shut. Until a little bat started flew over squeaking, which caused him to squeak as well. The door hit the frame with a loud rattle. His body went heavy with fear and his eyes snapped shut, a natural prey response. He had never, ever been this scared.  
Not patient enough for Shang Qinghua to turn around on his own, the creature flung him around to face it with an aggressive growl. And he had thought it was loud when he was on the sidewalk. Which wasn’t true at all. It was much louder and more intimidating when it was right in his face.
“Trespasser!” it growled, teeth clicking.
…Okay, so it could talk. Maybe this was a good thing. Now could grovel with it to spare him!
Blinking rapidly, he opened his eyes and looked up, up, up. It didn’t look as horrific from the front as it did the back. In fact, it had a humanoid appearance and was distinctly male. He was the hottest thing he’d ever seen, a total fantasy come to life. How the hell was he real?
His was incredibly tall, his huge wings proportional to his size now that he was standing up. Now that he saw them up close, Shang Qinghua noticed that they were a beautiful shade of blue that started out dark but lightened to pale blue once it reached the tips, which also had sharp spikes—Nails? Claws? He wasn’t well versed in anatomy—attached.
The top of his ears were pointy, too, just like the tops of the wings. Oh, and the horns! There were two of them, both pure, glossy obsidian, that sprouted out on either side of his temple, the bases thick and ridged as they spiraled like a ram’s. The only difference was that his horns were much larger. He could maul someone with those along if he wasn’t careful.
But now that he considered it more—even in times of crisis, he could multi-task when it really counted—the horns only added more to his attractiveness. They were intimating, sure, but also sexy, in a monsterfucking type of way. He gasped as a clawed hand wrapped around his throat. Yep, he could definitely get into the horns and claws. Mark him down as scared and horny.
The growling died down but sharp teeth were still on display, and there was a stylized tattoo-looking mark on his forehead. Despite the snarl, Shang Qinghua instinctively knew that his face was insanely attractive; it had to be to match the rest of him. Speaking of the rest of him…
He dropped down in front of him, making sure to drag his hands down that ripped physique and gave his massive pectorals a quick squeeze before he landed on his knees in a kneeling position. 
His face was right in front of the creature’s impressive package, covered only by a flimsy loin cloth. It fluttered in the night breeze and he had to bite down on his finger to stop his depraved moaning. “Ff-forgive me, my good-demon-sir, but I swear I’m not trespassing. I’m a humble worker here at this museum.”
He quickly took out his employee badge to offer it up to the demon who barely gave it a glance. “Gargoyle,” it said in reply.
“Oh. I’m sorry but I don’t really know what you mean by that.” Wait, why did he say that? He didn’t want to get further in the demon’s bad side than he already was! “I mean no offense, of course. I’m sure gargoyles are absolutely lovely—”
“No,” he interrupted, his face smoothed out into blank slate. It made it harder to read him but Shang Qinghua quickly decided that it was alright. “I am a gargoyle, human. You may address me as Mobei Jun.”
Ohhh. Now that he mentioned it, his wings and horns could belong to a gargoyle. He knew that they were popular parts historical buildings that had a strong Western influence, which the museum did.
“And I am a king. Not a sir.”
Curse his authority kink. He was sure that any new fantasies he conjured up would be staring this particular king and Shang Qinghua as his servant.
“Of course, my king! You’re reeking of kingly handsomeness. As a lowly human, my apologies for the obvious mistake.” The gargoyle king didn’t make any move to acknowledge his words other than a slow blink, so he figured that it was all good. “Excuse me if this sounds rude, but what are you doing up here? And what was all the noise about?”
“Guardian. I was charged with the safety of this place by a war lord.” Jeez. So he’d been with the building for centuries at least, maybe even millennia.
There was a pause and he realized that he wasn’t going to answer the second question. It also seemed like the gargoyle king was waiting on him and a light bulb went off. “S-sorry again my king. I am Shang Qinghua. I am in charge of the rare artifacts inside of the building, so you may see me closing up most nights.”
The gargoyle king nodded sagely and he figured that the role must be acceptable to him. A loud sigh left him and his muscles relaxed just in the slightest way. He might survive this encounter yet. Ever better, survive and be able to go home and break out that new bottle of lube that he bought last week. There was plenty of new material to work with, that was for sure.
Then the gargoyle stepped back, giving him more space, which was actually the opposite of what he wanted. Feel free to punish him for earlier transgressions, king, especially if they were rough in a sexy way!
Unaware of his inner pleadings, he continued walking away to crouch back near the edge of the roof.
“Umm, be careful, king. It’s dangerous to be that close—”
“I am a king. Concerns such as that are not applicable,” he said, puffing up his chest. Those pecs! He might have to put in a request tomorrow to do more work on the roof. It was a crime that no one was admiring that body on a regular basis. “Leave. Return home. The circles under your eyes are hideous.”
He gasped, touching his bags. Rude! He had just finished a long shift and definitely wasn’t at his best. He was going to have to step up his game if he was going to tempt this gargoyle in the future. Trying his best not to show embarrassment, or disappointment, he agreed to leave.
“Whatever you want, my king. I’ll leave for now but if you need anything, I’ll be back tomorrow and the day after as well. In fact, every night, in case you need me.” Screw his weekend off. Who needed one of those when there was a hot gargoyle of legend serving as the guardian of the museum. Not him, that’s who.
He scrambled to his feet and bowed again for good measure. The door was open and he was across the threshold when his dream gargoyle muttered something. “Did you say something, my king?”
He cleared his throat and spoke gruffly. “The pigeons pooped in my hair.”
Suddenly, the growling from earlier made sense. No matter if you were human or gargoyle, having birds shit in your hair, especially hair as luscious as Mobei Jun’s, was bound to make anyone furious.
Determined to keep his laughs to himself if it was the last thing he did, he merely replied, “Yes, my king. I will make sure to chase them away from you next time.”
“See that you do.”
On cloud nine, Shang Qinghua grinned as he bounded down the stairwell. The gargoyle’s comment implied that there would be a next time. And he intended to romance the loincloth off (literally) of the serious gargoyle king.
Hope you all enjoyed! So happy to share this with everyone. Thanks for reading :)
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jayeray-hq · 3 years
Text
He’s My Best Friend: Aone Takanobu
Post Time Skip/Manga Ending Spoilers!
Warnings: fluff and very, very slight implied NSFW and innuendo
Choose your own ending platonic or romantic!
He’s My Best Friend Masterlist - Character Masterlist
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Thank you as ever to the wonderful and talented Tay @deathcab4daddy​, thank you for beta reading for me! I don’t know what I’d do without you!
The Past: How You Met
           You’d met Aone Takanobu the day you’d started school for the very first time. It had been an exciting day for you, one you’d been looking forward to for a long time. You distinctly remembered putting on your fancy new uniform, admiring your reflection in the mirror. You’d almost missed out on breakfast because you ignored the calls for you to join in, you’d been so caught up in how grown up you looked and fantasizing about how amazing school was going to be.
When the time had come for you to be dropped off, you’d pranced happily out of the car without fear, and entered your classroom with your head held high. The teacher had greeted you warmly and helped you find your desk, and you’d immediately set about trying to befriend the people next to you eagerly chatting away.
             The desk mate on your right, whose name you’d long forgotten, had been all too happy to speak with you at the time, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t get the boy to your left to talk. He’d look at you, and he seemed to be listening to what you said to him, but no matter what questions you asked, no matter what you said or did, he didn’t respond to you, not even when you asked his name.
             In the end, your short attention span meant you’d given up on talking to the quiet white-haired boy, and instead interacted with the others around you. It had been an incredibly enjoyable morning, and it only got better when you were invited outside for recess after lunch. You and some of the girls you’d befriended over the course of the morning had all plopped down together so you could show them how to make flower crowns. It was a skill you were rather proud of at the time, one that your next-door neighbor, who you’d thought was the coolest girl ever- a middle schooler, and clearly knowledgeable about all the best things, had taught you.
             It had all been going extremely well, right up until you’d heard a ruckus on the other side of the playground. You’d looked up from the crown you were making to see a bunch of boys all gathered around the white-haired boy who’d refused to speak to you. Looking at them all grouped together you’d realized rather abruptly that he was really big, standing at least a head taller than the tallest of the other boys and rather broad too.
             Curious you’d tuned into what the other boys were saying to him. You’d gotten the shock of your young life when you realized they were making fun of a boy who looked like he could easily take them all on if he wanted to. Bloodthirsty little thing that you were, you’d watched on eagerly, sure that the boys were about to get beat down, as they called the white-haired boy all sorts of mean names, insinuating he was stupid and slow.
