#had frost warning last week so don’t worry I’m not behind

[darkwood-sleddog]

Hmmm…what kind of plant is growing in my garden??

[steveslevis]

‘tis the damn season

AUTUMN

chapter contents/warnings: exes to whatever the hell this is, a little bit of smut, angst, weed and alcohol use, mutual pining, steve is an idiot and is afraid of commitment </3, barely proofread (sowwy)

w/c: 5.3k

The first big frost of the season blankets the town of Hawkins when you arrive on Wednesday night, the bits of ice glittering on the orange and brown leaves making the barren streets seem less intimidating as you make your way through your hometown for the first time in months. 

There’s a sense of anticipation and dread that fills your stomach while navigating the streets you know so well, knowing you’re going to be asked the same mundane questions about college in the big city a thousand times over during the next three weeks. You know that’s not the only thing filling you with dread for the weeks to come, but keep telling yourself that’s all you have to worry about — right?

The first evening you arrive in town is jam-packed, since your friends insisted on having a so-called “Friends-giving-mas” as the night that you arrived, due to your anticipated absence on the aforementioned Christmas. You spend a few hours with your mom and dad before leaving, enlisting your mom to help you make some cookies for the party, promising you’d leave her and your dad some behind. 

The clock hits 7 p.m. and you’re finally finished getting ready, having just thrown on a red velvet, long sleeved dress that hit just above your knees and your best black boots, Robin had requested everyone to look their best so she could take photos with her new camera throughout the party. You grabbed your secret santa gift and jacket, checking yourself in the mirror one last time before leaving your room. 

“Alright, I’m leaving.” you call out as you bound down the stairs and into the kitchen.

“Don’t forget your cookies, sweetheart! They’re on the table.” she replied from her place next to your dad on the couch, watching some rom-com while he was dozing beside her, “if you need us to come pick you up, we will.”

You let out a laugh at her remark, knowing that you were only walking to the next house over on the road, so picking you up would be ridiculous. 

“Oh, I think I’ll manage just fine.” you joke in return while grabbing the plate of cookies, “love you guys!”

—————————

The outside of the Harrington’s house is gleefully lit with warm string lights, wreaths already adorning the front windows and main door to the house in anticipation of Christmas in a few weeks. You always admired the way their house looked during the holidays, but knew it was only a cheery facade to hide the dysfunction that lay within the halls of the residence.

You knew the family all too well, having grown up next to Steve your entire life. You were the same age as him, grew up attending all the same parties as him, but ran in completely different circles than him — well, up until your senior year of high school at least. 

Long story short, being best friends with Robin led to you ultimately becoming so-called friends with Steve Harrington as well. The two of you had what you now called a stupid summer fling before you left for Chicago in August, but the rest was history. The two of you had agreed to stay civil and not let the remnants of any unresolved feelings come between your friendship and the rest of the friend group.

So here you were, knocking on Steve Harrington’s front door on a random Wednesday in late November, cookies in hand as you stood there, shivering. You faintly hear Robin say that she would get the door, then hear footsteps pad towards the entrance. 

You’re greeted by your best friend with the strongest hug you swear you’ve ever experienced, and you feel like you might not ever be let go if she has anything to say about it.

“Oh my god! I missed you so much.” Robin exclaims, the widest grin on her face as she grabs for your hand, “everyone’s in here, we’re just waiting on Nance and Jonathan then we’ll be ready to eat but come in! I have so much to tell you about everything you don’t even know—” 

You follow behind her wordlessly, smiling to yourself as she rambles on about college applications and band and Vickie — who just so happened to be in the kitchen helping finish making the mashed potatoes so you had to be quiet — and everything that she can think to fit in a conversation to catch her best friend up on after months without. She leads you to the dining room after dropping off the cookies, where you hear two familiar voices having a very passionate conversation. 

“I’m telling you, man, I’m cursed—“

“You’re not cursed, Harrington. I’m telling you, you’re just looking in the wrong place for love.” Eddie retorts to his frustrated friend, rolling his eyes at him.

“Oh yeah? And where should I be looking?” Steve snorts, haphazardly tossing forks, knives and spoons atop the napkin at each seat of the table.

“I’ve been saying ever since what happened this summer, you should be going after — oh shit, Y/N!” Eddie interjects, cutting himself off when you trail in behind Robin.

The metalhead pulls you in for a bear hug, whispering in your ear about how he promises not to ask you boring questions about college like everyone else. As you’re being engulfed in his embrace, you hear the sound of silverware tumbling to the ground from the other side of the table, followed by a string of mumbled curse words from the dropper.

You pull away from Eddie’s hug to look at where the noise is coming from, only to see Steve fumbling with a fork and spoon while trying to stand up from where he was just kneeling. Your gaze lingers on him for a moment too long, taking in everything about him that you told yourself you didn’t miss. Eddie gives you a knowing look and you roll your eyes, knowing that he’s trying to tell you to not make things weird, so you try your best.

“Stevie, how are you?” you call to him while walking around the table, putting on the best oblivious and excited face that you can.

“H-Hey, Y/N.” Steve says, feigning coolness as he pulls you in for a quick hug, nearly stumbling over his words when you use the nickname you always loved to tease him with, “I didn’t know you were coming tonight.” 

His eyes flicker over to Robin momentarily, who shoots him a guilty grin before mouthing ‘sorry’ over your shoulder.

“Yeah, it was kinda last minute on my part, I just so happened to be coming home tonight since my finals were all at the beginning of the week. I kinda forced Rob to tell me when it would be so I could crash it,” you lie, trying to throw the blame on yourself instead of her, “sorry if I messed anything up, I-I’ll lay low and won’t eat if that messes up numbers or something—“

“No!” Steve rushes to retort, shaking his head at you adamantly, “I mean, shit—sorry. No, you’re not messing anything up at all, you know you’re always welcome here.” 

The smile on Steve’s face is genuine as he speaks, but there’s a glint of sadness in his eyes while he scans yours for any sign of hesitancy. You give him a small smile in return, quickly moving your gaze from his to push down that sinking feeling in your chest you know is coming. Your chest aches as you focus your eyes downward, realizing that this night would be a lot harder than you had convinced yourself that it would be. 

“Well!” Robin interjects, interrupting the growing awkward silence filling the air of the dining room where you stood. She reached for your hand while smiling over at you sympathetically, beginning to drag you towards the kitchen as she spoke, “gotta go say hello to everyone else before dinner!”

Your best friend whirled you around to the rest of the guests–which was just Nancy, Jonathan, and Vickie–who were all in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on the meal. 

A slew of awkward questions about Chicago ensued in the moments leading up to and during dinner, but you took them in stride as they distracted you from the bright eyed boy across the table who kept sneaking glances in your direction any chance he got. You explained your major, what you did for work outside of class time, and talked about all the new friends you met in the short few months you’d been gone. You could’ve sworn Steve’s jaw clenched at the mention of a date you went on prior to leaving for break, but you didn’t put too much thought into it. 

Dinner goes by fairly quickly, and then it’s time for Secret Santa gifts in the living room. Robin begged everyone to participate, and even went through the effort of making sure you and Steve didn’t get each other, partly to not ruin the surprise of you being here and partly to diminish any awkwardness that might arise from it. 

You had drawn Jonathan’s name, so you gifted him a few rolls of different camera film. Each person had to guess who their Secret Santa was, but apparently your gift was pretty obvious since he hadn’t been able to find any film like it anywhere near Hawkins, so he guessed you first. 

Your turn rolled around and a small red gift bag was sat in your lap. You immediately knew who your gift was from, halfway from the grin plastered on his face and halfway from the smell lingering from inside the back in your hands. 

“Thank you, Eddie.” you giggle out while pulling out four perfectly rolled blunts from the gift bag, courtesy of the best dealer in Hawkins.

“It’s always a pleasure,” he jabs back, “we can fire one up after presents if you’d like.” 

You nod quickly at him, grinning widely before turning back to the circle where Robin was handing out gifts.

—————————

It’s not long before drinks are flowing and laughter is spilling through the Harrington residence, something that’s happened very few times within those halls. The night seems to go by too quickly, you notice how quickly when you check and it says 11 P.M. already, even though it feels like you’ve only been there a few hours. You’re sitting on the couch with Robin and Vickie, giggling their way through a story about some guy in the Hawkins band, when the sight of the back door sliding open and closed catches your eye. 

You turn your gaze to see Steve stalking into the cold on his own, head turned down as he walks towards one of the ice-slicked pool chairs on the deck. A frown passes over your face as you furrow your brows, excusing yourself from the couple on the couch as you slip outside to follow him with your bottle of wine, one of your newly gifted blunts and a lighter in hand. 

It’s the last thing you should be doing tonight, really. You shouldn’t be following Steve Harrington – the man who was too afraid to say he loved you and too afraid to commit to you – onto the porch. You should’ve stayed inside and drank some more wine with the rest of them and let yourself cut loose for once, but you just couldn’t do it. You just had to talk to him – you weren’t so sure what you wanted to talk about, but you just felt the need to.

“You alright?” was all you could slip out as you closed the sliding glass door, watching the brown haired boy from afar, making sure you weren’t making the wrong decision.

“Yeah–Yeah, just needed a little bit of fresh air.” Steve stammered, eyes widening for only a moment when he notices that it’s you that followed him outside.  

You only hum in response, stepping closer to him as you sense no annoyance or anger in his voice, finding a spot on the chilled pool chair next to his. After setting down the bottle of wine you’d been nursing throughout the night, you took the blunt you’d brought as a peace offering between your fingers and waved it in front of his face.

Steve looked up for a moment, gaze shifting between the blunt between your fingers and your lips that curled up into a mischievous yet friendly smirk. His own lips perked up in a lopsided smile, raising an eyebrow at you when you brought the blunt to your lips, followed by the lighter.

“Would you like to partake?” you joke while puffing smoke through your lips, mixing with the cold puffs of breath coming from Steve’s. 

“I’ll never say no to that,” he retorts, reaching to grab the blunt from your fingers. 

There’s a breath of comfortable silence between the two of you as he inhales, then lets out a long exhale before focusing his gaze back onto the pool in front of him, onto the ice forming on the pool cover as a way to avoid your eyes. 

“So, how’s the Stevie Harrington been faring since I’ve been gone?” you joked after a moment more of the quiet, shoving any nerves down that were threatening to force you to run back inside. 

Awful, utterly dull and extremely depressing, was what Steve wanted to say. 

He wanted to tell you how he fucked up so badly, how he hasn’t been the same since the last time he saw you, how he hasn’t even been able to look at anyone without thinking of you. He wanted to grab you by the cheeks and pull you in for a kiss and never let go. He wanted to scream and tell you how much he regretted ever letting you leave without knowing how he really felt, but he couldn’t now. It was too late, so he just said; “Oh, y’know. I’ve been fine. Just the same shit, different day.”

Steve wanted to kick himself for saying something so lame, something so uninteresting when the most interesting person in the world was sitting right in front of him. 

“Does ‘same shit, different day’ just mean you’re stuck being the same old chauffeur-babysitter you’ve been for the last two years?” you tease, reaching down to grab the bottle of wine at your feet. 

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.” Steve chuckled, giving you a warm smile as he took another puff. 

It only took a few moments to finally break the ice between the two of you, then things fell right back into place, right back into a comfortable normalcy. There was something that put you so at ease being outside with him, being able to talk to him without the looming thought of who would be the first to say “I love you” or who would be the first to leave waving over both of your heads. 

The next hour went by in a breeze, and it seemed the party inside died down by the time the two of you decided to walk back in. Steve closed the sliding glass door behind you two and you noticed only Eddie and Robin were left standing in the living room. Vickie was presumably in the guest bed, where Robin was about to head to. Jonathan and Nancy had left twenty minutes prior, only popping their heads out to say a quick goodbye before driving off.

Robin said a quick goodnight to you before heading up the stairs, along with a promise to see you tomorrow for a girl’s day. Then, it was just you, Eddie and Steve in the living room, Eddie at the couch setting up his bed for the night while the two of you stood in silence by the sliding glass door still. 

“I–I guess I should probably head home for the night,” you say, breaking the silence between the three of you as you start towards your bag and coat on the other side of the room.

“Why don’t you just stay?” Steve interjects a little too loudly, the weed and wine in his system instilling some false confidence in him. “It’s so cold out and I’m sure at this point your parents already think you’re staying anyways.”

You stop on your toes at Steve’s voice, cheeks heating at how interested he sounded in you staying there for the night. It’s not like it was a far and dangerous walk, Steve just wanted an excuse to be around you for longer. You turn around to look at him, then to Eddie, who was giving you a tired smile.

“We can have a sleepover on the couch,” Eddie chuckles, reaching for one of the pillows he was setting out for himself to move it to the other side of the couch for you. 

“I don’t have any clothes,” you suggest, looking down at your velvet dress that would be extremely uncomfortable to sleep in. 

“Oh, I’m sure Stevie has some clothes that you can sleep in!” Eddie says, shooting a smirk in his direction.