             However, you’d gotten another shock when you realized he wasn’t doing anything. Instead, he just stood there, taking their words, head down and unmoving, not bothering to protest or stand up for himself. It had confused you quite a bit, as you couldn’t fathom why he didn’t try to make them stop one way or another.
             The taunts had increased in fervor a couple seconds later, calling the white-haired boy a cry baby of all things. Concerned and nosy, you’d gotten to your feet and edged closer to the group of boys trying to get a better look. Up close you could see the boy really was crying, though he still wasn’t making any noise, fat tears were running down his pale cheeks. It was a sight pitiful enough to tug your heartstrings, so you’d decided in all your five-year-old glory, that you couldn’t allow it to continue.
             Like the warrior of truth and justice that you’d thought you were at that age, you’d launched yourself at the group of boys, small fists swinging, doling out sharp kicks to the shins and telling them off for being mean. You’d taken them all by surprise, and between that and the fact that you threatened them very fervently with cooties if they didn’t leave you and the white-haired boy alone, they scattered.
             You’d then rounded on the boy, who flinched but still didn’t move, staring at you with wide brown eyes. He’d looked so scared at that moment, clearly afraid that you were about to be just as bad or worse than the boys you’d scared off. Instead, you’d grabbed one of his hands and dragged the confused stumbling boy after you, back to the nice patch of grass where you’d been making flower crowns.
             You’d pulled him down onto the grass next to you, and started back on your work again. As your fingers moved to piece the crown together, you’d lectured him firmly about letting those other boys push him around, and then showed him how to make a proper flower crown. You’d then plopped the one you’d just finished on to his head, and admired your work, extremely pleased with yourself.
             Aone had gazed at you for several long minutes, clearly bewildered, but then had finally spoken to you in a slow, stuttering voice, introducing himself as Aone Takanobu. It turned out the reason he didn’t speak very much was because he had a bit of a speech impediment that made him stutter. It was the reason the boys had been making fun of him earlier, which you thought was just silly.
             You’d told him firmly that it didn’t bother you at all, because you’d given him a flower crown, which meant the two of you were friends for life now. Aone had stared, wide-eyed and clearly astonished, a faint blush on his pale cheeks, but had apparently accepted your declaration at face value. By the end of that recess, you’d had a flower crown of your own in your hair, messy and clumsy but made with care, and the two of you had been best friends ever since.
 The Present: Your High School Days
             Frustrated beyond belief, you slowly beat your head against the table, hoping that you could somehow beat the information into your brain since nothing else seemed to be working. Fortunately, before you could give yourself a concussion on the table, a large warm palm slipped beneath your head.
             You turned your face, keeping your cheek pressed to the hand underneath your head, and looked up at your best friend who was peering at you with clear concern on his face. Seeing his apprehension, you heaved a long sigh and lifted your face up, not wanting to make him worry. Though most didn’t realize, because they judged him solely by his appearance, Aone was an enormous worrywart and would fret himself into anxiety, especially when it came to his friends.
             Despite growing taller, broader, and more muscular, Aone was the same sweet teddy bear of a guy, with a heart made entirely of marshmallow fluff, as he had been when you’d met way back when you were five. The only difference was that these days he was no longer picked on, both because he was too intimidating for most to try, and because you and his other best friend had done your best to encourage him to stand up for himself.
             Futakuchi had been an interesting addition to your group. He’d apparently taken one look at Aone, and much like the other people you met, assumed just because he was big he would have the attitude to match. However, unlike other people, he’d simply thought it was cool and had wanted to befriend him because he thought they’d enjoy the same things.
             He’d been just as stubborn and persistent as you had back when you’d first befriended Aone, coming around all the time and acting like an enormous pest. He’d followed Aone around everywhere, and as his one and only best friend at the time, it had seriously irritated you. It angered you to the point where you and Futakuchi got into petty squabbles almost every day. He thought Aone should stop hanging out with you because you were a girl and obviously lame, while you thought Aone should stop hanging out with him because he was a jerk.
             Things probably would’ve continued like that, except one day both of you had been caught up in squabbling, and suddenly Aone had once again been approached by others looking to bully him. Unfortunately for them, both you and Futakuchi were entirely wound up from fighting with one another, but when presented with other, easier prey had rounded on them. The two of you working together had been enough to bring them to tears, the group of boys running away with their tails between their legs.
             After both you and Futakuchi had gained a grudging respect for one another. Futakuchi had realized that you could be just as vicious as he was in defense of Aone, and you realized that he was willing to stand up for your friend who you were incredibly protective of.
             Things had been easier after that, though the smart-mouthed brunette was still closer to Aone than he was to you, you still got along fairly well. It helped that after Futakuchi had dragged him into volleyball, a place where Aone’s height and size were something to be praised rather than something to make fun of, Aone had gotten much more confident. These days, if your bickering with Futakuchi got out of hand, Aone was right there in the middle of the two of you, pushing you apart, and giving you both scolding looks.
             A gentle hand resting on your head pulled you from your thoughts and you refocused on your friend, who was looking even more worried than he’d been before. His brow was furrowed with concern, his face close enough to yours that you could actually see the pale hairs of his eyebrows that tended to look nonexistent from a distance because of how light they were.
             “I’m alright,” you assured him, pulled back to the present by the gentle weight of hi hand as he set it atop your head, clearly trying to regain your attention, quickly explaining, “Just struggling with math as usual.”
             “Do you need help?” he asked, his voice a low rumble in his chest, the words coming out confidently.
             Aone had managed, with the help of some speech therapy and budding confidence, to get his stutter mostly under control. It rarely ever appeared these days, and never in your presence. He still had to think over what he wanted to say before he said it, which made him a little slow to respond sometimes. However, as long as you waited patiently, he would never leave you hanging, even if he still didn’t talk much around others for fear the stutter would come back.
             “If you don’t mind?” you asked him, giving him the most pitiful look you could muster, earning an amused huff from your friend who knew exactly what you were doing.
             “Show me,” he agreed, taking a seat beside you.
             You did as asked, sliding your work toward him and watching him work through it patiently. You probably should’ve continued to focus on work, but you’d had something on your mind for a while now.
             “Hey, Aone?” you asked, hesitantly.
             The tone of your voice must’ve tipped him off that you had something serious on your mind, because he instantly looked up, all his attention on you. He waited patiently for you to put together the words, not rushing you, simply waiting to hear whatever you had to say.
             “Are you alright?” you managed finally, peering at him worriedly, “I mean, with the third years leaving and Futakuchi being named captain.”
             The words ‘instead of you’ hung between the two of you, unsaid but clearly heard. Honestly, you’d been more than a little shocked that Futakuchi had been named captain, with his oftentimes caustic personality you weren’t sure he had the disposition for it. In your own personal, and likely highly biased opinion, Aone would’ve been much better. He had the patience for it, along with the admiration of his kouhai, and was the best player on their team. It just didn’t make sense to you that he’d been passed over in favor of Futakuchi.
             “I will miss the third years,” Aone told you, after a moment of contemplation, “But their decisions are their own. We will simply have to do our best to make them proud, though they are still coming to practice fairly regularly.”
             You couldn’t help the small smile that flitted across your face at that. You’d known despite their decision to leave that the third years were going to have a bit of a hard time letting go. You’d gotten to know them fairly well, having come to as many games and practices as you could manage in support of your friend, who’d done the same for you.
             You’d honestly really liked Moniwa, and had hoped the captain would stick around a bit longer. He’d been really good both to and for Aone. He was also an incredibly sweet guy, and you’d admired that he was able to deal with both Futakuchi and Kamasaki who was like an older and only slightly mature version of him.
             “Futakuchi will be a good captain,” Aone expressed, quiet but resolute, without any form of regret in his gaze, as he answered your other question, “I trust him to make the right decisions for the team, and will do my best to support him as vice-captain. We’re going to go to nationals next year.”
             That was honestly just like him. Aone was probably one of the most supportive people you’d ever met and a fantastic friend. He wasn’t upset at all and had instead chosen to instead be happy for Futakuchi and focus on what he felt was most important.
             “I’ll be right there, cheering you on,” you told him with a smile, because if he was happy, you were happy.
             He smiled at you, small but sincere as he gently rested his hand on top of your head in thanks, before indicating that you should get back to work. You sighed, but went along with it, glad that he was so willing to help you. You didn’t know what you would’ve done without him.
 The Future: Platonic
             “What are you doing?” the deep voice of your best friend asked, his words startling you enough that the nails you’d been holding in your mouth dropped to the floor with a clatter. You turned to look at Aone, who was standing in the doorway, a distinctly unimpressed look on his face.
             “Fixing it?” you replied, the words coming out more like a question than the statement you’d intended.
             The look he gave you for that was one more judgmental than you’d ever thought your sweet, teddy bear of a friend would ever be able to manage. It made you both simultaneously proud, and a little irked knowing the credit for that lay almost entirely at the feet of you and Futakuchi. You’d never thought it would be turned on you in quite this manner though.
             Aone strode forward and began to thoroughly inspect your work. His hands handled the bookcase parts with care as he gently turned them over seemingly without effort despite the fact that you’d struggled to lift them on your own. The stupid thing had broken after one too many books had been stacked on it, which you’d found rather infuriating. Still, you hadn’t wanted to get rid of it, and so had been trying to fix it yourself. Judging from the look on his face, you hadn’t been doing nearly as well at it as you’d hoped.
             “Well, Mr. Construction worker? What’s the verdict?” you asked curiously, “Is it salvageable?”
             “Maybe,” he told you, completely noncommittal as he held out his hands for the hammer you’d been using. Reluctantly you passed it over to him, knowing full well it would be much safer in his hands than in yours.
             Gently he caught one of your hands with his before you had the chance to pull them back, as quick as ever despite only playing volleyball recreationally these days. He tutted audibly over the state of them, clear disapproval and accusation in his gaze that had you wilting in shame.
             “Why didn’t you call me?” he asked as he gently tugged you to your feet, pulling you toward the bathroom where your first aid supplies were kept.
             “I didn’t want to bug you, you’re a busy man these days, and I totally had it under control,” you told him, even as you hopped up on to the bathroom counter, well used to Aone behaving like a mother hen by now, holding out your hands when he asked for them.
             “Next time, call,” he scolded firmly, the words making you smile despite the fact that he was telling you off. He’d come a long way from the shy little boy you’d met at recess all those years ago. Back then he never would’ve dared to scold you, now he did so without a second thought.
             Being vice-captain of the volleyball team had been good for him, and he’d really come into his own, helping Futakuchi lead them to nationals during interhigh that last year and retiring shortly after. You’d actually been a little surprised he retired, especially since you’d fully believed he had the talent to go pro, a belief backed by several offers from different places for a sports scholarship. However, Aone had confided that while he loved volleyball, life in the spotlight simply wasn’t for him. All he wanted was something peaceful where he didn’t have to talk too much and could work with his hands.
             He’d certainly found that in construction, and was slowly but surely working his way up the ladder. The maturity and assuredness he’d found through volleyball had really helped him become independent and strong, so much so that at times you wondered if he really needed you anymore.
             However, the moment intrusive thoughts like that flitted across your mind Aone was suddenly there, with his quiet but insistent presence, assuring you he would never, ever leave you alone. The two of you were best friends for life, and you knew it, though it was nice to see just how far the two of you had come together.
             At times you found it almost ironic, the one who’d needed looking after, and become the one who did all the looking after, your dynamic flipped. Not that you minded. You found it sweet how he fussed over you still despite both of you having other people in your life nowadays. Speaking of which…
             “How did you know I was trying to fix something on my own again anyways?” you asked, more than a bit suspicious.
             The look he gave you in turn spoke volumes. You were going to kill Futakuchi, that little jerk, he was such a tattletale. It was no matter though, you’d just have to remind him once again, that Aone loved you most.
             The clear exasperation in your friend’s eyes told you he knew exactly what you were thinking, and you couldn’t help the joyful laugh that escaped your lips. Honestly, dragging Aone away to make flower crowns that day was probably the best decision you’d made in your whole life.
 The Future: Romantic
             You would’ve thought that of the two of you, it would be you who would initiate a romantic relationship with Aone, that you would jump into it just as fearlessly as you had jumped into being his friend. However, despite the feelings that had slowly but surely grown over the years, you hadn’t been able to take that last step. Something always held you back.
             A part of you desperately wanted it, so badly you could almost taste it. You knew the two of you could be good together, your years of friendship over two decades now, had certainly proved it. However, you were afraid. Back then, Aone had accepted your friendship in part because he simply hadn’t been able to say no. He’d been too shy and unsure to do so even if you both thought that it had worked out for the best in the end.
             He’d grown a lot since those early days, and you liked to think he was much more assertive about getting what he truly wanted these days. However, you’d noticed very early on that Aone never, ever, said no to you. It didn’t matter how much it might inconvenience him or how much he might dislike doing whatever it was you requested. He would quite literally bend over backward for you.
             It meant you’d had to be very, very careful about how you framed your requests, doing your best to be extra considerate of him and his feelings. It also meant that you were now too afraid to confess, afraid he would say yes to you just because it was what you wanted and not what he actually desired. Accidentally forcing a relationship on your friend because he was too sweet to say no to you would be the absolute worst, which meant you were stuck.
             Futakuchi, who’d noticed and teased you rather relentlessly over your feelings, had tried to insist that the only reason Aone never said no to you was because he was head over heels in love with you. However, you were pretty sure he was just being a jerk to you again, and you had done your best to adamantly ignore everything he said, much to his mounting frustration.
             You’d convinced yourself that it was for the best, that if you just waited you would get over your silly one-sided crush. Unfortunately, said crush had lasted over a decade and was showing no signs of fading any time soon. In fact, a part of you knew it was far beyond a crush at this point, but you were absolutely adamant about keeping silent, sure that you were doing what was best, not just for Aone, but for you as well. Because getting into a relationship with him, only to discover later that he’d only ever loved you platonically was a blow you weren’t sure you’d ever be able to recover from.
             Thus, you’d allowed yourself to stay firmly in denial, and didn’t suspect a single thing when Aone came by to pick you up from work that day. The two of you had planned to hang out together, and you were more than a bit excited, especially since he’d said he had a surprise for you.
             You’d noticed as you walked that he was dressed rather nicely, in dark jeans and a plaid button down rolled to the elbows to show off muscular forearms. It was actually a bit unusual for your friend who seemed to prefer comfy clothes in his off time, usually sticking to t-shirts and sweats, or athletic wear when he could. You’d hastily shoved the thought as far down as it would go the second it occurred to you though, locking it up with all the other non-platonic things you’d thought about your friend over the years.
             Instead, you’d focused on pestering him, trying to figure out what this surprise he had planned for you was. However, as to be expected, he was incredibly tight lipped about it, simply offering you amused, indulgent smiles that let you know he knew exactly what you were trying to do, and wouldn’t cave in.
             To your surprise, he’d driven you to a beautiful park, one filled with beautiful fields of flower. You’d been utterly ecstatic about it, practically bouncing as he showed you the picnic basket he’d brought along. The two of you had set up in a nice spot and hung out for a while.
             You’d been so preoccupied with the food and talking to him that you hadn’t noticed that he’d been doing something with his hands, right up until he carefully plopped a neatly formed flower crown on top of your head. You stared up at him in shock, fingers gently brushing the petals of the flowers set among your hair, confused but feeling a surge of warmth at the nostalgia of it all as you peered up at him.
             “No matter what, we are friends for life,” he told you, his voice serious as he held your eyes, the words making your heart squeeze painfully as conflicting emotions warred in your chest. The nostalgia and love you had for him, fighting with the fact that you wanted so much more with him.
             “Futakuchi has told me that I haven’t been obvious enough with my feelings,” he continued solemnly, the name of your nemesis helping to jolt you out of your internal conflict.
             You stared at him wide eyed as he gently took your face in one of his large hands, cradling your cheek as he stared down at you intently and told you, “I’m in love with you, bunny, and would like to be romantically involved with you.”
             It took a moment for the words to process, especially since you got caught up in his nickname for you, a byproduct of an unfortunate incident with marshmallows, Futakuchi, and the fact you were smaller than him. However, once what he said finally reached you, you immediately reached out to pinch your thigh, wincing slightly at the sharp burst of pain. You apparently weren’t dreaming.
             “Are you sure?” you asked him, unable to help your worry or your disbelief that this might actually be happening. Your hands were clenched tightly in your laps, nails digging into your palms as you tried to fight the rising hope, “This isn’t because Futakuchi told you I’m in love with you is it? Because you have to be sure, and if he did tell you I swear to all the kami I…!”
             Your torrent of babble was cut off by a gentle finger on your lips, one that instantly made you fall silent and stare up at your friend in confusion. However, seconds later the finger was replaced with gentle lips, sweet and surprisingly soft against your own, the feel of them enough to make your heart race as your eyes fluttered shut.