“O–Of course I do, I’m sure I still have your favorite pajama pants up there if you want them.” Steve says hurriedly, as if you would change your mind if he didn’t answer quickly enough.

You give the two of them a smile, pretending to contemplate the decision for a moment before nodding. You could’ve sworn you heard Steve let out a breath of relief at your nod, but he turned towards the stairs before you could acknowledge it. Without a word, you follow right behind him up the stairs, slowly realizing the effects of the cherry wine and weed are coming to the surface. 

Steve steps into his bedroom and you follow behind him, a situation the two of you knew all too well. 

—————————

You don’t know what led to this, but there you were, in Steve’s bedroom, him towering over your space on his bed as he pulled you in for a heated kiss. Tongue against teeth, hands against cheeks, legs tangled together, just like they were meant to be. 

This wasn’t supposed to happen, you swore to yourself you wouldn’t come crawling back every time you were in town, but here you were. 

Somehow coming upstairs for a stupid pair of pajamas led to Steve giving you that look of lust and utter desire, led to you becoming a willing participant in his games once again after swearing you would never touch him again, led to you letting him sneak his way into your heart – and pants – yet again. 

Your head is spinning as he kisses you, his lips slotted into yours like they belonged there, a perfect fit. You’re unsure if it’s the wine, the weed or the sheer yearning that’s making you feel like this, but you don’t want it to stop any time soon. 

There’s a gnawing feeling in your stomach when Steve props his knee up on the bed next to your hip, you know you should stop before he gets any further, but the ache between your thighs is outweighing any thought of what would come after he spreads you open. 

Steve groans into your mouth when you pull him closer, fingers intertwining with and tugging the hair at the nape of his neck, and you only smirked against his lips in satisfaction. You knew everything about the boy who was turning to a puddle just from the touch of your fingers. You knew exactly how to make him tick, and him the same for you.

“Fuck,” Steve breathes when he finally pulls away from you, full lips parted as he stares down at you. There’s a twinkle in his eye that you haven’t seen in so long, one you used to mistake for love but now only know to be pure lust. “I–I’m sorry I just, I need–I need you.”

You stare at the desperate, doe-eyed man in front of you for a long moment, mind wandering to a place of fear as you think about what you’re about to do. 

Instead of saying anything in reply, you close the space between the two of you once again, smashing your lips into his in a feverish and bruising kiss. Steve is on you in an instant, gently pushing you back and up on the bed, letting your head fall on his pillows. You can tell by the way he stumbles on his way up to you that he’s intoxicated — on the weed or the wine, or you, you’re not sure — but you soon realize that you are too.

A hand wanders toward the hem of Steve’s sweater, tugging at it quickly as he pulls away from the bruising kiss. He wastes no time in pulling the cable-knit up and over his head, tossing it to the side while sitting up on his knees to take you the sight of you in. Your skin was hot and your eyes were blown with lust, cheeks flushed and lips parted as you stared up at him.

You’d only been under him for a minute and had completely folded to his touch. You cursed yourself for letting your inhibitions crumble so quickly, but another part of you didn’t actually care, the same part of you that wanted to claim him as yours forever. 

Steve’s eyes trailed over you, from your cheeks to the low neckline of your dress, over the curve of your hips, ending on your thighs spread on either side of his knees. The crushed velvet of your skirt bunched where your leg met your hip, letting the fabric ride up enough for Steve to see exactly what he was searching for. 

He sucked in a breath at the sight of your white lace underwear beneath, having to hold himself back from diving in right that second.

“You’re so beautiful,” he groaned, hands tracing over your hip bones while lowering his lips to yours once again.

A moan falls from your lips as his meet yours, his knee coming up between your thighs, creating friction against your core.

“Fuck—Stevie,” you say, choking back a pitiful whine while grinding against his thigh desperately, “please, I need you.”

You swear you hear Steve nearly choke at your words, three words he’d been dying to hear from you for months. 

“I know, I know, baby.” he coos at you, trying to keep his cool as he strains against his pants, “I’ll take care of you.”

You nod feverishly as he leans down to pepper kisses along your neck, taking his sweet time while trying not to get drunk off the scent of you.

“This—This doesn’t mean anyth—this doesn’t change anything,” he stammers between kisses, peering up at you as he speaks, “we can still stay close—keep being friends after this.”

You hum in agreement, ignoring the dread building in your gut as you do. You want to be more than friends, you want to scream at him until he admits that he loves you too. But he nearly said it doesn’t mean anything, so you’re convinced he wants nothing to do with you after tonight, nothing but a friend to laugh with and a pretty face to fuck on every break from college. 

You push the thoughts from your mind, focusing on the boy in front of you as his hands begin to massage your inner thighs, inching closer and closer to your core with every circle. Steve chuckles lowly as you let out a whine of anticipation, teasing you silently as he gives in to your desires.

Steve knows your body like he knows his own, so what comes after pulling off your dress is nearly second nature to him. One large hand trails to the waistband of your underwear while the other reaches for your breast, nipple peaked from the exposure to the cold air conditioning. You moan in surprise when he wastes no time in putting his mouth to work on your other nipple, tugging your underwear down your legs simultaneously. 

His fingers immediately fall to your core once you’re free of the underwear, fingertips circling the bundle of nerves at the top as you let out another whimper. 

His moves are careful but quick, he knows you want to waste no more time, and you’ll whine about his teasing if he doesn’t act soon. 

He’s out of his boxers in an instant, one hand keeping contact with your clit as he situates himself above you.

“You look so good like this, sweetheart.” Steve says, voice low as his eyes raked over your body, “so pretty spread out for me, all fucked out for me even though I’ve barely touched you.”

“Stevie…” you whimper, reaching a hand up to him, but he pulls from your reach with a smirk across his face.

“Tell me what you want from me,” he says, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek as he lines himself up with your slick, teasing the tip against you slowly.

“I—I need you, Steve.” you beg, cheeks flushing at the admittance, “I need you to fuck me, please.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” he retorts with a smirk, sliding into you with ease.

You both let out a low moan as he bottoms out, filling you in a way you haven’t felt in a long time. You forgot how thick he was in the time you’d been gone, your body wasn’t used to the stretch of his cock inside you, but it still felt like he was meant to be there. Like he was the only one who could make you feel this way.

And you were right, nobody could make you feel that way. Nobody else could touch you and make you fall apart in less than five minutes like he could. Nobody else could get you so riled up over a few praises thrown in with some condescension (which you embarrassingly loved too much) like he could. Nobody could hold off from cumming long enough to give you three orgasms before getting one of their own like he could. 

Nobody did it like he could.

This doesn’t mean anything you repeat in your mind, clinging to his arm like your life depended on it after the two of you calmed your breathing and cleaned up. You weren’t sure if you were repeating those words to convince yourself or to ease your own mind about what just went down, but you knew they stung your heart more than any fighting words the two of you had ever exchanged.

“I missed this, cuddling with you, holdin’ you like this.” was all he slurred out against your hair, pressing a sleepy kiss into the crown of your head.

“Yeah, me too.” you mumble in return, accepting the warmth of his embrace as sleep finally took you in, ignoring the gnawing pain growing in your chest.

—————————

The spice of Steve’s cologne mixes with the familiar scent of his room, filling your senses when you wake, nearly sending you into a panic. You sit upright in the bed, turning to face the boy you claimed you wanted nothing to do with romantically just a few hours ago. Steve is sleeping peacefully next to you, plush lips parted and brows furrowed as he subconsciously pouts about the loss of your touch. The alarm clock behind him read 2:03 A.M., meaning you hadn’t been out for too long, but long enough to sober you up somehow. 

Shit. Shit. Shit. I gotta get out of here. Is all you can think as you stumble out from under the comforter, knowing you would never live it down if anyone found you’d slept in his bed, especially with your limbs entangled like they just were. You quickly dress in the clothes you’d originally come into the bedroom to fetch, and snuck out of the bedroom without a sound. 

Before making it to the living room, you turned toward the dimly lit kitchen for a glass of water. What you weren’t expecting to be faced with in the kitchen was Eddie, but there he was, leaning against the counter with disheveled hair that probably mirrored your own. 

“What a night so far, huh?” he jokes as you shoot him a knowing glare while trudging across the tiled floor. 

“Don’t even start with me, Munson.” you warn, absentmindedly reaching your hand up to the cabinet for a glass while shaking your head.

“Woah, don’t get that attitude with me! I didn’t say anything,” he laughs, setting his own glass into the sink, “but that also doesn’t mean I didn’t hear anything.”

“You did not,” you snap back, eyes wide and cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he gives you a shit-eating grin, “there’s no way you heard anything because nothing happened.”

“You’ve always been such a bad liar, Y/N.” Eddie laughs, stepping out of the kitchen to walk towards the living room where the two of you would be sleeping. 

A sigh escapes your lips when Eddie leaves, letting you be alone with your thoughts finally. There was an ache in your chest that wasn’t going away any time soon, and it was in that moment that you wondered if you would ever be able to get over Steve Harrington, or if you would be in a continuous cycle of hurt and comfort for the rest of your damned life.

You collected your thoughts as you downed a glass of water, throwing back two ibuprofens with the last chug for good measure, before finding your way back to the living room. Eddie was on his side on the long side of the L-shaped couch, leaving the shorter side for you to sleep on. His eyes were closed as you laid down with your feet next to his own, but you knew he wasn’t asleep yet. 

“I won’t tell anyone, I promise.” you heard through the darkness after turning off the table lamp once you were settled.

“I know.” you sigh in return, staring up at the ceiling that was only lit by the streetlights flowing in from outside. “I just don’t want to live like this forever, I–I can’t keep being the secret that Steve is too embarrassed to talk about.”

“He’s not embarrassed of you,” Eddie said, voice barely above a whisper, just loud enough for you to hear, “he’s just afraid of fucking everything up even more than he already has.”

If only he could say that to my face, then maybe I’d believe it, you thought to yourself, chest tightening at just the thought of the brown-eyed boy who was fast asleep upstairs. 

You don’t reply to Eddie, unsure of what to say back, unsure of what you could squeak out without breaking down. 

“Goodnight, Eds,” is all you say in return, though you know you won’t be getting any sleep. 

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

—————————

After falling asleep for all of fifty minutes around 5 in the morning, you decided you had to leave. 

The entirety of the almost four hours you laid on Steve’s couch consisted of staring at the ceiling and fighting off tears while thinking about how you regretted everything you said and did over the last twelve hours. 

Coming to the Harrington house was a mistake, even stepping foot back in Hawkins was feeling like a mistake at this point. 

The only words repeating in your mind were This doesn’t mean anything. This doesn’t mean anything. This doesn’t mean anything.

You eventually had enough of the self-loathing and inability to sleep, so it was time to go. It was time to hastily change out of the pajamas that smelled too much like the boy you loved too hard, and time to go collapse in your own bed. There was no telling if you’d actually fall asleep once you made it there, but that was beside the point.

It was when you finally made it back to your parent’s house, to your childhood bedroom, that you swore that you wouldn’t see Steve Harrington again for the rest of Thanksgiving break, and hopefully would avoid seeing him again for a long while, for the sake of saving yourself from another heartbreak.

---------

tags: @carinacassiopeiae

[seikkoi]

ꜱᴜɢᴀʀ | dom!tony stark x sugarbaby!reader ( ᴄʀɪᴍᴇ!ᴀᴜ )

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ꜰɪᴠᴇ [1, 2, 3, 4] | ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3

There was nothing that could keep Tony from having exactly what he wanted—and he deserved a little sweetness in his life. All he had to do was keep from ruining you in the process.

content/warnings: 18+ minors do not interact. non-canon, non-superhero au, sub/dom undertones, slight emotional/verbal manipulation, obsessive + possessive behavior, age gap (reader described as mid-twenties, t.s as mid-forties), mildly dubious consensual situations, explicit mentions of alcohol and drug use, generally not for the light of heart, rough sexual content, reader described as petite word count: 9.8k

There isn’t any conversation surrounding Pepper’s visit, or the divorce, but it’s all around you regardless.

Random items disappear from the penthouse–a Pollock (your present takes its place), some throw pillows from the study, and a few Turkish ceramics you never knew existed. The phone rings far more than you care for. Tony has far more meetings than you care for. A bespeckled lawyer and his blonde associate nearly become housemates, spending hours behind the frosted glass door. Natasha makes a few appearances as well, which confuses you the most. You find the spice in her perfume too bold.

On her third exit in as many weeks, you question Tony on it. He absently traces patterns on your calves, seemingly not paying attention to you or the film on screen. 

“Should I be worried?” you hide your sincerity behind a glass of wine, twirling the stem between your fingers. The red liquid mirrors the motion inside, spidering against the walls.

“About Natasha?” he asks incredulously. 

“Yes,” you draw out, “and you–all of it, really.” 

“Now why on Earth would you be worrying about me?” 

You would love to point out the obvious and address the building-sized elephant in the room that says  ‘you’re recently sober and just got a divorce’ but the look on his face tells you it’s unnecessary. 

Tony finds a way to answer the unasked anyways. 