             You savored the feeling of his mouth on yours until he pulled back. You blinked your eyes open to find him watching you with the softest expression you’d ever seen on his face, full of affection and care.
             “Futakuchi did nothing but encourage me to confess my own feelings,” he assured you, gravely, then reiterated, “I am in love with you.”
             “I love you too,” you confessed, the words spilling out, raw and unfiltered, your heart racing, giddy joy flooding through you as you realized this was actually happening.
             “Good,” he affirmed, leaning forward to kiss you again.
             You reached for him eagerly, wrapping your arms around his neck and basking in the euphoria of knowing your feelings were returned, noting that you probably owed that idiot Futakuchi a gift basket or something. For now, you were just going to savor the feeling of his lips, and enjoy the fact that you were absolutely and irrevocably in love with your best friend.
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reputations
summary: you’re criminally good, and Matt can’t help but fall in love with you.
warnings: mentions of alcohol
word count: 3.7k
note from the writer: I really wrote this in one night, immediately after posting my last Matt fic. I might have a problem. lmk what you think!
part two
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Matthew knew he was no angel. If it wasn’t the opposing players he pested on a daily basis, it was the media that told him so. Most of the time, he didn’t mind. Fights, penalties, and suspensions—he couldn’t help but agree that he was a pest on the ice. He knew he deserved some of the shit he got, but he was getting better and growing as a player.
But sometimes he wished he had a better reputation.
“Matt, your girlfriend is outside.” His brother’s voice interrupted his thoughts. Matt hated that he knew who Brady was talking about. Despite the fact that it had been seemingly forever since he was in an actual relationship, Brady’s tease made perfect sense to the entire Tkachuk family.
“Shut up.” Matt shot back, because he couldn’t argue, and he was too busy getting up off the couch and heading outside to listen to the jabs his brother was throwing at him. He was too far gone and had long since admitted that to himself.
The summer sun beat down on him the moment he stepped into the backyard, and he took a moment to squint his eyes to adjust before heading over to the fence separating his backyard from the one next door. Brady had been telling the truth, the one girl he couldn’t get off his mind since middle school was outside and the wide smile that grew on his face was one he couldn’t help.
You were as good as they came. Weekends spent volunteering at animal shelters, tutoring, helping the older couples in the neighborhood with yard work and other chores. He was pretty sure the moment he decided he wanted to marry you was when you had shown up to Taryn’s first varsity field hockey game with a giant sign saying something about how she would kill it just because you knew it would make her laugh.
Matt nearly tripped when he spotted you on the other side of the fence. You were suntanning in nothing more than a bikini, laying on a towel in the grass in your own backyard. For what seemed like the millionth time in his lifetime, Matt thanked whatever higher power that was up there that his family moved into the house next to yours all those years ago.
For a second, he stayed quiet, just admiring how good you looked. Sunglasses were perched on your nose as you laid on your back, arms tucked behind your head. Your music was playing softly from the speaker laying in the grass a few feet away and you were humming along quietly. He couldn’t stop the smile that grew on his face as he studied you, resting his forearms along the top of the fence with his chin tucked on top of his hands. He knew he needed to make his presence known, figuring he wouldn’t be able to explain why he kept quiet and watched you tan without sounding like a creep.
“I’ve been home for two days and you haven’t come see me yet?” He teased, his grin growing two sizes when he spotted how you lit up at the sound of his voice. Your smile was infectious, and it was the only thing keeping his gaze north of your chest as you sat up on the towel.
“Matty!” You cheered, pushing your sunglasses to the top of your head. You were the only person that Matt allowed to call him that, and he was certain that if his teammates ever found that out they would never let him hear the end of it. You stood up, making your way towards Matt and he could feel his heart pounding faster in his chest as you got closer. It was a miracle you hadn’t managed to kill him yet.
“How’ve you been?” Matt found himself asking, though the question felt a little pointless. He knew how you had been, you texted daily and even the stuff you didn’t tell him—which was a rare occurrence—he found out from his siblings.
“Oh, you know. Same old, same old.” You said boredly, waving a hand dismissively. Matt knew that wasn’t true, he could see the smile you were suppressing. Plus, all of his conversations with you as of late had been about one thing.
“Congrats on graduating, by the way.” Matt wasn’t sure it was possible, but your smile widened as he spoke. You looked happy, but that didn’t stop the feeling of guilt that was bubbling inside him. “Sorry I couldn’t make it.”
“Don’t worry about it.” You squeezed his forearm from where it was resting on the fence, and it took all of Matt’s willpower to not melt under your touch. “You were busy chasing the cup, and I know for a fact that you’ll win it for me next time.”
And then you jokingly winked at him, and suddenly Matt forgot how to breathe. He knew you were teasing, but the fact of the matter was that he knew if he was going to win the cup for anyone besides his parents, it was you.
“And besides, you’re coming to my grad party, right? I need someone there to save me from my relatives asking about where I’m working in the fall.” You continued, and for the second time in ten minutes Matt had been interrupted from his thoughts.
“You don’t already have seven jobs lined up?” Matt teased you. For as long as he could remember, you were always ten steps ahead of everyone. He distinctly remembers you stressing out at eleven years old because you got a seventy-five on a test and thought it would go on your permanent record and you wouldn’t get accepted into college.
“Shut up.” You rolled your eyes, nudging his arm playfully as the both of you chuckled. Matt felt a bit repetitive, thinking about how beautiful you were. He was sure he looked like a lovestruck idiot, but he couldn’t help himself. His self-control was low to begin with, but throw you into the mix and he was absolutely done for. “I’ve applied to a few places, interviewed at some. I’ve got my eye on one place, though.”
“Any places I know?” Matt was a little caught off guard since he hadn’t heard about you applying. He knew you were looking into some places, some in St. Louis and some out of state, but he didn’t realize you started taking the next step. A nervous look flashed in your eyes, and Matt wondered what could have prompted it, but as soon as it was there, it was gone, and you were back to smiling brightly at him.
“And ruin the surprise when I finally land one of the jobs? Not a chance, Hotshot.” You teased with a shake of your head. Matt knew you like the back of his hand. He knew how you liked your coffee and that you hated when he got into fights. He knew that you were a romantic and that you were a little self conscious about your laugh because when you were fifteen and Danny Baker from three streets up told you he thought it was weird. That was the closest he ever got to punching someone off of the ice—and sometimes he still thought about giving the guy a piece of his mind.
And he knew that the nickname ‘Hotshot’ was your way of trying to deflect, and he knew enough to drop the subject. Not that he had a choice, really, because your phone started buzzing from where you left it on your towel. When you bent down to pick it up, he busied himself by admiring the flowers he knew you helped your mom plant instead of blatantly checking out your ass.
“Hey. Matty, I’ve got to go. Mrs. Henderson asked if I could help her with the bake sale for her son’s soccer team.” You spoke up after checking your phone. Matt couldn’t help the way his heart flipped at the fact that you were still volunteering for families around the neighborhood. The only time he could remember actually volunteering, not including Flames events, was when he needed to fill his high school requirement to graduate.
God, you were too good for him.
“Yeah, I’ll see you at the party tomorrow.” He waved as you retreated into your house. He watched as you left, only pushing off the fence and heading back into his own once you shut your back door. He made his way into the kitchen, finding his whole family already in there and looking at him with smug grins. Matt just knew they had been watching his entire interaction with you out of the kitchen window.
Brady was the first to speak up, making obnoxious kissing noises while Taryn started saying your name in increasingly higher pitched voices trying to mock how gone he was for you. He rolled his eyes at his sister, but that didn’t stop him from putting Brady into a headlock.
“If you boys break something…” His mom trailed off, giving her boys a pointed look over the glass of water she was sipping on. The empty threat was enough to get Matt to let go of his brother, but not before messing up his hair for that extra bit of pettiness.
“Leave Matt alone, he’s in love.” His dad teased, looking much too proud of himself at his comment for Matt’s liking. He groaned, dropping his back to further prove his annoyance before he grabbed a drink out of the fridge and left the room.
He still couldn’t argue his family’s comments.
Matt didn’t see you again until it was time to head over for your graduation party, and it took everything in him to not stop dead in his tracks when he spotted you across the yard. You were talking to a few of your extended family members, he was sure he had met them once or twice over the years, and you looked effortlessly stunning. You were wearing a new sundress, he was certain of that because if you had worn it before he would have remembered, what with the way it made your legs look, especially paired with what he knew were your favorite pair of wedges.
Brady knocked into his shoulder, sending him a smirk before slipping off to find a drink. Matt rolled his eyes at his brother, letting his attention fall back to you. His breath hitched as you turned to face him, and he wondered if you felt the weight of his stare. He didn’t have much time to ponder, though, because he recognized the look in your eyes. It was the one that told him those were the family members you told him you’d need rescuing from.
He crossed the lawn quickly, smiling warmly at your mom when she called his name and waved. He’d greet her properly later, you were his current priority. You were his priority all the time, if he was being honest with himself.
“Hey, Matty.” You smiled and as soon as he got close enough your arm slid around his back. He copied your action, his hand settling a respectable distance up on your waist. Before he could stop himself, he pressed a kiss to the side of your head, even though he probably shouldn’t be so blatant in his affection in front of distant family.
“Is this a boyfriend?” Your—great aunt?—questioned. Matt felt his face flush at the idea, he spent the better part of his adolescence imagining what it would be like to call you his. But he never could get himself to make a move. Too nervous to lose you and too worried about what moving away would do to your relationship—if it even got that far.
And then there was the problem of his reputation.
He had grown up watching you do all these amazing things for your education and to help other people. You always had a smile on your face and cried for an hour at the ending of Marley and Me. You even volunteered to help move Brady to Boston when he left to go play hockey there.
He pushed around six ounces of vulcanized rubber on ice. In his mind, he didn’t measure up to you in the slightest. As much as he wanted you, he felt as if he didn’t deserve you.
“No, this is just Matt, he lives next door.” You explained sweetly and Matt forced a smile on his face as he shook hands with your relatives. He hated how terrible your words sounded to his ears, how he was ‘Just Matt’ to you.
“Hey, Taryn said she needs to talk to you, it’s urgent.” Matt lied after a few moments of watching you squirm under the interrogation your relatives were putting you through. From the mischievous look in your eyes he could tell you knew what he was doing. You politely told your relatives that you would see them later, and Matt’s heart jumped in his chest as you slipped your hand into his to pull him away.
“Thank you.” You said to him under your breath, giving his hand a squeeze before dropping it as you reached the drink coolers. Matt grinned at you, watching as you pulled out two beers for the both of you. “They hit me with questions about my love life, job prospects, and whether or not I’ll be moving out of my parent’s house before you arrived.”
“Sorry I didn’t get there sooner.” Matt teased, taking a sip out of his bottle while watching you shudder playfully. He tried to ignore the green monster that settled in his stomach at the thought of you having a love life, no matter how selfish it sounded. Instead, he focused on the way you smiled at him, and how warmly you interacted with his mom when she came over to give you a celebratory hug.
Seeing you laughing with his mom was doing nothing for the feelings he had harboured for you.
By the time darkness started to settle on the party, the majority of the guests had left. Besides your parents, him and his siblings, and a few of your cousins that were spending the night, your backyard was empty. Your dad had started a campfire so everyone could make s’mores, and you seemed to think it was the best part of the day. You were probably feeling the effects of the beers you had been sipping on, though you only had one or two, and tried to feed Matt a s’more, giggling uncontrollably when you got marshmallow in the scruff of his beard.  
He just about died when you flicked your finger across his chin to collect the marshmallow, absentmindedly licking it off as you laughed at something Taryn said. His gaze zeroed in on your finger, and the fact that you had no idea the effect that you had on him was dizzying.
“Get a room.” Brady groaned, though he had been sitting next to Matt and spoke low enough that the parents sitting on the opposite side of the fire didn’t hear. Matt was also lucky that you didn’t hear, distracted by your phone ringing. He glanced at the screen out of habit and a little bit of nosiness, seeing that it was a number you didn’t have saved to your contacts before you jumped to your feet and retreated inside to take the call.
If he had been looking a little closer, he would have recognized that the number had an area code for Calgary.
You had been gone for a few minutes and Matt was starting to get restless. Your mom came out of the house and handed him two popsicles, one for him and one for you, so he figured you were coming back soon.
You did, and you were wearing a wide grin that made him curious. You didn’t say anything, instead you took one of the popsicles and slipped your hand into his now free one, tugging lightly to signal for him to stand up. Once more, you led him across the lawn, only this time you went around the house to the front yard, away from the prying eyes of both your families.
“What’s up?” Matt questioned as soon as you came to a stop in front of him. You were grinning up at him, and he could tell from the look in your eyes that you had news to share.
“I got a job. My top choice one, actually.” You stated as if it was something boring, like the weather. Matt beamed at you, the feeling of pride he had in you coming to the surface the same way it did whenever you accomplished something you wanted.
He wrapped you in his arms almost instantly, careful not to knock your popsicle out of your hand or get his in your hair. He held you tight to his chest, never wanting to let you go.
“Where is it?” He asked after letting you go. Your smile grew wider as he looked at you, and he raised a brow as you hesitated. The longer you stayed quiet, the more he started to panic. He knew it was selfish, but he didn’t want you to leave St. Louis. The best part of coming home during breaks or playing the Blues on their ice was the fact that he would get to see you.
“Calgary. Surprise?” You chuckled nervously, but Matt felt like he had just been told the best news. After years apart for college and hockey, you finally would be close to him again. He was ecstatic, and couldn’t help himself before pulling you into another hug,
“Surprise is right.” He teased as soon as he moved back, though he couldn’t get himself to go far. He was practically buzzing with excitement and the closer he was to you the better he felt. You were grinning, shifting from foot to foot and that simple action told Matt that you were anxious about something.
“But I have one more thing to share.” You said, and that worried Matt once more because he could hear the nervousness in your tone. Matt nodded, unable to get himself to form words in response and instead let his mind run wild with all the ideas about what it could be. “Matt, I, uh, well, I’ve had feelings for you for a while, and I think you feel the same, well at least I hope you do, and I was kind of hoping that we could start something now that we’ll be living in the same place.”
Matt felt like passing out. Out of all the dozens of things you could have said, that was not one of them. He watched, wordlessly, as you licked the popsicle out of nerves and the need to busy yourself somehow while he stayed quiet after your confession. That seemed to spur him on, though, because he used his free hand to cup your jaw as his lips landed on yours.
You tasted like grape popsicle and chocolate, and though it was an odd combination he decided it was the best thing he’d ever had. He briefly registered that the popsicles slipped from both your hands as you gripped each other, and he knew that he’d have to pick them up after because you had drilled into him the importance of keeping the Earth clean when you were in eighth grade and went through a sustainability kick.
It was that thought that had him stilling. He couldn’t do this to you, not when you were so good and not when he was in the press every other week for being the very opposite. You deserved better than him, a philanthropist that donated all their time and money to children’s hospitals—the charity he knew you volunteered at, at least three times a year.
You were too good for him.
“Is something wrong?” You questioned him, dropping from your tip-toes back to your flat feet, putting some distance between you and him. It wasn’t enough to defog Matt’s head but he was pretty sure that wouldn’t happen for weeks, not with the way his entire body felt on fire from just your one kiss.
“I can’t do this… I can’t do this to you.” Matt settled, though he hated the way he sounded so unsure of himself and he hated the very fact that he even had to say it. He hated that you felt the same way he did but he couldn’t do a thing about it because he had always put you before himself. But most of all, he hated how your face fell and your eyes started to get glassy.
“Do you not like me?” You questioned and if Matt wasn’t so defeated by the whole situation he would have laughed. He couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t like you, you plagued his thoughts on a daily basis and he had a framed photo of you and him from his first game in Calgary in his apartment that earned him so many chirps from his teammates. But you looked so proud of him, and you were wearing his jersey, so no matter what the boys said he kept it up—the photo was his most prized possession.
“No, that’s not it. That’s not it at all.” He told you, and somehow your face fell even more. Even when you were so clearly upset, the way your brows tugged together in confusion and the slight pout to your lips was devastatingly attractive to Matt.
“Then what is it?” Your question sounded so tired, so weak, that Matt wished he had never followed you out front and never put your friendship in the position it was. But it was too late now, he couldn’t back out now and he had to stick to his guns. He took in a shuddering breath, one hand tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear before he said what he felt he had to.
“I want you to be happy, and you can’t be happy with me. I’m not good for you.”
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drarry-we-meet · 4 years
Text
Valentine’s Day Sucks
Part 1
Draco grit his teeth as another wave of ooohs and ahhhs sounded across the small collection of cubicles. He tried to ignore the outbreak of distinctly feminine chatter and focus on the report he was currently writing. After reading the same paragraph three times, he was finally able to get back into the flow of things. He was halfway through drafting his next sentence when a loud bang followed by assorted squeals and giggles broke out, and he couldn’t help but sneak a peek.