“It’s a shit ton of paperwork, and signing things, so it’s annoying, yes but I am fine. Scouts honor.” 

He kisses your hand and grins with all the confidence in the world. It’s so fucking arcane each time–close to magic in how it undos every worry and mirrors his gleam. 

You wished it had more permanent effects. Something long-lasting and memorable. Easy to spread over the evening and into the early morning hours, when he’s inconsolable in your arms. You could turn it back into magic words. Banish whatever miasma racked his body and go back to peaceful nights (because you had those at some point, right?).

Being able to ask the hard questions doesn’t mean shit if the answer’s always a dismissive work of fiction. You never learned what caused their separation, or sent ‘everything to shit’ as Tony put it. Not because you didn’t ask, no that question came the same night Pepper did.  Apparently it’s the same driver of every modern American divorce–money. Tony summarizes the event as a fatal disagreement over corporate shares, though like always you feel you’re being told an official story. Clean cut with all messy details chopped away. 

“You don’t have a signature stamp at this point?” you joke.

“Oh no,” Tony’s hands brace your ankles to pull you closer, “ every squiggle needs to be authentic and fresh.”

“Right, how could I assume anything less.” Your eyes roll but you let your legs drape over his lap. 

“Seriously, I’m doing fine–things will calm back down soon.” A gentle squeeze drives the point home. 

A thought crosses your mind. An insecurity, really, but one you haven’t let go since meeting Pepper.

“If it’s like, I don’t know,” you hesitate under Tony’s raised eyebrow, “–I can head back to my apartment if it’s too much.”

Stark Industries was still footing the bill even though you spent less than 10 hours there in the last two months. There’s a fear in overstaying your welcome, or whatever it is you were doing here. Either way, you figured it was less than ideal to have your girlfriend around during a divorce. 

“If what’s too much?” 

“I don’t know, if you need your space right now or–” you answer exasperatedly.

“Honey,” he gives a hearty laugh, “if I ever start asking for space, call a doctor.”

All resistance becomes futile.

You keep your apartment (for unnecessary security), but more time lapses between visits. You issue a long overdue farewell to bartending. Even being driven, the commute to that side of town is hellish and the whole thing got more pointless with each day. You drank in the fruits of this life, but not without a tiny bit of unease. It’s unease that you bury down under all the other feelings. The affection, the simplicity, the serenity. So you swap mixers for paintbrushes and solitude for the man you love. 

Other subtle changes require a quicker adjustment, but you’re getting dangerously good at adapting. With Tony’s birthday past, you recognize a pattern to Harley’s visits. Every three months like clockwork. You begin to anticipate them well enough, and start appreciating his occasional presence during your early morning tea. By his third appearance, you brew two cups.

On the first visit he barely utters a word. You were ready for some witty insult that never came, and offered him a cup in silence. You want to ask why he arrives so early just to sit in his father’s kitchen, but opt for peace instead. 

Once Pepper’s placard is gone in the parking garage and Natasha stops showing up (at all hours of the day, atleast), he’s there a second time. 

“How he’s doing with the,” he trails off, peering at you over an empty mug as the sun starts to break. He doesn’t need to motion at the empty space for you to pick up his meaning.

The official story is dancing on your tongue. The one you’ve told two times over at this point (Jarvis, Natasha). He's perfectly fine, better even. It was a piece of cake then, but now you can’t seem to look Harvey in the eye and speak in half-truths. 

“Honestly,” you sigh, “Good–not good, I don’t know.”  You were dying under  the irony of it all. Consoling Tony in the darkness of morning and then watching him make million dollar deals by noon. You don’t know how he’s managing any of it, and if any of this qualifies as okay. 

Green eyes blink slowly through an overgrown fringe. Barbers were clearly scarce in the last three months, wherever he spent them. Exhaustion forces a yawn before he speaks again, pinching his nose. 

“Figured as much.” Harley stands for the sink.

He goes through the labor of washing the ebony cup, a rare quirk amongst the obscenely rich. You’d learned they are very reliant upon their quiet servants. You wondered if he did it out of modesty or good manners.  

“Do you know why they separated?” If he was in the mood to talk about Tony, you weren’t going to pass up the chance.

“Uh, something with the company, her share or whatever. Always about the money with them.” he answers casually, tossing a look over his shoulder. 

It’s genuine enough, but all too similar to the rehearsed lines. You half-expected him to call you nosy. 

“No real loss there.” Harley adds, a hint of disdain in his voice

“Not a fan I take it?” The flimsy tag finally crumbling under your ministrations.

He chortles as he slumps back into the bar stool. 

“Pepper can be, uh,” A yawn and an eye rub take precedence, “overbearing, yeah that’s a good word for it.”

“Yeah, can’t imagine that worked well for Tony.” You murmur into your tea.

“Oh it most definitely did not.” Harley laughs again. “Not for a guy that does the opposite of whatever you tell him.”

His laugh is infectious (like father like son), and you smirk even though instead the mental picture makes you cringe. A lull passes between you. Outside, morning traffic begins, trickling upwards to interrupt the quiet. It cues Harley to get back to whatever it is he comes here to do, while you move on with the day. 

As an advantage of all the free time, you get to invest more time in your estranged friendships. Being around old friends turned out to be surprisingly good. You had anticipated more awkwardness, but there was something comforting about not having to wear a mask for once around someone besides your boyfriend. 

At this point, you slowly filled in a few close ones about your relationship with Tony. Clearly you were in this for the long haul, and keeping things under wraps was becoming futile. The general consensus was positive, thankfully. Obviously, that’s due to a great deal of details being omitted. The act left a sour taste in your mouth. Not from the content–how easy it was. You hated to repeat such behaviors, but it was less complicated this way. You wouldn’t have to labor through justifying your relationship, or hear concerns you didn’t already have. 

Tony’s reception was, oddly, less positive. He didn’t care much for your old ‘starving artist’ clique. He thought you should take advantage of his access to New York’s greatest–the real pioneers. It took little arguing from you for him to drop that thought entirely, and he conceded to just be happy to see you happy. 

Like good friends, they tease about your newfound love. One asks when they’ll get to meet ‘Mr. CEO’ and you have to brush it off casually. You like your worlds better separate. 

A sweltering autumn soon becomes frostbitten winter. This gives you less light to work with, resorting to find shuddering shoulders in complete darkness. You don’t think it’s worth searching for warmer pastures or a simpler life. No, you order a cashmere robe and get used to seeing by touch. 

Late nights in the tower turn out to be a great place to hone such skills. The halls are narrow and void of any windows, so you ghost the pads of your fingers around for customary shapes. A cushioned nook and a neglected book lull you into a nap one evening and you wake past the sunset. If you were able to sleep so late undisturbed, Tony must be preoccupied. You planned to tiptoe into the kitchen without a sound, but your ears catch words murmured behind the glass. The door is cracked slightly, just enough to let a streak of light breaks across the hardwood floor

“–fifteen, ten, maybe if we’re lucky.” 

The bespeckled man’s words are measured, precise as usual. You can almost picture his lips barely parting to utter syllables behind round-trim frames. 

“Jesus christ–the fuck am I paying you for? Because I am paying you, like a metric shit ton” 

At Tony’s voice, you press closer. 

“I’m not the idiot getting a divorce.”

“Okay, okay, let’s just stay focused here.” Natasha raises her voice above the two men, and you hear a chair drag across the office.

“Uh-uh, don’t think you’re getting off scot free–we wouldn’t even be having this conversation if you did your job a tad better too.” 

“I will say it was ‘lot easier to spread the financials between two people.” 

Social norms concerning privacy start to get to you, urging your feet to pivot and take you back upstairs. Your escape goes undetected, and you seek refuge in the shower. 

You wash the day away under warm jetstreams. Part of your mind is stuck replaying everything, wondering how he was handling it all, trying not to indulge in the urge to check the sink drawer. In a flash, you toss the thought away. It’s easy to not overthink at this hour. Especially when coconut vanilla soap tugs you back towards exhaustion. You make it back out to the bedroom, where you find Tony removing his shoes at the end of the bed.

He smiles at the crack of light from the bathroom. Tony’s days were getting longer while the rest of the hemisphere’s got shorter. He would say he missed when life was simple, but he can’t remember such a time. Life growing up was anything but simple, then the older he got the more it sucked out every ounce of his energy. Everything after became, well, everything after.

Picturing a new future keeps him going. One in a coastal city, something global like New York but much, much warmer. He fights the urge to picture your silhouette amongst the waves. It’s not guaranteed. He might find himself in this dreaded cycle all over again. Then his coconut scented fantasy would be tarnished. 

No, it’s better to cherish the present with you. Like right now, watching coconut scented water droplets descended down your legs and shoulders. Even though he knows he won’t be here long. Truly, he’d wish you weren’t awake,  knowing he’d have to leave soon.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” You teased, abandoning your towel as you pulled the dresser open.

He’s easy to rile up, and you know exactly what you’re doing–bending over slowly to pull your panties above your hips. You can’t help it when he stares like it’s his first time seeing you, every time. 

“Please don’t tempt me.” 

Tony’s voice is low, barely above a whisper. He’s unmoving on the edge of the bed, hands braced beside his thighs as his eyes follow the movements of your hands around lacy black fabric. Truly he’s perplexed. Who knew watching someone get dressed would be just as much of a turn-on. Or maybe it’s just you.

You toss one of his faded band tees on, and he thinks this might actually be better than any sun-soaked dream (it’s definitely just you). 

You cross the bedroom, the loose cotton brushing against your skin with each step. As you approach, you snake your arms around Tony's neck and straddle his lap. His large hands ghost up the smooth skin of your thighs, leaving a trail of warmth as they make their way to your back. The moment your skin touches his, Tony’s eyes lock onto yours, but you can tell his focus is elsewhere.

“What are you thinking about?” you ask softly, raking your hands through brown coils.

You assume his mind is still on the conversation downstairs, but the grin spreading on his face says otherwise. His lips move to pepper your exposed neck with kisses, still smiling.

“Really wanna know?” 

“Sure, hit me.”

The ghosts across your veins turn into full blown grazes. 

“You, in a bikini, drinking margaritas somewhere with no extradition laws.” 

You chuckle at the notion and swat his shoulder when his teeth find your pulse point. 

“Hey, you asked,” he laughs into your skin, gripping your hips tighter, “besides it’s your fault–’smell like I’m damn near there already.” 

Tony’s mouth turns hungrier and hungrier, moving feverishly across every exposed inch until the flesh is tender and you're panting in his lap. It’s just encouragement, so he doesn’t pause for a moment as his fingers slip behind your lace. They work at the wetness already ruining the fabric, dragging it across your length and making your shiver. 

Okay, sure, maybe another period of minimal alone time was getting to you, maybe. Sue me, you thought. Honestly, Tony should be more grateful to have such a willing partner–and you told him as much. Unfortunately, this elicited a need for Tony to instill a sense of gratitude in you.

In the next second, you're tossed onto your back, wrists pinned tightly above your head. His other hand pulls your panties down your legs and you try not to make a joke about the futility in getting dressed. Instead, you soak his weight against you, the roaming hand between your thighs and teeth on your neck. 

Marking you is the obvious goal-sucking harder with each breathy whimper. He wasn’t kidding earlier, either. You smelled good enough to devour and he intended on doing so. His danced along your folds, a cufflink scratching the supple skin at the top of your thigh.  They are never anywhere long enough to give you any real pleasure. Just to take more breath from your lungs and feeling from your legs. 

You squirm against vicuna dress pants, trying to gain more friction on his hand. Instead of catering to your needs, he stops all together and the noise you make is almost pathetic. Who are you kidding, it’s fully pathetic–it couldn’t have been over two weeks, and pleas can hardly form on your tongue for more. 

Tony reels back with a smirk that flips your stomach. A scheme is brewing behind darkened pupils. His eyes stay on you as his hand returns to your center, slow and heavy over your clit. 

He doesn’t relent when your wrists strain and hips buck against him. No, a tighter grip and knee over your hip hold you steady enough for his fingers to work faster. You want to chastise yourself for how much you missed this–then two fingers slide into you and there isn’t room to think of much else.

He moves quickly and silent, like a serpent, finding that perfect rhythm that makes your eyes flutter. Your soft moans fill the quiet space. He’s too steady, not changing a muscle as your peak comes closer. The most desperate you get, writing against his palm to get even one extra inch of depth, the slower he moves. 

“Did you have fun sneaking around?” 

Your eyes flutter open in the dim bedroom, Tony’s sly grin shining above you. It cuts straight through the fog of pleasure taking you over. 

“I don’t know what you’re–” you start to bluff. 

“You’re not very sneaky, you know? Or a good liar. That’s a particular skill set that you, my dear, sorely lack.”  Slow and teasing, he slides two fingers back into you.

“Okay, okay. Maybe I was eavesdropping a little.” He finally moves with purpose again, but of course not enough.

“A little? Let’s not start underrepresenting things, hm?” 

Before you can debate him further, he withdraws and you think you might honestly cry if this continues.

“Okay, point taken, would you please stop torturing me now?” 