Longbottom was currently surrounded by a cloud of glittering pink smoke that smelled strongly of roses, and there on his desk was a humongous box of chocolates. Draco sighed, he was more than ready for this Valentine’s Day nonsense to be over with. It was bad enough hearing all the witches in his department cooing like a pack of wild doves each time one of them received a flower delivery, which of course was every few minutes. But to make matters worse, this year the wizards seemed to be getting just as many gifts thanks the Wheezes new ad campaign which insisted that witches must also get soppy romantic trinkets for their gents.
Draco would have admired such a brilliant marketing strategy, that had surely doubled their profits this year, if it didn’t cause him to have double the annoyance at the same time. While the witches gifts were more traditional and quiet; flowers, chocolate, jewelry. The men’s gifts were far sillier; singing heat shaped telegrams that burst into miniature fireworks at the end of their song, stuffed bears that did cartwheels across desks before exploding into a shower of confetti, and large boxes like Longbottom’s that went off like a bomb, leaving behind chocolates once the smoke had cleared.
Of course it didn’t help matters that Draco knew he wouldn’t be receiving anything this year. It wasn’t that he was alone, at least not technically. He had been seeing, or at least sleeping with, Harry-savior-of-the-whole-fucking-wizarding-world Potter, for just over 4 months. Not that it counted though, probably. They had never discussed whether or not what they were doing was exclusive. For Draco it was, and he was fairly certain it was for Harry as well, seeing how he barely had any free-time as Deputy Head Auror and all. But a lack of time to see other people, and actually wanting to date someone were two very different things.
Case in point was the Mountain of gifts that Draco could see steadily growing in the office across the room filled with their cubicles. Witches and wizards from all over the world sent Harry gifts each holiday, but this one always seemed to be the worst. Two curse breakers were currently stationed in the room sorting, screening, and vanishing questionable gifts, while Harry himself was still out meeting with the muggle liaison of Interpol for some reason or another. He wasn’t due to return until Monday, and by then his office would be clear once again.
The safe candy was set aside to be distributed to various departments in the ministry, particularly those inconvenienced the most by this whole fiasco; the mailroom, the janitors union, the curse breakers, and of course the aurors. All of the mail was piled neatly for his secretary to review. The majority of it would be vanished of course, but a few of the most polite ones would be answered eventually.
In fact, now that Draco thought about it, his willingness to always be available to Harry no matter how last minute or weird the hour was, in order to be able to see Harry in between his many meetings and trips abroad might be the only reason Harry even bothered with him at all. It was that thought, paired with the reminder that so far whatever ‘this’ was between them had remained a carefully guarded secret from even their closest friends, that caused a sharp clenching pain inside his gut. Draco determinedly pushed all thoughts of the idiot-who-lived far from his mind and tried once again to focus on work.
By lunchtime, the continuous loud bangs and rose scented smoke that accompanied them, had the beginnings of a migraine forming behind Draco’s eyes. He decided to escape the ministry for a bit and get some fresh air at the cafe across the street. He had just finished, and stood up to don his coat when a shadow appeared across his desk. He looked up into the sneering faces of Zacharias Smith, his well-endowed girlfriend, and a couple of brand new trainees whose names he didn’t care to remember.
"I was just about to head to lunch Smith so whatever it is you need will have to wait till after I return,” Draco kept his most impassive face in place, but his voice was firm. He knew the only thing Smith wanted was to start trouble and he wasn’t in the mood for any of it.
Smith smirked, “I just wanted to ask you where your Valentine’s Day gift was," he asked with a faux sweet voice.
That threw Draco for a loop for a minute, “What are you talking about?"
Smith and his group immediately started laughing, Draco wasn’t sure what the hell they found so funny or why on earth they were asking him about Valentine’s gifts of all things.
Smith’s smile had only gotten wider, “Well Malfoy, he emphasized, maybe it has escaped your notice, but you’re the only person in the entire department, possibly even the entire ministry who hasn’t received even one measly card.”
Draco could feel his heart rate picking up, but he hadn’t lived with old-moldyfarts for nothing, and was able to keep his face blank and posture relaxed. Smith was just getting warmed up though, pointing out how ‘of course’ they shouldn’t be so surprised that he hadn’t received anything, since he was death eater scum and all. By this point they were attracting the attention of the rest of the office.
Draco could see out of the corner of his eye that Granger was heading their direction, but Draco would rather die than have someone he once allowed to be tortured in his house defend him from a spineless git like Smith.
Draco carefully rolled his eyes and shook his head at Smith, “is that really the best you could come up with today Zachary?” Because he knew how much Smith hated people using the shorter form of his name, "you must be having just such a fulfilling Valentine’s Day yourself if you would rather spend all your time talking to me than your girlfriend, what are you 12?” He then swept out of the office before Smith could reply or Granger could reach them.
He was waiting down the hall for the lift when a fierce grip grabbed his arm and spun him around. It was Smith’s girlfriend, and Draco was fairly shocked to be manhandled by her. She, unlike her slimy boyfriend, had always seemed like a genuinely nice person. However her face right now was twisted in fury.
"No one will ever love you," she spat. "You can look down on us all you want, but in the end you will be a bitter old man and die alone. You don’t even have any friends!” She spun on her heel and left then.
Draco was left reeling in the hallway, his vision swimming a bit and his breathing a bit too fast and shallow. As the room came back into focus he locked eyes with Granger. Of course she had followed him out into the hall, of course she’d probably seen the whole thing. Fuck. The lift chimed and Draco stumbled back into in, jamming the door close button to stop her from pursuing him any further. He knew that look, that look of pity, and it made him sick to his stomach.
Draco ended up skipping lunch, he walked aimlessly around the nearest park until his face and fingers were numb with cold despite his gloves and warming charms. The words, “no one will ever love you,” played on endless repeat in his head as he fought to direct his thoughts toward anything else. He didn’t know why he let their words get to him like that, he didn’t give a shit what Smith or his girlfriend thought.
But the words had cut him to the bone, mainly because it was a very real fear he had held onto since the end of the war. His friends had all fled the country after the trials, some even before, and his dating life had been pretty nonexistent for the last 6 years. Nothing they had said was technically wrong. The men Draco had been with were ok with fucking him as long as no one ever found out. He just wasn’t the type of person anyone could ever take home to meet their parents.
And Draco had been ok with that, or so he thought. Relationships were just messy, unnecessary. Until Harry. Harry was the first man Draco had ever been with who took him to dinner, (at muggle restaurants), who always spent the night, who held him after sex, who made breakfast for him the morning after. Harry made him watch muggle films on his couch while giving him neck rubs or foot rubs and always made sure he had Draco’s favorite tea on hand. By the second month Draco had begun to think that maybe, just maybe they were something more than just sex.
But then one day they had been interrupted mid-foreplay by one of Harry’s friends visiting unannounced, and Harry had quickly shoved Draco into the closet and told him to be quiet. Draco had died a little inside that day. It was an unspoken agreement after that. Draco was a secret, a dirty little secret, just like always.
Draco returned to the office a few minutes late, half frozen and despondent, but as always he didn’t let any of it show on his face. He had considered skiving off the rest of the day, but wouldn’t give Smith the satisfaction of knowing he’d gotten under his skin.
He buried himself in his work and carefully ignored any whispers or glances he felt come his way, but he was still attuned enough to the atmosphere of the room to notice as everyone was wrapping up their tasks at the end of the day and loudly discussing their romantic plans for the evening, when a ripple of silence suddenly overtook the room. It was so quiet and still that Draco looked up, wondering if everyone had somehow been stupefied simultaneously.
His jaw dropped as his eyes met green. Harry was standing just in front of his desk looking so very fit in his deputy head uniform. His brass buttons shining, his hair tousled just right, his brilliant eyes unobstructed since he’d finally ditched his horrid specs long ago. He was holding a garment bag in one hand and the biggest bouquet of long stemmed roses in the other. They were wrapped in white silk with a dark red bow, each petal had gold filigree on the edges.
"Are you ready to go darling?” He asked with a warm and inviting face, a fair bit of mischief in his eyes.
Draco, who had no idea what was going on, but was pretty sure he must have passed out from all the fumes and was dreaming just nodded.
Harry smiled brightly and laid the garment bag over Draco’s desk. "Well that’s good," Harry said, handing the roses to Draco, who took them dazedly, "Hermione told me you were too busy to pick up your suit today, so I went ahead and got it for you. We don’t have much time until the Portkey to Paris leaves so we’ll need to hurry home and change. I don’t think Le Cinq will let us in without the formal wear.