“Now, why would I reward bad behavior?” he asked, lowering his gaze.

“If it helps, I wasn’t trying to.”

“It doesn’t.” 

His palms grip your hips, flipping you onto your stomach and lifting your waist upwards. The sudden movement leaves you breathless, searching for balance on your forearms until they’re pulled behind your back. 

“You know exactly which nerve to press, don’t you?” he breathes into the base of your neck, chest flush to your back as he hands work at his zipper.

How ironic, considering he spends the next hour tuning your body like an instrument. Knowing exactly where to press, where to ease off, until you finally unlock, bare and moaning into the mattress.

Afterwards, you fall asleep to the steady beat of his heart. 

You’re half way to sleep when Tony slinks out of your arms. At first, you don’t bother stirring. Then, the soft draw of the dresser catches your ear. 

You flip over onto your stomach to get a better view. You watch Tony’s shadowy figure attempt to quietly dress. For a rare sight, he abandons the tailored suit for dark Levis and a t-shirt. It hardly looks like him, in the best way possible (ignoring the obvious question of where the hell he planned on going in that. Less larger-than-life, more real. This, now this was someone you can imagine running into at the grocery store. The sharp edges of his suits always added a degree of gravitas to everything.

“Where are you off to?”

“Going to see a man about a horse.” 

He leans down for a bright smile and a quick kiss before he leaves, and you let sleep suppress any thoughts about what that could possibly mean.

You awake to a sun that has long outran the horizon. The sheer curtains were already pulled back, with the smell telling you Jarvis made a feast for breakfast. Tony’s side is empty. Which is no surprise there, but you don’t expect him at the kitchen table. 

He grins behind a newspaper as you approach. Jarvis is busy with the espresso machine, muttering curses under his breath. 

“Tell me, what are your thoughts on cyclamen–oo, or actually, narcissus, yeah, that’s better.” Tony asks like you've been having some sort of conversation before five seconds ago.

Jarvis clicks the tamper in with a satisfied click as you stare back confused. You’re two blinks away from falling back asleep and desperately craving something stronger than green tea. 

“What are you-Is-Are those restaurants?” 

“Oh, morning ma’am. Shall I prepare you a tea, perhaps breakfast?” Jarvis turns at the sound of your voice, wiping damp grounds from his hands.

“Good morning, but no, just some coffee, please.” You try to sound natural. It’s weird giving someone else orders. 

“Nope, flowers. We could do something simple like a peony but I don’t think that matches the whole vibe with the satin garlands.” Tony continues. 

“Tony, hon, I have no idea what you’re on about right now.” you groggily slouch in the chair beside him. 

“We, my dear,” the newspaper is folded and plopped onto the table for dramatic effect, “are having a Christmas party. The proverbial ‘we’ in this situation being the company, of course.” 

“A Christmas party?” you muse with a laugh.

“For tax purposes, a gala. For my purposes, and therefore to make it fun, it is indeed a party, yes.” 

Espresso warms your veins as you listen to Tony ramble through plans for catering, guests, decanters and a whole bunch of other shit you can hardly keep up with. Good thing that responsibility falls to Jarvis, who jots away on a worn notepad. Once your eyes fully open, the thought starts to excite you. Your yearly festivities normally boiled down to a bottle of chardonnay and some loosely Christmas film like Die Hard. “Plus, if I auction some art, it works out even more.” He punctuates his brilliant plan with a bite of a muffin. 

“That’s not like a massive trigger for you?” 

High-volume social events dropped off the radar recently, for good reason, you assumed (not that you minded a break from fake smiles and cold handshakes) . Instead, Tony dragged you along to more intimate dinners with whatever broker or councilwoman he needed to charm. Your role as plus-one never went anywhere, but doing so at Tony’s your home would give you more confidence. 

“What are you, my sponsor?” he teases but you're less amused at the thought. 

“You don’t even have a sponsor.” You know so, because Tony believes Narcotics Anonymous is a, quote, ‘sad-ass glorified tea party’. 

“I have Jarvis.” He’s completely serious, and Jarvis hides his laughter behind a stack of plates.  

You don’t want to point out the obvious cognitive dissonance. That a man who spends his nights in petrified somnolence might crack under the pressure of dozens of inebriated colleagues. Not now, in a moment of peace. Not in front of Jarvis. You’re not sure how much sound slips out into the hall.

Tony watches the worry creep over your face from the edge of his newspaper. With a sigh, he abandons it again.

“Look, all you have to do is look pretty–which is no sweat for you, maybe drink a few apple cider cocktails, and relax. I’ve got everything else perfectly handled.”

He gives you a look, both reassuring and decisive. It’s a simple message meant to be taken without debate, ‘trust me’. 

You get one more peaceful morning drinking tea in the dark with Harley before the holiday season.

The event overtakes your life from Thanksgiving onward. You really don’t know how this sudden festive fervor spawns, but it slowly creeps into everything. From the elevator music, to miniature elves by the door, to candy canes everywhere, and more Christmas ties than days in December (you can’t be sure he’s not switching them multiple times a day). 

You weren’t a total Grinch, not by a long shot. Tony just so happened to be creeping into that weird overly festive zone reserved for suburban moms and kindergarten teachers. 

“Tony, what’s all of this?”

Vivaldi plays faintly on the record player. There’s a delicately placed mistletoe just off of the elevator, accompanied with a haphazard trail of roses leading out onto the balcony. You navigate through a candlelight kitchen juggling a heavy box of resin. 

“Tony?” you call out again once the box makes contact with the counter,

“Out here!” 

You follow the voice and rose trail to the balcony. Unsurprisingly, he’s donning a god awful Christmas sweater, grinning and pointing to the wool like it’s runway fashion. A small table holds two covered silver platters, and a tall bottle of champagne rests in a bucket of ice. It’s the kind of overtly romantic display you’d gotten since night one, but it never fails to sink your breath straight in your heart. Something about the way he’s standing there, beaming like a nervous, lovestruck fool, tells you this isn’t just a normal gesture of affection.

Still, your lips part to thank him, but he stops you instantly. 

“Just wait–” he pleads, “I got like thirty minutes of practice into saying this and I can’t fuck it up.” 

His voice is rushed enough that you believe. Clearly the words were threatening to jump out of him. It sets you a bit on edge, trying to anticipate what this was about. You indulge him anyway and nod. 

Tony crosses the balcony to take your hands in his, thumb brushing over your knuckles. 

“Okay, I know things haven’t been copacetic around here. And I know I’ve asked for a lot–more than I ever thought I would–and you know sometimes it feels like I’ll never be able to return what you’ve given to me, but I swear I’m going to make this worth it.” 

He squeezes your palm, tired brown eyes searching yours for something, any sign that his words meant a single thing. It’s a fast-winded speech that makes you wanna laugh at the irony. Tony, the man who’d move the stars if they had a price tag, somehow feeling the need to repay you.  Yet his voice is raw like a frayed nerve. Exposed to the cold winds whipping against the tower glass. 

“Tony, you’ve made it more than worth it, everyday.” You smile, though it’s worth wondering what’s driving him to say all this. The words ring true regardless.

“Not nearly enough,” he says softly, “but I’m going to–I’m going to give you the world.”

In that moment, you see it: the weight of everything he’s been carrying. Your ribs seem to tighten inside your chest. That unspoken fear you’ve both been trying to avoid–it was far easier twenty seconds ago when you thought it was yours alone. You realize now that the fearless man you saw in fact was scared of something (losing you, primarily). Yeah, you comforted him through nightmares, but even then he managed to carry an aura of control.  

This wasn't about  holding onto the life you’ve built together, the one that’s felt so fragile lately. And for the first time, you see how much that matters to him, too.

He starts to say something else, dropping your hands. His fingers fiddle behind his back, seemingly nestled in his back pocket. He stares like he intended to say something else, lips parting and closing right back. In the next second, he seems to shift gears, pulling you into a hug. 

You welcome the warm embrace, as the chill has started to gnaw at your bones. He plants a kiss to the top of your head, and you want to stay in that feeling for the rest of your life.

Sadly, he does eventually pull away to admit dinner on the balcony would be quite miserable, and the two of you move inside. 

You could spend the rest of the evening overthinking about what all that meant, but you don’t bother. Why go through that mental labor, when instead you could drink $500 champagne, carefree while your handsome boyfriend flirts with you like it’s the first date. 

You don’t think about it then, or later in the night when your legs are pressed to your chest and you can’t recall a single thing he said. You focus on what he’s saying then–filthy words about who you belong to, and exactly where you belong–a whimpering mess underneath him.

Even when it turns possessive (more so than usual), when your throat is littered with marks and his hand stands to leave another on his hip, you don’t think of it. But it’s the only thing on Tony’s mind. When another orgasm rips through you, all he can think about is how much he needs you. He whispers ‘you’re mine’ over and over and over as you fall apart just so your broken moans can still echo–so he can hear just how true it is. How could you, with such a dutiful guide at the helm?

Afterwards, when you’re drained of every ounce of life, it still doesn't bother you. You don’t wonder if tonight might be another night he slips into plain clothes and disappears until sunrise. You can’t muster a single thought as his arm slinks around your waist to pull you closer. 

You simply close your eyes, and let sleep take you. 

Eventually the days tick by to the gala, and you’re somewhere between impressed and overstimulated with all the ensuing holiday glamor. 

Though, you can’t say he doesn’t go all out. 

The first floor of Stark Industries is transformed from a cold minimalist space to Ebenezer Scrooge's worst nightmare. A makeshift stage sits at one end, complete with enough tinsel to suffocate a horse and twinkling garlands. Piles of fake snow anoint the corners, and a particularly large one sits beneath a 12-foot tall Christmas tree in the middle of the lobby. The open bar even serves drinks in frosted holiday glasses. He even has the guards wearing reindeer ears. 

By ten p.m. the vast floor seems smaller than a shoebox, packed with guests in evening gowns and tailored tuxedos. Initially, you’d planned on wearing a new piece for the gala–something to make the overwhelming festivity Tony demanded. Once it came time to get dressed, your eyes caught the sanguine dress. You hadn’t gotten the chance to wear it since your first date. It had felt too exquisite for any other occasion, but for some reason you were drawn to wear it tonight. 

You wish you could say Tony had a good reaction–or a reaction at all. From sunrise until the doors opened, he’s caught up in planning and preparations. Matter of fact, you were two hours into the gala and had only seen glimpses of him shaking hands in the crowd. It takes away from the expected familiarity. You imagined this night to be simple, easy for you to blend it with Tony on your arm, in his home your home. Instead, you wander like a lost gazelle, feeling every pair of eyes on you. You want to blame the dress. Revealing and bright red.

In the blurry swarm of faces, bright auburn stands out. Natasha wouldn’t be your first pick, but she’s the only familiar face and you need a respite.

You squeeze in next to her at one of the corner tables. The spice of her perfume permeates your nose but you can look past it for the moment. She pays you no mind at first, legs crossed and head turned to the crowd. You don’t mind one bit. It’s quieter towards the back, and you have no issue with it staying that way. 

Natasha sighs deeply, almost in boredom, maybe annoyance, but not with you. 

“I don’t know how you stand him.”

“How do you figure?” you respond absently, picking apart at a stray piece of tinsel.

“One of the richest men on Earth-I know he’s got the ego to match it.”

“You’d know better than I would, wouldn’t you?” you answer. You’d gotten the sense Natasha and Tony back way further than him and Pepper a while ago,

“Touche, but I’m not dating him.” she shifts to take another sip from her glass, “though, I’m not really sure why you are.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, do you really love him, or are you just after a family fortune?” Emerald eyes points like knives, her tone blending from casualty to scorn.

“W-what,” you stammer, “Of course I love him–Tony pursued me.”

“Please, he’d pursue anything with a pulse,” Natasha chuckles, “and relax, I’m just finally getting around to doing my due diligence.” 

“Your ‘due diligence’ is being a cunt?”

“Ooh! I see you’re a feisty one–you did sit here after all, you know.” she muses.

“Just needed a break from the crowd,” you mummer, rising. 

“Stay then–relax, like I said.” she gestures towards your now-empty seat. When you sigh and retake your place, she smiles. “I like you, you know.”

“We’ve barely spoken.” you declare, a dry chuckle spewing alongside. 

“That doesn’t mean I don’t know a smart person when I see one.” 

“Smart?”

“Smart decisions, going out with Tony, not screwing that up, though I’ve been told you’ve come close a few times.”

“Who–”

“This isn’t an interrogation, like I said, I like you–I don’t really care what happens between you two.”

“Then what is this?” you flag the nerdy tuxedoed waiter for a glass of water. 

“You said it yourself, we’ve barely spoken. My job is to keep Tony’s business running smoothly, and that’s become a lot harder since he won’t make a single decision without considering the ‘y/n’ of it all.” 

You scoff, unimpressed. “We don’t talk about his business.”

“Oh, I know,” Natasha remarks, “A bartender has no idea how to run a billion dollar corporation, and even less of an idea how to advise one.” 

“This is the part where you tell me I have no business being with him, right?” The waiter drops off a tall pitcher of water for you both. Once your glass is full, he passes along a message that Tony’s speech starts soon. 