Draco who had decided he was definitely dreaming, simply nodded again and stood. Harry wasted no time walking around the desk to meet him. He placed a chaste, but lingering kiss on his lips, grabbed the bag and steered Draco toward the door with a warm hand on the small of his back.
The entire trek to the doors no one moved, Draco wasn’t sure any of them were even breathing. He wasn’t sure he was even breathing. Harry had just publicly outed them. Every face in the room was stricken with shock, except for Hermione who smiled at them both and Ron who gave him a curt nod. Draco realized neither of them were surprised. They know, he thought, oh gods they already know. He looked at Harry again and Harry gave him another dazzling smile and kiss on the cheek.
As soon as they were outside the doors a cacophony of noise sounded behind them and Harry turned to wink at Draco, but instead of heading toward the lifts, he simply wrapped his arm more firmly around Draco’s waist and apparated them on the spot.
-gift for @mothermalfoy
Link to Part 2:  https://drarry-we-meet.tumblr.com/post/190868463275/valentines-day-sucks-warning-this-2nd-half
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scribble-blog · 4 years
Text
Soulmate AU part 3!!
First • Previous • Here • Next
Side note, I’m a grandma in a 22 year old body who doesn’t understand technology. If somebody can teach me how to get readmores to work on tumblr mobile, and possibly how to start linking the posts together, I’d appreciate it!
Also, the taglist is now full! Though if people want, I could try doing a supplemental taglist? Either in a reblogged or in a separate post to notify you? Let me know in the replies!
Damian Wayne, as it turns out, is almost very certainly the son of Bruce Wayne, who sponsored their entire trip to Gotham. There are only two official pictures of him that are clear enough to truly check against, but Marinette sees the eyes and she nods. “That’s him.”
Trixx, Pollen, Kaalki, and Plagg are scattered about the bed, napping and lounging. Adrien also lounges, catlike and crosswise with the bed, entirely over the pillows at their back. Chloé holds the laptop that Marinette is hovering over, even from her seated position with her much smaller stature.
“It would be you,” Chloé snorts. “Oh, let’s just traipse over to America for a quick class visit! Oops, my soulmate is the incredibly handsome son of the incredibly wealthy man who invited us here!”
“Still more believable than you, Miss ‘My soulmate and I have literally been standing two feet from each other for weeks because not only do we have the exact same friends, but we’re part of the same superhero group and never realized until Ladybug allowed us to learn each other’s secret identities.’” Adrien doesn’t move as he calls her out, lazily curled into the warmth of his two friends and the pillows cocooning him.
“I don’t think any of us can speak,” Marinette groans. “I’m living a cheap rom com, Chloé’s got all the plot elements of a high budget Shakespearian drama, and Mr. ‘Didn’t know I wasn’t straight until my soulmate mark was a guys name” is straight out of a b movie comedy.”
“At least I got my act together pretty quickly once it occurred to me that I could like guys too,” Adrien points out. “And now Jon and I talk all the time, and he even comes to Paris sometimes to see me, or we’ll meet up for my occasional business trips in America. Which reminds me,” he pulled out his phone, sending off a quick text, “he wants to come meet you guys. Next week, while we’re all actually on the same continent.”
“Kudos to you for shaking off whatever Gabe tried to stuff your head full of,” Chloé says. “Took me ages to admit that I was gay, and that was even WITH my soulmark and both Marinette and Ladybug constantly in front of me.”
“Feeling pretty objectified,” Marinette protests.
“Oh shut it, I know for a fact that you’ve basically been the gay awakening crush of every not straight girl in our class. And several outside of it. And that’s not even counting all the dudes that fall in love with you.”
“I still object,” Marinette pouts at Chloé.
“Objection overruled.” Adrien sits up. “Marinette. You’re like, the perfect crush. They have a warning about you in the introductory packet for Mme. Bustier’s class.”
“They do not,” Marinette gasps, outraged. “I wrote that packet!”
“And then the class unanimously decided you were too dangerous to be walking around without a warning sign,” Chloé pinched her cheek. “If it makes you feel any better, it’s still in the packet despite Lila’s best efforts to get it thrown out.”
That does make Marinette feel better.
“Damian Wayne resurfaces after year of being believed dead,” Adrien reads from his phone. “Gotham’s Newest Wayne: The True Son! These all read like tabloids but as far as I can tell the Wayne’s don’t tolerate stuff like that. So I guess it’s true?”
“I’m tired of looking him up,” Marinette groans. “Can we just leave it be?”
“Nope,” Chloé pops the P. “Congrats, Dupain-Cheng, this is what friends are for.”
“I wish I could talk to Tikki about it,” Marinette sighs. “Especially because I have literally never heard anyone talk about that- electric feeling when we touched. Is it a Ladybug thing?”
Plagg opens one big green eye. “Cool it, Spots. It’s definitely a Ladybug thing. You’re literally the reason these marks exist.”
Marinette sticks her tongue out at the mini god. “I just miss her.”
“Join the club,” he grumbles, closing his eye and going back to napping.
“Good news,” Chloé says, bringing her attention back to the laptop. “Searching your name very easily leads to you, and our class, and the fact that we won the contest. So, unless he decides he’s not ready to meet you, you’ll have the chance to find him at the gala. Or at Wayne Enterprises. Or at any of the places the Wayne’s own, which is two-thirds of our trip destinations.”
“Oh god,” Marinette says. “What if he didn’t want to find me?”
Adrien, Chloé, and four Kwamis hit her at the same time, shoving her back into the bed.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Mari,” Adrien scolds her from his position atop the newly formed cuddle pile. “I saw his face too. If the boy isn’t already in love with you, he’ll be hunting you down just for the chance to fall.”
Trixx nuzzled into her side. “I may not be Tikki but all of us Kwamis know how incredible you are, Marinette.”
She sighed. “Alright guys, get off.”
———
Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Tim already knew who the girl was, because he’d been curious when his favorite artist had started talking about the source of his newest looks.
But having Damian demand his help in searching for everything he could find on her, and then only asking for the bare minimum of information about her trip itinerary- Tim wasn’t an idiot.
“So. She’s your soulmate.” Tim takes a sip of the coffee he’d been working on, making a face and instantly setting it back down when he realized it had gone cold.
Damian carefully did not change his expression, but it wasn’t fooling anyone. “And so what if she is?”
Tim looked back at the monitor. “So nothing. Congrats, Demon Spawn. I’m happy for you.”
He barely caught the edge of the scowl the younger Wayne tried to hide.
“Hey, no.” Tim spun his chair to face Damian. “Look, we’ve had our differences and disagreements-“
“You had me on the superhero equivalent of a terrorism watch list,” Damian interrupted.
“And you literally tried to kill me within the first day of meeting me.”
“A byproduct of my indoctrination from birth into a murder cult,” His brother kept his face still but the tone was wry.
“You kept trying to kill me.”
“I wasn’t trying to kill you!” Damian finally exclaimed, losing his collected demeanor. “Just-“
“Point being,” Tim stressed, “even if we haven’t always gotten along- haven’t ever, really- I’m still happy for you. Soulmates are a special thing. We all kind of thought you might not have one, with the way you always acted when Dick tried to ask.”
Damian forced down the immediate retort and looked at Tim. “I thought that maybe my dying would have prevented my name from showing up for them. And my teachings-“ he said the word with the inflection that meant he was discussing Assassin Upbringing rather than here- “were as such that most connections, be they familial, friendly, or romantic, were- unnecessary and even dangerous.” It felt tantamount to a betrayal of his younger self to confide anything in Drake like this, but... Damian really was, in many ways, a better and more mature person than the spoiled, aggressive, near sociopathic brat he’d arrived as seven years ago. He still kept the veneer of it up, but he was no longer the boy who needed to fight Drake to prove his worth as Bruce’s son.
Now he just waited for Drake to embarrass himself by passing out after staying up for far too long surviving on caffeine and energy drinks. Much easier.
And Drake didn’t ever seem as eager to blackmail and fight as Damian ever had, so he figured a small amount of vulnerability was a proper thank you for his discretion in finding Marinette.
Tim just took another grimacing sip of the cold coffee. “Man. In that case, even happier for you that you’re shrugging off yet another of the Child Assassin School’s upsetting and frankly terrible rules. Though as for the dying thing, I’m pretty sure it doesn’t matter as long as you don’t actively die now that you have the mark.”
Damian shrugged. “Irrelevant now, as I will not be dying anytime soon, and neither will she. And she clearly knows that we’re soulmates.”
“Still confused about that,” Tim frowned, looking back at him. “You said there was an electric current between you? Or it felt like that?”