“Dear god no,” Natasha laughs, “I imagine you’ve heard that enough–and he’s much more pleasant since you came around. Besides, you’re living the dream.” 

“Is that so?” You have to give a laugh of your own (considering you had a bit of jealousy buried for her). 

“Oh yes, filthy rich, live in a penthouse, never work another day in your life, loving husband–maybe not my dream, but still a dream.” 

You don’t know if she’s trying to be funny but your next laugh is genuine, and she joins in.

“What is your dream, then?” you question.

Natasha’s grin stiffens, surprised. Contemplation passes for a second and you worry that you’ve underdone the last three minutes of camaraderie. 

“Ballet teacher–but that stays at this table.” She gives you a matching pointed look.

“My lips are sealed.” You do try not to giggle, but it’s odd to imagine her frigidity in a warm lit studio surrounded by tutus. 

“Did you mean it, what you said about Tony? That things are...okay?” Natasha asks, referring to Tony’s sobriety. It’s weird how everyone dances around it, especially someone so usually straightforward as her. 

It was weeks ago when you parroted that claim. And you only call it that because the question annoys the fuck out of you. It’s entirely subjective, and you give in to the optimistic look in their eye and tell them what they want to hear. He’s fine, better even.

Maybe it’s because she’s being nice, or because you already gave up this facade with Harley, but you can’t be bothered to pretend you know what’s going on with him all the time. Besides, clearly you weren’t doing a good enough job for her to ask you about it again

“I want to say yes, but I don’t know, I guess?” you admit, staring into the crowd. 

Natasha’s mouth parts to speak again, only to have the microphone’s feedback interrupt her. The host–some Nobel prize winning chemist Tony invited to pull donors–clears his throat before starting his introduction, and the noise draws to a lull. Natasha excuses herself, presumably to find Tony before his speech. You decide to stay at the back of the lobby, with a good enough view of the stage. 

Supposedly this entire sordidly festive affair had a true business purpose, some big announcement Tony was making on the ‘future of the company’. He didn’t explain much more than that, and you’re certain the technical logistics were beyond you anyway. 

After a long, boring welcome, the mic is passed off to Tony. It’s the first time today you’ve been able to see him fully–draped in a jet black tuxedo and bright red bowtie. 

It whines again in his grip, and Tony pauses once the cheers die down, glancing at the expectant faces below. Thick cards press into his palm, each written meticulously inked by Natasha last night He clears his throat, glancing out past the lights into the crowd. He hopes they can’t see how heavy the stillness starts to weigh on him like before. The sudden quiet, all that attention. Including yours, somewhere out there. His heart stalls at how must look to you up here. Larger than life probably, or maybe you weren’t looking at all (he hopes you aren’t). A hundred odd pairs of eyeballs, and he hides from yours. 

Tony knew what he had to do, and was quite confident in his choice. But he can’t risk looking you in the eye while he does it. Ironically, his decision had very little to do with you, and everything to do with Pepper. The edge of his mouth still twitches. 

“Tonight…” he starts, turning the twitch into a warm smile, “…I’ve asked you all to be here in celebration, to celebrate Stark Industries, and talk about the future of the company,” He clears his throat, rolling his shoulders as if trying to loosen some unseen knot.

There’s a small, brief ripple of confusion among the front of the room, murmurs. Something shifts in his expression—just a flash—before his eyes catch something and harden. A gesture is made to the guard at the end of the stage. His hand tightens around the mic.

“To keep things transparent,” he says, stuffing the cards into his pocket, “the real reason I threw this party, asked you all to be here, is because I want everyone to see how much this means to be.”

Your ears perk up. Natasha swears under her breath, glancing at you before sharply leaving the table, tapping away at her phone. Tony can’t hide from your gaze anymore, and he finds your confused face in the back corner. Before you think about a path to escape, the crowd follows his attention, taking their eyes from the billionaire to the nobody fiddling with tinsel alone.

“I want to celebrate the love I have for this woman, and take this opportunity to share it with everyone.” 

What the hell is he doing?, you think. He can't be doing this here, like this. 

“The truth is,” he pauses, feeling his phone buzz off the hook (most certainly Natasha telling him to stop), “I’m getting married, and Stark Industries will be welcoming a new partner in its operations.”

The room erupts in a chorus of oos and awes, all to the tune of your racing heart. It takes you a second to process. He means getting married to you. You never even talked about marriage, the future, anything like that. Yeah, maybe in passing the idea came up, but at no point did you accept a marriage proposal. 

Everything feels nauseatingly blurry after. Random individuals come over with their congratulations, while half the crowd stares and the other half still bothers to listen to the rest of Tony’s speech. It’s a bunch of nonsense about restructuring and profits, and you’re too confused, pissed, and too fed up with fake smiles to bother standing around to listen. 

You suffer through two more superficial conversations about the marriage you were only made privy a few minutes ago. Finally, you escape to the restroom. You find an empty stall to hide in, trying to process what was going through Tony’s mind.

He couldn’t be serious, could he? This wasn’t real–it was some ploy or tactic. He didn’t genuinely intend to marry you. You didn’t like to think of the long-term for the same reasons you didn’t think about the short-term. This was unpredictable, you learned that. You learned to be okay with that. You could soak in the pleasures indefinitely without ever worrying about how it might all end. This, this brought it into a sharp focus you weren’t ready for. 

You’re not even certain he’s fully divorced yet. 

Once your palms finally dry, and the threat of a panic attack fades, you step out of the restroom. You don’t even know what to think, and the sterile walls weren’t helping. Glancing back toward the gala, you spot Tony scanning the room—until his eyes find yours. You don't hold his gaze long; instead, you turn sharply toward the elevator. You hear your name faintly called from somewhere behind, but you keep moving down the hall, ignoring it.

He breaks into an awkward jog to catch you. You keep your eyes forward.

“[Y/N], look I know this wasn’t what you were expecting, and I can explain I just need–” he starts,

“You’ve lost your fucking mind, Stark,” Natasha heels stomp angrily down the hall, stepping in front you to point her finger in Tony’s face, “what the hell are you doing?”

“Alright, alright, not you right now–cut it out!” He smacks her hand away flippantly, “I’m not entirely sure you and Matt haven’t been drinking the kool-aid either.” 

Tony huffs and straightens his bowtie and you step back from Natasha’s heat. Behind the three of you, someone gets their hands on a karaoke machine and a terrible rendition of Santa Baby follows.

“The whole point of this bullshit was to go public and get out of this shit so explain to me how this gets us anywhere closer to that?” She grits.

Tony throws his hands in the air, “Maybe it doesn’t, but your dumbass plan wasn’t any better.”

“You think marrying her is going to help you? You know I was joking when I said that, right?” 

Suddenly, a spotlight seems to beam over you. Neither party stops their death glare to fully acknowledge you. That wasn’t a proposal–you were just some pawn in their game.

You don’t even know what the hell they’re playing for.

“This is a great time to remind you who signs your checks.” 

Only then do her eyes bother to glance at you. 

“This isn’t gonna end well, and you know it.” She concedes, still stern. After that, she stomps back off into the crowd. 

Tony turns towards you, but you're already back at the elevator, watching the buttons finally reach L.

“[Y/N], please–” 

The doors ding open and you don’t stop to hear anymore. Despite your feverous attempt to close the doors, Tony makes his way inside. The door just barely misses his coattail, to your annoyance.   

Even worse, and completely on par for the evening, the jingle bells elevator music plays the moment the doors shut. 

A hard, awkward beat passes. You’re pinching the bridge of your nose, sparsely emptied of any more energy for this night (mentally or otherwise). 

“You look fucking stellar, by the way, love that dress–”

“Tony.”

“Right, you’re right, sorry.”

Neither of you spare another word from the elevator to the bedroom. Tony follows behind, closing the door softly as you toss your earring onto the dresser. You’re waiting for him to speak again. Explain, deflect–hopefully just explain, but he doesn’t. He sits at the end of the bed, eyes trained to you in the mirror. 

“Why didn’t you ask me? Alone? Before today?” you sigh, “

“I wanted to, I was going to, the other night on the balcony I just–” he answers quickly, but trails off in a way that has you turning to face him instantly.

You don’t doubt that for a second. Truthfully, the level of effort and random heartfeltness of the night gave you some clue. But, when it never came you just chalked it up to Tony being Tony. Painfully romantic in most conditions. 

“You just what, didn’t want to?” There’s anger, though you know it's hypocritical. 

“No I just,” he exhales, dragging his fingers through slicked back hair, “I knew you’d say yes.”

“You knew I’d say yes? What the hell does that mean?” Your necklace joins the rest of your jewelry with a loud clink. 

“This is coming out all wrong–”

“You think?” The six inch heels are the next thing to go, throwing haphazardly in the closet. Tony rises to cut you off in front of the door, eyes pleading for understanding you’re not sure you have. 

“I saw the look in your eye, I’d done so much to make sure you’d say yes in that moment because I needed you to–not because I wanted it and that wasn’t the way it was supposed to go.”

“You don’t know that I’d say yes.”

“You would,” he says with that practiced charm, all sunny but hollow. A trademark Stark move—confidence teetering on arrogance. When you hesitate, he’s ready with another word, a gaze intense enough to hypnotize. “You know you would.”

You laugh, looking away as if it’s absurd. “Are you really so sure?”

His hand slips into yours, gentle but firm, thumb brushing across your knuckles in a way that makes it seem like he’s talking to you, only you, and not the thousand voices in his head screaming at him to get this done. 

“I know you’re scared, but” he says, leaning into your warmth. “Don’t leave me hanging here, please.”

“You sound so desperate, it’s kind of sad.” 

But there’s a softness to your voice now, a hint that he might be getting through. For a moment he was worried he wouldn’t be able to get away with this again, that you’d learned all his tricks since the boutique. 

It’s enough of a crack in your resolve for him to keep pushing. He slips closer, voice low. 

“Look, I know I keep asking a lot of you, but, There’s a pause, just long enough to let the ache in his voice sit, before he adds, “this could fix everything, everything can be okay.”

There’s a sliver of doubt in your eyes, and that’s what he clings to. 

“And when was the last time everything was okay, Tony?” You watch him in the bureau’s mirror. 

 “It could be. All I need for you to do is say yes, so I can fix this,” He squeezes your hand, the hint of desperation all but veiled now. 

And when you finally exhale, when that flicker of sympathy slips in, he knows he’s won.

It’s good enough. Better than he hoped, honestly. The relief slides into him like a tonic, loosening the tight lines in his jaw. He keeps his hand on yours, knowing the warmth of it will serve to distract from the creeping dread, from the hollow pit that’s been widening ever since the stakes got so high he couldn't see the top of them.

For Tony, this is all still just a means to an end. One step closer to true liberty and the life he was supposed to have. If he had to lie and disappoint–cheat and charm, then he’d do it. It would be worth it. In the end, the sum of his achievements would outweigh his sins.

He reminded himself of that a month ago, the night before he decided to have the gala. When the bedroom door closes, a sigh of relief escapes. He was lucky that you didn’t catch the conversation with Matt and Natasha in full. What he had in the works was sensitive, and he couldn’t have that ruined by anyone knowing the details in advance. He couldn’t lose you again, not when he needed you most. 

There is a shred of guilt as the elevator whirs down to the garage. You’re probably thinking the worst, understandably, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it. Only to pray his love was enough to placate you for now. 

Especially when he doesn’t even want to fucking do this. Each day seems to come at the loss of his autonomy, another suit on his payroll telling him what’s best for his life. It’s more deplorable when the people closest to him come up with the shittiest ideas to fix this. He can truly thank Pepper for his recent migraines (and a bunch of old ones). Filing for divorce was quite a move to try to get what she wanted, and throw him to the mercy of the Securities and Exchange Commission at the same time. If you listen to Matt, Tony’s mere minutes away from a cold cell. If you listen to Nat, Tony’s plummeting stock will be the sealer of his fate. And as of right now, two of the smartest people he knows can’t come up with anything that doesn’t come at the cost of you or his company. And he can’t live with either. 

Since, both their solutions arguably suck, he tells a lie or lack thereof to find a third opinion. Or a hail mary. However it’s called, it’s a long shot that he can’t be certain won't jeopardize him even more. 

The drive to Hudson Valley is peaceful, to the point he forgets his world is on fire. It’s late, or early, depending on who you ask. Few cars grace the road and he finds solace in the solitude. The radio is ignored for the repetitive rumble of the tires, until paved tar turns into rough gravel. 

When Pepper sent over the address, he wasn’t too surprised. She always rambled about moving out of the city, dreaming of cabins in the woods and sprawling hills. Tony could never wrap his head around living anywhere else. In retrospect, that was another early omen. They never even shared the same dream. 

He can’t say it doesn’t look impressive. A dark a-frame that strikes beautifully against the earthen spruce. Maybe that is why she had him drive all the way out here and not somewhere in the city. Part of masterplan to show him what she presumes he’s missing out on. 

The porch lights flicker on once he parks, and he makes his way up the stone path to find Pepper sitting just outside the door. She’s preoccupied with a thick novel, acknowledging Tony with the raise of a finger. 

It’s strange, being alone with her for the first time in years. She’s not dressed in Valentino but tattered college sweats he had forgotten about. Seeing her at the penthouse all those months ago was troubling, but this was different. Here, it’s too quiet. Even though he’s a few paces away from the table, he can hear the tension of her nails against the pages–the swirl of wind through her hair. Sure, she can’t control the environment but he knows this is a calculated move too. To make him wait, make him uncomfortable. Every other sense sharpens in the absence of constant noise. Norway spruce and duplicity. 

He’s losing his nerve and he needs this over. 

“Why the hell’d you make me drive this far out anyway?” He tries to keep a level voice, knowing she wouldn’t hesitate to use his irritation against him. 

“It’s the one place I’m certain your little spy hasn’t found yet.” she murmurs.

Okay, fine, so he’d used his son to spy on his ex-wife. Big deal, he couldn’t be certain she wasn’t doing the same. Plus, Harley had offered to keep an eye on her. It was a matter of security, not personal (mostly). 

“Can we get on with this?”

“I suppose,” she sighs, tossing the book onto the table. The thud reverberates, stark against the stillness of the valley. “But I’m not sure what it is you want from me–you did call me after all.”

“I did.” And he’s regretting it every second.

“So, what can I do for you?”

“You can start by accepting the deal Murdock sent, and let this be over.” 

Pepper chuckled, crossing her legs. “What are you playing at, Tony?”

“I’m not playing at anything–this needs to be over, you need to move on.”

“Oh please, don’t flatter yourself,” she scoffs, “this is all very rich considering you’ve held me in litigation for months, you rejected my offers over and over, so why the sudden change of heart?”

A cold chill and burning annoyance pull him closer to the table. 

“Yes, because I should just give you forty-five percent of my company–I can get it gift-wrapped too if that makes it all the better.”  

“That’s right, your ego won’t let you admit I’m the only reason you have a company to speak of.”

“Can’t you find an ounce of compassion in that gaping pit you call a soul, for me?”

“Such harsh words from someone who needs something from me.” Pepper smirks and stands once the heat recedes from Tony’s face. 

“Take the twenty percent, finalize the papers, and end this, or else there won’t be anything for either of us.”

She circles the table to stop in his view. Tony wishes he had a time machine.

“Let me guess, someone’s under a little heat.” she muses, voice high and dripping in sugary venom.

“Little is an understatement.” He steps back, hands tight in her pockets.

“And why would I give up my shares to help you?”

“This entire thing started with you, and the second it wasn’t convenient you ran. The least you could fucking do is help me out of it.” Tony snapped. 

“Right, and if I don’t?” 

She still laughs, because it’s all a good game to her. Entertaining to see him against the ropes–desperate enough to reach out to her. For once though, it’s calming. It soothes his anger and reminds him why he agreed to this at all. This time, he had an ace up his sleeve.

“Then I’ll tell just that to whoever needs to know–you know I have the evidence. You’ll go down right alongside me.”

In the quiet solace, for a moment, she’s outplayed. Her smile falters and brows crinkle. Truthfully, as much as he’d love to, he could never sell her out. But she had a terrible tendency of assuming the worst of him, and he was banking on that. 

“Please do, I’m sure they’d love to hear what I know about Obadiah.” 

Oh, so that was her ace.

A soft buzz vibrates his back pocket. He doesn’t need omniscience to know it’s you. He can picture it clearly–you, traipsing around the penthouse looking for signs of life. He knows you hate that feeling, and he hates to cause it. 

There’s a more pressing issue; not giving Pepper the emotional reaction she wants.

“You wouldn’t do that.” Spare words from some forgotten bin. 

“Not if you don’t force my hand.” 

A painful pause ensues. The valley’s fauna recognize the tension, silencing out of respect for the sound of Tony’s plan shattering. A true stalemate. Not what he came for, but his throat swells thinking about the aftermath from a war of attrition. 

He can’t let that get out, above all else. That’d be his dissolution. Stark Industries, everything he worked for would vanish. You, without question. You never see him the same again. The crafted image he sought, the life he was creating with you for you, it’d be wasted effort. 

“What’s it gonna take for you to help me?”

After another migraine-causing conversation, Tony slumps into the driver seat, shoulders heavy and eyelids even heavier. Fifteen minutes have passed since your text, and he wonders if it's better not to answer at all. 

[ everything okay?  ]

[ be home soon ]

Ignore. Deflect. Move on.  

The drive back to the city is less pleasant. Actually, it’s a nightmare that he disassociated through the moment he entered the garage. He was, tragically, fucked. There was no telling if he had the capital to replace whatever Pepper took, and he certainly couldn’t risk everything by going public. And if he didn't give Pepper what she wanted, he might be looking at a depressing future behind bars. And that was not an option. 

So he’s at the mercy of the ginger Judas who put him on the path in the first place. Go figure. There’s self-blame for entertaining this option at all. For not guessing she’d snake her way into the upperhand like always. This wasn’t a beast he could defeat with regular tactician and planning. No, he needed to surprise her–usurp her. Piss her off the way she pissed him off. Go against the grain and act in a way that she couldn't predict. Something she couldn’t maneuver around. 

So, when the mic graced his hands, and the coached words on his marriage, the marriage  he never asked you about. The marriage he couldn’t ask you about because he wasn’t ready either. 

He said fuck it, and did it anyway. 

He knew you would’ve said yes then, so you obviously would answer the same afterwards. Even if you were predictably, and understandably pissed, you loved him, and he intended to use that. Grand gestures were his thing after all. A huge public soiree was more on brand than some private dinner. And, he was Tony Stark. The man who got everything he wanted. Why would your hand be any different? Certainly it fell under the same bracket (and really, an argument could be made that he had your loyalty regardless–this was just a title). 

It was justified in his mind the moment the words hit the mic. It just sounds right– Y/N Stark. Like he should have made it that way a long time ago. For a second, the ceaseless pit of vengeance is taken over by something more. 

It;s even easier to justify when he gets a wave of childlike excitement over it. Imagining the ring on your finger, the life he could have with you. Palm trees and salt waves on a remote coast. No more Stark Industries, no more nightmares about cold federal prisons, just you and him. 

Then, in the crowd, he spots what must be Pepper’s lookout. A short, brayish man stays still while dozen roar in congratulatory apologize. Pepper should’ve coached him better, a clear sore loser in a room full of winners. 

The real reason he’s doing this comes back. Tony makes a quick signal to the guard behind him, and moments later the man is escorted upstairs. He used to hate doing this. But he soon learned that humanity gets you nowhere in this business. Still, he almost tells his team to go easy. Then he remembers the cold look on Pepper’s face at the valley while he plead for mercy like a sad dog. 

Fuck that. The man knew the risks. It’s not Tony’s fault they didn’t play in his favor. 

Out of whatever kindness was left, he makes a note to have his body dumped somewhere nice. 

PART SIX SOON

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Hangover 5

Warnings: dubcon, noncon, other possible triggers. Proceed with caution.

Please leave any and all feedback! 💚💚💚💚💚💚

Part of The Club AU

You help Will fold his laundry. You refuse to do all of it but he’s brought enough that you feel bad letting him do it by himself. Besides, it’s a good opportunity to chat. A better one to distract yourself. 

Despite the time passed, a whole night, and your best efforts, you can’t shake your drive with Officer Storm. It’s impossible to forget the cold air and your nakedness. The humiliation lingers and has you restless. As you tuck away the last pair of socks in Will’s bag, you wince as he says, “mom?” 

“Yeah, what’s up?” You step back. 

“You okay? You been quiet.” 

“Oh, yeah, yeah, just tired,” you muster a smile, “work has been a bit much, you know?” 

“Right, yeah,” you see the flicker of guilt in his eyes, “mom...” 

You laugh, but not meanly, “how much do you need, honey?” 

“I’m sorry--” 

“Don’t be,” you wave off his apology. He shouldn’t be sorry. You know he’s only asking you because his father said no. You’re bum ex can’t be arsed to pay any tuition, so why would he cover any other expenses. “I’m sure I can figure something out.” 

“Yeah, you know, I wouldn’t ask unless... unless I really needed it. There’s this internship. It’s like kinda a grant but there’s an application fee so...” 

“It’s good,” you pat his bones chest, “Will, it’s money. If you happy and healthy, I’m happy.” 

He smiles offers a one-armed hug. For a boy his age, that’s a big gesture. You accept it but can’t help making it two-armed. You squeeze him tighter than you mean too and he wheezes as you cling to him. 

“Mom! I was just home two week ago.” 

“I know, honey, I just... missed you,” you stay as you are. He sighs and wraps you up. You rock him, closing your eyes against the sudden swell of heat behind them. “I love you so much.” 

“Mom, I know,” confusion laces his voice, “Mom,” he rubs your back, “I love you too.” 

You sniffle and dip your head down, hiding as you draw away from him. You roll your eyes back against your tears. You hold onto that feeling, of your son’s hug, it’s enough to chase away that heavy weight in your hips where Officer Storm had held you. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He scoffs. 

“Yeah, I... menopause,” you laugh off but it’s not as breezy as you intend. “Old ladies and their hormones.” 

“Right,” a shade of skepticism lingers in his voice. 

The doorbell rings suddenly and you both jump, laughing at the fright. You shake your head and tramp down the hall to answer it. Will hovers in the doorway but doesn’t follow.  

You open the door and nearly shriek. It’s him. Officer Storm. He smirks and his eyes twinkle. He winks and tilts his head pompously, reciting your name. 

You gulp, “sir?” 

“Mom? Is that a cop?” Will comes down towards you. 

“Ah, don’t worry about it, son,” Storm says, “I’m just doing my good deed for the day.” He flicks up a card between his thick fingers, “this was turned in down at the station. A king samaritan found it on the pavement.” 

You fight a tremour as it rises, “thank you, officer.” 

“Not at all, ma’am,” he holds it out between his index and middle fingers. 

You take it and look at it. It’s your ID. Or maybe it’s a trick. 

“Everything okay?” Storm asks. 

You flinch and nod, “of course. I appreciate you bringing this by.” 

“That’s what I do,” he winks. “You have a good day.” 

He nods and backs up. His eyes rove up and down before he turns and struts away. He has the type of swagger men who don’t last more than a minute have. You shudder and shut the door. 

“Nice of him,” Will says. 

“Sure,” you agree as you twist the lock into place. 

You turn back and walk to the kitchen. As you grab your purse, you can barely get it undone. You remember picking it up from the car seat, the bite of frost in the air, the noise of the police scanner. Your wallet falls out of your grasp as you pull it through the zipper. 

“Mom,” Will says, “you’re shaking.” 

“I’m fine,” you insist sharply, “I just... I didn’t sleep well. I need a coffee.” 

He stares at you, concerned tautening his jaw. You look back at him and nearly whimper. He isn’t much younger than that officer. A decade at most between them. Could he be like that? Officer Johnny is someone’s son too and he did that to you, someone’s mother. 

“Want me to make you one?” Will sounds afraid. 

“Please, sweetie, yes,” you bend to retrieve your wallet, your lower back twanging with the effort. You fall to your knees and whine, “shit.” 

“Mom!” Will grabs onto your arm, “what is it?” 

“My back,” you snivel, “ow, shoot. “ 

You can’t stand. It hurts too much. Your hips lock as you stay on your knees. You peer down at the floor. You can only see the cold ground lit by yellow headlights. You back seizes up again. 

“Mom, please, get up,” Will begs. 

“I-- I can’t, honey, you’re going to have to help me.” 

“What happened--” 

“Work,” you grit out, “please,” you reach to grab his forearm and manage to drag a leg out and plant your foot, “just put me on the couch.” 

You latch on and he grunts as he helps you up. Any man, even one as slim as him, is stronger than you. You lean on him heavily and waddle stiffly, moaning with each step, and nearly collapse onto the couch. He lifts your legs onto the cushions as you whimper. 

Will steps back and stands straight. He looks at you with worry woven between his brows, “mom...” 

“Hon, I’m fine. Just some advil... and coffee, please, if you don’t mind.” 

“I... I can’t stay past tonight. I have a midterm.” 

“I know, honey, don’t worry about that. I’ll be fine,” you assure him through your teeth, struggling to shift into a position that doesn’t hurt. “Really, I just need to sleep it off.” 

He frowns. You hold back a similar expression though you know you must look miserable already. You hate that he’s worried. He shouldn’t be. You're his mother, you’re supposed to worry about him. It’s just another flare up, it’s okay. 

Just like Officer Storm, it’ll go away. 