Damian couldn’t stop his hand from twitching, the memory of it clear enough to feel. “Yes. I don’t understand it myself either.”
“I’ll search around. See if anything comes up.” Tim handed him a pile of papers. “Here, the info you wanted on her itinerary, plus things I thought would be pertinent without going over whatever line you seem to have drawn.”
Damian took them, and very begrudgingly said, “Thank you,” before ducking out of the room.
He waited until he was back in his own room before flicking through them, finding the trip schedule and the hotel rooms listed, the names of her class and teachers, and finally a list of her accomplishments and a copy of the paper that had won her class the trip, authored by her.
He read through it, noting the names of her classmates and their own community efforts, and the way her own section in the paper was minuscule compared to both each other persons section and the list of accomplishments Drake had drafted.
One classmate had, if no less written than than any other person, a distinctly different tone to what Marinette had written, and most of her community building and service events were merely echoes or assisting what another person had done. Damian shrugged it off, as there were sometimes people who simply tagged along, and never put their own effort out there. Followers, and not leaders.
All in all, he found himself more intrigued than ever about her.
TAGLIST:
@the-fusionist @rebecarojas07 @lowandco @kotaleartzu @resignedcatservant @alenee13 @mystery-5-5 @ladybug-182 @actual-disaster-human @loysydark @rumbelle18 @magic-miraculous @vixen-uchiha @athena452 @mochegato @ash-amg @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @thestressmademedoit @sassakitty @doriebell @jessigurl-design @emotionalsupportginger @kceedraws @kuroko26 @moonystars14 @toodaloo-kangaroo @myazael @theatreandcomicfreak @mer-mel @dahjokester @northernbluetongue @area51qt @renscorpio @redscarlet95 @razzledazzle247 @rosep16 @tired-butterfly @catthhay @shamefullove @imanerddealwith @chaosace @captainmac6 @bigpicklebananatree @abrx2002 @cici-schnee @multplelifes @shreky-boi @purple-people-eaters-productions @crazylittlemunchkin @weird-pale-blonde-person
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Note
I can never finish anything/I will finish you/You might wonder what I mean/If only you knew/ for ship of your choice

I’m going to take a leap and do my first Anne with an E fic (ahhh!) in the writing style of the original novel! Rated G, very fluffy. 
[Set at Queen’s College: Gilbert has arrived for a formal courtship visit, and catches the girls discussing a new trouble of Anne’s.]
Anne liked to think of herself as a positive person—someone whose dreams and goals and future plans were rooted in a particular category of merriment…joy, even. As a professional dreamer, she had always believed that it did no person good to waste precious moments of thought on what problems or obstacles might befall them in the future…
Well. 
Now she was wondering if perhaps she should have afforded herself a few minutes of negative-minded forethought. Even then she would never have seen this particular problem coming, but she might be more equipped to handle it. 
“Oh, what ARE you going to do, Anne?” Diana teases, fussing about Anne’s dress collar like a mother hen. The action reminds Anne distinctly of Marilla. Being reminded of Marilla makes her heart ache a little, as it always does. 
“Why should she do anything? “ Josie scoffs, punching the pillow in her lap. “It’s not written anywhere that she has to give them an answer.” 
“If only there were something written down to tell me what I should do!” Anne groans, collapsing sideways into Diana’s lap. 
“Are you going to tell Gilbert about it?” Ruby gasps, looking both horrified and intrigued by the idea.
Sitting up, Anne hisses, “Of course not!” at the exact same moment a deeper voice rings from the doorway: “Tell me what?”
Gilbert.
There he is, dark hair a little messy from the journey and sweet grin warming her like a ray of sunshine. She takes note of the shadowy circles under his eyes, the barely concealed tension of his shoulders—his letters have articulated the intensity of his teachers and their seemingly never-ending train of assignments all too well. No doubt he is hardly eating enough, and staying up all night to study!
As the elected Watchwoman, Tillie peeks out the door and gives the girls a military-esque nod. Almost like they’ve rehearsed it, everyone rearranges themselves on the duvet so Gilbert can sit next to Anne. 
“Tell me what?” he asks again, nodding to their friends (or, as they cleverly insisted to their resident denmother, Anne’s cluster of chaperones). 
“It’s nothing, nothing at all,” she fibs—terribly, from the look he’s giving her.
“Anne’s gotten quite popular lately is all.”
“Josie!!” Cheeks reddening, Anne throws the closest thing she can reach at the chortling girl—which, incidentally, is Gilbert’s hat. Good thing he’s used to such behavior; or perhaps he’s just distracted by his own confusion. 
To her credit, poor Ruby gives her best attempt at damage control. “What Josie means is, we go out sometimes—not to anywhere strange of course! Just to church, and the bookstore, and sometimes Anne makes us all go a field or a lake to read poetry, and well, there are men there—but not strange men!”
“Men with questionable taste,” Josie chortles, hiding from Anne’s glare behind the throw pillow.
“Oh, stop being so childish!” Leaning over Anne’s lap, Diana says matter-of-factly, “When we go out, men find Anne very interesting and pretty and charming, so they often come by the school and ask for her. Sometimes they leave notes or little gifts. That’s all.”
Hands flying up to shield her face, Anne decides now would be the perfect time to die. 
“Oh.” 
Peeking out from between her fingers, she sneaks a look at Gilbert. He doesn’t seem upset…he doesn’t seem anything, actually. He’s doing that thing with his mouth that reminds her of a frog, which is adorable but also very nerve-wracking. 
There’s a moment of silence before Diana, bless her, breaks it. “What is that outside?”
Tillie tilts her head quizzically, then: “Oh! Yes! Let’s take a look!”
As if on cue, all four girls race to the window, peering out the glass with intense interest. Anne would be grateful if her emotional well had room for anything other than an overflow of embarrassment. 
“Well…” Gently, his hands tug her own away from her face, bringing them down to her lap. The callouses from the long summer days working for Bash still coat his palms, and she risks letting him intertwine their fingers. 
“I promise I would never—I know we’re courting, everyone should know, you visit so often—not often enough of course, but that’s—it’s not like I’m asking for their attention, I don’t know why they would even—if it were proper to yell in public I would--it’s because of my hair, you see, it’s behaving better lately and I suppose that suits me--”
“Anne.” Dimples deepening, he gives her hand a squeeze. “I know you hate when I interrupt, but I think I have to. I don’t mind if other people show interest in you. In fact, I sort of expected it. There’s a lot about you to be interested about. And even if they’re the richest, handsomest, smartest men in town—in the world—I’m not worried.”
Someone by the window that sounds suspiciously like Ruby makes an “eep!” sound, quickly followed by several shushes.
His eyes are so dark and warm, she feels like going swimming in them. Gathering up the remnants of her pride, she tries, “Oh? And why is that, then?” 
He smiles that smile that’s her favorite, the one that somehow reminds her how little and yet also how much she knows. Glancing over at their audience, he leans closer (too close to keep them out of trouble if the headmistress walks in) and lowers his voice:
“Because when you decided to let me belong to you, Anne, I decided to love you so soundly that you will be finished. I made up my mind long ago to ruin all men for you—and most women, if I can help it.” 
Of there’s one thing Anne is good at, it’s words. And yet, after hearing such a thing, she has never felt so speechless.
With them, there has always been a quippy sort of back-and-forth. Some would even say a battle of wits, classified by a precocious pretention that only the other could match. But the true beauty of it, the beauty she hadn’t noticed until it was almost too late, is that everything between them was sincere. Even now, the way he’s looking at her makes her feel so chosen, in the most delicious way. And that is one of the things she loves most about Gilbert. Even though he’s a pen ink and fresh earth sort of man rather than a sunbursts and marble halls sort of man, he can string together the most magic, romantical words in the world at the drop (or, throw) of a hat, and mean them. 
Letting go of her hands, Gilbert runs his own through his hair in a bashful manner that makes him seem much younger than he is. “Was that too cheeky of me?” 
Heavy footsteps in the hall prevent her from answering. Gilbert leaps to his feet and leaps three feet to the left as the girls rush from the window to pile next to Anne, spines straight and hands folded innocently in their laps. Right as the door opens, Diana tosses Gilbert his hat, which he stuffs under his arm just in time. 
Gilbert’s sailing through polite small talk with the headmistress and Tillie & Josie are making teasing comments under their breaths. But Anne’s not listening. Instead, she’s spending these precious moments of imagination plotting what divinely romantical, swoonworthy things she can say to Gilbert in her next letter. 
After all, she’s got to make sure to ruin all women for him as well—and men too, if she can help it. 
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