[goldengoddess]

it looks better on you - nikolai lantsov

pairing: nikolai lantsov x reader 

request: Hiii! I recently discovered your blog and I love everything you write, your Nikolai content deserves so much love (as does everything else)!But speaking of that cheeky bastard, would you be up for writing headcannons or in a style you’re comfortable with about Nikolai (Strumhond in this case) where reader is new to the job and packs light and forgets a coat, but Tamar tricks them into wearing Strumhond’s coat (being oblivious that it’s his) and Strumhond makes a sarcastic comment but in the end is fine with it? Don’t worry about if you’re busy - it just came to mind! ❤️

a/n: thank you sweet thing! i love my baby nikolai,,, this is so cute by the way i love the concept so much 

warnings: cursing, suggestive comments

you could not have been so stupid. 

it was your first week on this job. you were new to the crew of this ship, and you had done everything right up until that point. you wanted to make the best impression possible. strumhond’s crew was legendary. there wasn’t a single sailor on the seas that didn’t know his name.

and you, of all people, had been lucky enough to be chosen to help his crew. if you proved yourself, you hoped, you could get an actual permanent job with the crew. 

but of course that wasn’t going to happen, because you were going to freeze your ass off before you even got the chance to do anything useful.

your inability to think ahead had caused you to forget to bring a warm coat. most days at sea were warm, sometimes too warm, with the sun hitting your face and body at every angle.

but there were days like this one where the winds were too rough and the air to cold, and every part of your body felt like it could fall off due to frost bite.

you searched the deck of the ship around you, hoping to find a spare coat, but mostly to make sure that the captain of the ship didn’t see you freezing in the corner.

you’d seen him a couple of times in the last couple of days. usually giving an order or messing around with the closest of his friends on the ship.

he was cute, you couldn’t deny it. at a distance there was nothing wrong. but closer up it was easier to see that there were parts of his face that seemed.. wrong. you’d been around long enough to know a tailored face when you saw one.

you tried not to linger on the reasonings for his tailored face, it wasn’t your business and it didn’t change his ability to lead a crew. despite that, you couldn’t help but imagine what he looked like for real. he had this royal presence to him.

even though he was a pirate, sorry, a privateer, he knew how to hold command. how to get people to listen when they didn’t want to. to make deals and compromises whenever a fight broke out. to leave both sides satisfied. he was like a prince at sea.

okay so maybe the prince had caught your attention more than you wanted to admit.

but it was hard not to be interested in him when every time he made eye contact with you it felt so intense that your knees felt weak.

the sudden gust of cold air snapped your thoughts back to the reality of your situation. your arms were wrapped around your body, as if this position could make the light jacket you had on suddenly sufficient against the cold.

you saw tamar walk onto the deck from below deck. she turned and saw you huddled near the wall. you gave her a sheepish and embarrassed grin. tamar had been the first person to speak to you and though you’d only known her a couple of days, you knew she was the kind of person one trusted.

she walked over to you with an amused smile. you could practically feel the teasing retort that was about to come out of her mouth.

“you look a little warm y/n, you sure you don’t want to take off your jacket.” she sarcastically said, her grin growing on her face.

you rolled your eyes and let out an annoyed huff, “if i die from hypothermia i’m going to make sure to haunt you.”

she let out a throaty laugh. “good, i happen to like your company. you can help me scare the shit out of tolya. he could use a ghost visit.”

the two of you shared a laugh and then you looked at her with slightly sweet puppy eyes. “tamar, please please tell me you have a coat. i stupidly forgot to pack one, trying to keep my bag light.”

she nodded her head at you, “yeah i’ve noticed.” she thought for a moment and then her face broke out into a mischievous smirk. “well i don’t have a coat to lend you but i know someone who has a spare.”

you nodded your head rapidly with enthusiasm. “saints, yes. i won’t get any work done today without a coat.”

she smirked at you and some part of your brain was telling you that her smirk had something hidden behind it. an extra plan. the look of many of the criminals you’d met during your time in ketterdam.

she linked her arm through yours and pulled you towards one end of the ship where a long brown coat was laid on top of the helm of the ship.

you looked at her sceptically, “who’s coat is this?”

she shrugged, grabbing the coat and easing it onto you. “think of it as a community jacket. we all like to share.”

you grinned and let yourself slip into the warmth of the cloth. you shuffled around a little and grabbed onto the ends of the sleeves since the coat was on the bigger side.

“i like it”

tamar smirked and motioned for you to spin, “it suits you. like it was made for you to use it.”

you narrowed your eyes and her words but before you could say anything she was walking back below deck.

the rest of the day went by without a hitch. the cold stopped bothering you and completing your daily task were actually easier. the coat smelled of the sea, the feeling of the sun, and an oddly familiar cologne that you couldn’t quite place.

it was too late before you realized how badly you’d fucked up.

you were on the right end of the ship, tying knots as the sunset around you. tamar was sat on a box talking while you worked quietly.

“nice coat y/n. i didn’t know we were at that level in our relationship just yet.” you heard a voice say from a couple feet away.

your head jerked upwards at the voice and you met the eyes of the one and only strumhond. he wore a smirk on his beautiful face and he was leaning against one of the beams of the ship.

you looked down at the coat you were wearing and had grown fond of throughout the day and your eyes went wide. you snapped your head to the girl sitting next to you, only to find her laughing silently into her hands. you threw her the most menacing glance you could manage before turning your attention back to your captain.

you got up and started wiggling out of the coat, “i am so so sorry. i was freezing and i under packed and i knew i wouldn’t get any work done today if i was cold so i asked tamar and she gave me this one and i never would have borrowed it had i known that-”

you paused your rambling and the sound of strumhond’s laugh. he took a couple steps forward so that he was closer to you and tamar.

“y/n, sweetheart, it’s really okay. we wouldn’t want you to freeze now would we tamar?” he shifted his attention to the girl next to you, throwing a teasing threat.

she hopped off the boxes she was sitting on and began walking away. “nope.” she said, popping the ‘p’, “we wouldn’t want that.” and then she was gone, leaving you and the privateer alone.

you gave him a small, embarrassed, smile. “i really am sorry. i wouldn’t have taken it.”

you finished taking it off and tried handing it back to him. he grabbed it and opened it up, an invitation to step in.

you looked at him curiously. “what are you doing?”

he nodded his head, motioning for you to step into the coat. “just use it. it’s cold. plus.” he paused and slipped the coat onto you, popping the collar. “it suits you.”

you blushed and turned to face him, suddenly aware of the closeness between the two of you.

he looked you up and down. “yeah,” he said in a breath, “it looks better on you.”

your breath hitched and your blush grew down onto your neck.

he leaned forward, his mouth closer to your ear.

“but it would look better on my floor.” he teased before walking away.

oh fuck.

[sserpente]

Raw Desire

Synopsis: Something is wrong with him. Something none of the Avengers, including Thor, understand. When Loki turns into his Jötun form unwillingly and begins to act in a very primal and aggressive way, their solution for the problem is to lock him up in a cell below the compound until it’s all over. It’s a disease, perhaps, one which only Frost Giants can develop. Only Loki is not sick. Loki is in heat--and his Jötun body will not rest until his most carnal desires have been satisfied...

Words: 9176 Warnings: Jötun!Loki, smut, fluff, symptoms of addiction

A/N: You wanted some Jötun!Loki, I wanted some Jötun!Loki... so here we go. Enjoy, everyone! 😏

Additional NSFW Warnings: breeding kink (a little bit, anyway), Loki is in heat (kind of, duh), lack of aftercare (at first...)

-

His antagonising scream tore through the entire compound. You flinched, alarmed. Loki. The heart-breaking sound of pain tugging at your nerves was followed by a loud thump—like a heavy metal door falling shut, locked for good. It had come from the cellar, where the Avengers stored weaponry and ammunition; along with provisory but secure prison cells of Wakandan technology for criminals until they could be handed over to the authorities.

When you reached the source of the rousing noise, you almost knocked straight into Thor. His muscly back resembled a thick fleshy wall that would break your bones if you collided with him with too much force and speed.

“What happened?” Out of breath, you moved around him—facing the culprit of the commotion. The eerie flickering camera right outside the cell door showed Loki knocking his fists repeatedly against the metal door. His knuckles were already bloody from the repeated impact, yet the door would not budge. Much more concerning, however, was his appearance. Loki’s skin—every inch revealed to the naked eye anyway—was blue, his otherwise enchanting blue eyes sparkling with mischief of a deep blood-red. Countless, unique and fleshy lines formed a complex pattern on his arms and the back of his hands, even his face and neck. Your lips parted, both in shock and surprise at what your eyesight had revealed to you.

“He’s losing his fucking mind.” Tony responded for Thor before the Thunderer could even open his mouth in defence. He came tramping into the room as mad as you had never experienced him, tapping away on a tablet in the process. “I told you it was bad idea to bring him back here, Point Break! What were you thinking?”

“Can anybody tell me what is going on?! Why is he… like this? Is he in pain?”

“In pain?! He almost killed Nat. If Wanda hadn’t interfered…” Tony did not finish the sentence—regardless, the threat of what consequences there would have been for the God of Mischief was clearly audible.

“This was unlike him. He had no reason to…”

“No? He pounced on her like a… like a…”

“Beast?” Bruce added matter-of-factly. His hands were in his pocket when he approached the scene and patted Thor on the back in an attempt of providing comfort.

“Maybe… maybe this isn’t his fault, Stark. I know my brother, he’s never acted like this before!” The God of Thunder roared in defence, his arms crossed.

“Yeah,” Tony retorted sarcastically. “You know your brother so well he even tried to kill us all. Three times. No. This man is evil. Look at him!”

Petrified, you risked another peek. Loki was downright animalistic, his fists still working the metal cell door. He was getting weaker, worn out—like the fire in his red eyes was slowly being extinguished to make way for weariness. There was something primal in his behaviour; something raw. You would be ignorant to deny it scared you.

“Tony,” you began, forcing your voice to cease the shaking, “What happened? Why did he attack Natasha? Was he hurt?” Your sudden concern for him was going to give you away. No, not sudden. It had always been there, hidden just beneath the surface of your heart. You had only kept it a secret because… because what?

Loki did not know you had been harbouring romantic feelings for him for a significant amount of time now. Dark, tall and mysterious, he matched not only your type but had hopelessly captured you with his melancholic and lonely nature, the grief in his stunning blue eyes. You refused to believe that Loki was evil, that he had ever truly wanted to harm his brother; and you were desperate to be his friend… and even more than that. But the God of Mischief had hidden his heart behind such a hard shell that you were worried you might never get him to open up to you.

You would by no means describe yourself as an altruistic person—but there was a both enamoured and depraved part of you which desired, longed, for him to like you back.

“Talk to me.” You stated, tilting your head when he flung his dagger at one of the battered punching bags in the training room.

“What?” He sounded almost scornful when he spun around to gift you an incredulous look.

“Talk to me, Loki. I want to know what’s going on in your mind. I thought I was… you are always so distant. You disappear in here every other night, you snap at everyone trying to speak to you. You look nervous, like something is trying to break out of you.” Like you are trying to get rid of monstrous amounts of bottled up energy, you added silently. “You seem so restless. What’s wrong?”

“What concern is that of yours?” He spat.

“See! That is exactly what I meant.”

Loki growled. “What do you want from me, (Y/N)?” You flinched when he used your full name as opposed to the nickname everyone called you by.

“Why? Why are you screaming at me, I’m just trying to help! Don’t you get it, Loki? I care about you. And I care about what you think, even if I am probably the only one in this bloody compound who does.” Now that was unfair. But it was also the truth. “Why are you pushing me away? Let me in…”

Desperately, you moved forward in an attempt to reach up and cup his face, only for him to grab your wrists and pull them away harshly.

“Let you in? All I have ever received in return for ‘letting someone in’ was hurt and hatred. Give me one good reason for why I should open up to you,” he mocked, releasing your hands as if they would burn his fingers if they lingered on your skin for too long. “Tell you about my sorrows.” Sorrows. He had sorrows.

“I am not them.” You simply said. “Not any of them. I am not Odin, not Thor, none of the Avengers.”

Blinking, you snapped out of your memory. You had had this tragic conversation only two nights ago. No matter what you had said, he would not tell you what was on his mind. Now you knew.

“Something is wrong with him.” You interrupted the discussion, one you had not paid any attention to, by silencing them with a loud and determined voice.

“You don’t say?”

“No, Tony, you don’t understand… Loki is… he is Jötun. Thor, has he ever voluntarily turned into his Jötun form?”

The God of Thunder thought about it for a moment—then, he shook his head. “No.” You gave him a meaningful look. “So… you think it has something to do with his species?”

You nodded slowly and swallowed.

“Then we keep him in here until he is better.” He concluded. Your eyes widened.

“What? Thor, no… you can’t keep him locked up in there! What if he doesn’t get better on his own? Are you going to incarcerate him forever?”

“That would be an improvement.” Tony tossed in bitterly.

“We have to help him.”

“We? (Y/N)…” Bruce remarked almost tauntingly.

“You’ll find us upstairs. We need to let the others know about… whatever this is.” Tony added. You gnashed your teeth when he and Bruce turned to leave. For an awkward moment, it was eerily still—right until another one of Loki’s screams tore through the uncomfortable silence. You flinched once more. He was howling in pain.

“You think it might be a disease only Frost Giants can get?” Thor asked with concern in his deep voice at last.

You shrugged apologetically. “Maybe…”

“Loki and I were going to return to Asgard next week. I shall ask around, one of the healers should be familiar with Jötun diseases.”

“Go as soon as you can. Your brother is in pain, Thor, can’t you hear that?”

The God of Thunder nodded absentmindedly. But if no one was going to do something about Loki’s suffering—whatever it was—immediately, you would do it alone. So you did what Loki would do first. You dug up his books.

-

Loki’s room was neat, tidy. The green bed had been made—there was not a single wrinkle in the fabric and the desk was all clean, not giving thin layers of dust only visible in the direct sunlight a chance. The books he had brought from Asgard, old, thick, yellowed and heavy, he had stored on a bookshelf higher than you could reach.

Sucking in a determined breath, you moved the desk chair in front of it. The polished wooden floor to your feet complained with an ear-piercing shriek as you did. Determined, you climbed up to study the titles. All of them were written in Nordic Runes, making you realise that your research would end up being a lot harder than you had initially assumed. You could not speak a word of Old Norse, let alone read those Runes. Never mind that… you needed answers—and Loki needed your help.

It took you two hours to go through the titles and have them translated via a website you had had to pay for (using Tony’s credit card details—desperate times called for desperate measures) to use its allegedly reliable services.

Then, finally, after what felt like half an eternity, you found a suitable page-turner. It was titled Mythical Creatures and Species across Yggdrasil—at least, that was what the website you used told you.

Eagerly, you opened the book searching frantically for the chapter on Frost Giants and began sucking up all the information you could get. The more you read… and the more you compared Loki’s symptoms to the described behaviour of Jötuns in the book, the more aghast you became. One thing was for sure. Loki was not sick. Loki was aroused.

Terror-stricken, you bookmarked the page, grabbed your phone and jumped to your feet, abandoning the pile of books on Loki’s floor. You needed to speak to Thor right now.

He was about to enter the bathroom when you found him, once again almost knocking into his broad form.

“I… I found something.” You choked out.

“What?”

“I found something… about Loki. Thor… he is not ill, not really, he is…” Biting your lower lip, you pushed the God of Thunder into the bathroom, shut the door behind you and sat down on the edge of the bathtub. “He is… aroused.”

“What?” He roared, blushing. “What do you mean he is aroused?”

“Look… I found this book, I…”

“You speak Old Norse?”

“No! I used… I used a translator. Thor, listen, please. It says here that to ensure their continued existence, male Frost Giants, every one-thousand years, experience the primal urge to copulate with females of their kind. Much like wolves or elves, this ‘heat’ usually begins with restlessness, extremely aggressive and possessive behaviour, unusual amounts of pent-up energy as well as an extreme hunger and loss of appetite at the very same time. Loki hasn’t showed up for lunch, dinner or breakfast and… he has been spending extraordinary times in the training room downstairs in the middle of the night lately. He barely sleeps, it seems.”

“Go on…”

“How old is Loki, Thor?”

“He is a little over one-thousand years… old.” He looked up in shock when he realised.

“That’s why he is in his Jötun form, Thor. He can’t control it, it’s not his fault, it’s… in his nature. God…” You had read it all, yet you were still working on processing it.

“This… it would explain why he tried to attack Nat. So… he is not in danger then?” Thor probed.

“No, not necessarily but—“

“So we can just wait until it is over.”

You frowned. “Until what is over?”

“His heat! If what you are saying is true and Loki’s behaviour derives from his heritage… if he cannot control his reactions, we have to keep him locked up and wait. We can’t have him ravish all the females in the compound.”

“But… he is in pain.”

An urgent knock on the bathroom door interrupted you.

“Hey, are you having a soap party in there? Other people need to use the bathroom too!” Closing the heavy book shut again, you rolled your eyes.

“There are at least three other bathrooms in this compound, Tony!”

“What are you two doing in here anyway?” He asked as he opened the door and leaned against the threshold when he spotted you two sitting on the edge of the bathtub.

“(Y/N) found out that Loki is… uh… in heat.”

“In heat?!” Tony repeated. “Like a cat?”

“No! It… has something to do with the procreation cycle of Jötuns. It… is in his nature.”

“Fuck…”

“Hey… language.” If you hadn’t recognised his voice, you would know it was Steve who joined your heated discussion. “What’s going on here?”

“Loki is in heat, like a cat.” Steve frowned.

“No, he isn’t! Not like a cat, this is…” Thor stood again before you could finish your sentence.

“It’s for the best, (Y/N). Down there, he’ll be save from getting himself into trouble.”

“Thor, wait! Loki is suffering! Soon, he will…”

“We can’t risk it, (Y/N)! He almost raped Natasha!” Tony barked. “And if you go near him, I’ll lock you up too. I’ve seen what he’s capable of, (Y/N). I will not let him hurt you.”

“He… he wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t.” You chirped. No. Loki would never deliberately take a woman against her will. If he did… no! Loki had in incredible amount of self-control and composure; and you knew how much he despised his own heritage. He would fight this—for as long as he could.

“Besides…” Tony added. “It wouldn’t be so bad if he got a taste of his own medicine.”

“Stop blaming Loki for your PTSD, Tony. That was Thanos’ doing and you know that.” You growled darkly. The billionaire paused for a moment.

“He is staying where he is,” he concluded then. “Until he’s gone back to normal.”

-

But you did not want to wait. You couldn’t. You had read about the symptoms in detail. In the book it said that moodiness and aggression were only the beginning. If Loki did not act on what his Jötun body demanded from him and… released, then soon, excruciating pain would torment his loins. Masturbation appeared to be out of the picture. You nibbled on your lower lip. This thought of yours invaded his privacy on a truly shameful level, yet you were certain that if sexual arousal had already been plaguing him for a significant amount of time before this outbreak of his, he would have tried to lay hand on himself already and learned it did not provide the necessary relief.

Sooner or later, he would no longer be able to suppress his erection—and it would not disappear until he… sheathed himself inside a female to fill her with his seed. Under different circumstances, the idea of him claiming a woman… you, in such a possessive manner would have aroused you tremendously yourself. As of right now, however, Loki was in agony. The pain, if ignored for too long, would only get worse—it could last up to months and even then the denial of sexual release could result in permanent damage to his loins and even his potency.

But there was no cure either. No potion or spell to contain a male Jötun’s heat which Thor could have forwarded to Asgardian healers.

It was past midnight when you stopped reading and translating—too appalled by how much more Loki would have to suffer if nothing was done about his… condition. The only way to make it stop… was to act on it.

Your lips parted in realisation. You liked him, very much so—and you found Loki incredibly attractive, dreaming of his hands on your body, even. Perhaps you could help him after all. You were not Jötun but… would his body really make a difference? This most primal part of him wished to mate with a female—and although you had never seen a female Jötun, you doubted they looked much different than you did down there.

-

You had to wait another thirty minutes until the lights in Tony’s lab finally went out and you could sneak through the compound and downstairs to the cells—and once you had made sure that Vision was nowhere to be found, you switched off the security camera for Loki’s cell and approached the thick metal door.

It was quiet. He had stopped screaming. There was no banging against the walls either. Yet when you unlocked the door and slipped inside, his appearance, cowering on the floor and leaning against the cool wall with bare feet, startled you to the core. Loki’s raven hair was completely dishevelled, his knuckles bruised and covered in dry blood. His Jötun appearance was downright intimidating and close up, even more fascinating. He was breathing heavily, the thin shirt he had been wearing underneath all of his armour torn in several places, revealing blue skin and in his dark leather trousers… there was a remarkable bulge.

You shivered slightly when his red eyes met yours. Slowly, he tilted his head. “What are you doing here?” He growled hoarsely but weakly.

“I… I want to help you.”

The God of Mischief snorted. “You cannot help me.”

Mutely, you shook your head. “I can. Loki… I… I know what’s happening with you.”

He snorted once more. “So do I.”

“Let me help you.” Taking a deep breath, you moved closer to him. He reacted immediately. Loki jerked, greedily, as if to grab you and pull you on his lap. He could barely stop himself. Yet you were convinced that he would not hurt you in this state… much. A wave of courage rolled over you—you were doing this for him; and you wouldn’t be doing it if you did not like him in this way. Regardless of what he thought of you after, if he could even imagine being with a mortal like that… you longed to stop his pain.

“Leave.” He said quickly when you kneeled down next to him, timidly resting your palms on his thighs. “No… I said… leave… while you still can.” You did not. In fact, you ignored his rather sincere warning. Slowly, to not tickle the sleeping dragon, you reached for the buttons of his leather trousers and began undoing them until he grabbed a hold of your wrists to stop you. He was ice cold.

“Have you… lost your mind?” Loki was cut off by a loud hiss escaping his lips when your fingertips brushed against his erection. He was large—much larger than he would be in his Aesir form, you presumed, and his cock too was blue and covered in dozens of ridges.

“It won’t go away on its own,” you whispered. “You know it won’t. It’s okay.”

Braver this time, you stroked him again, creating more skin on skin contact. Loki was still holding on to you tightly but made no move to stop you. The touch of a female… it must have been bringing some sort of relief already. Coming here had been the right decision.

“Loki…” You murmured. Finally, your hand closed around his incredibly hard cock entirely and you began to jerk him off—gently at first, only to pick up speed when his breathing grew even heavier than it already was. Defeated, he dropped his head against the wall, revealing his blue neck to you. “Please let me help you.” You repeated. “It’s okay. I trust you.” Upon those words, Loki’s eyes widened barely noticeably. Perhaps it was all he had needed to hear to lose his self-control and composure entirely.

Growling like a wild animal, he suddenly started at you, pushing you back firmly so you lost your balance like a beetle on its back, wrapped his ice cold hands around your ankles and pulled you into him. Your back collided with the floor, knocking all air out of your lungs. You gasped for air all the while Loki busied himself with your clothes. Any layer of fabric was too much. He wanted you naked for him. His sheer strength petrified you when he tore at your pyjamas and ripped them to pieces until they were scattered all over the cell. You trembled—but it wasn’t the icy temperature of his blue skin that made your limbs shake so much. It was, so you realised when your widened eyes fell on his massive erection, now fully springing free from his tight trousers, your own arousal growing into dizzying heights. This, whatever it was, excited you—maybe even way more than it should.

Once more, the God of Mischief grabbed your ankles, forcing your legs open. Your heart skipped a beat when he laid his blood-red eyes upon your bare pussy. Your lower lips must have been glistening with your juices in the artificial light of the cell. Loki growled, his long and cold fingers gripping your ankles so tightly you could already feel the bruises forming. Eagerly, he positioned himself between your legs, the tip of his hard and ice cold cock teasing your clit. A moan escaped your lips, urging him on. The fire in his eyes had returned, like your body had set his ablaze.

He spread you even further for him, your nails digging into the metal floor beneath you—and then he claimed you for his own. Inch by antagonising inch, he split you apart, sheathing himself so deep inside of you all air was knocked from your lungs yet again. He was ice cold and he was much larger than the average man; and you were beginning to understand that yes, female Jötuns were anatomically different than humans. Human women were not made for taking such long cocks… so why did every single powerful thrust of his feel so good?

Loki pulled out almost completely, with only the tip remaining inside of you, only to plunge back inside only the fraction of a second later, fucking you furiously. Your tight and wet walls appeared to mould around his manhood, gripping him tightly, asking for more despite the almost unbearable coldness against your most intimate parts. No longer were you in control of your arms. They reached up, palms gliding over his bare chest and enjoying the coldness under your fingertips. Fascinated and aroused at the very same time, you traced every single ridge on Loki’s body while he was fucking you senseless, until your eyes rolled to the back of your head, unable to take the pleasure. His long manhood his spots inside of you which you had never known even existed. He leaned down, at last letting go of your ankles, instead taking a hold of your wrists to pin them both down right above your head and pressing his body so tightly against yours that your clit kept rubbing against his pelvis with every single stroke. You moaned, stricken by ecstasy, and arched your back as you kept moving your hips up to meet his thrusts.

Aroused, you looked down, watching how his blue cock kept sliding in and out of you, spreading your lips as they enveloped him welcomingly.

Loki groaned, his attention steering towards your breasts as they bounced with each of his rough thrusts. Hungrily, he lowered his face, his cold breath ghosting over your mounts, and sucked your right nipple into his mouth—hard. He nibbled, suckled pulled and bit until the already hardened nub was throbbing with pleasure and need and he repeated the same blissful procedure with your left nipple all the while he kept rutting into you uncontrollably.

“Loki…” You wondered if, in his current state, he would be able to speak. As of right now, he indeed reminded you of a wolf who would annihilate anything standing between him and his subject of desire, his prey—you.

Your toes curled, the promising and numbing sensation growing in your lower abdomen having you scream his name over and over again. You could already feel yourself clenching around him, your body urging him on to mark you with his seed and impregnate you and when he finally released himself into you, burying his cock as deep inside of you as was physically possible and coating your walls with his load, he triggered your own release.

You came with a loud moan, feeling him twitch against you as your pussy contracted around him again and again until you collapsed underneath him, spent and tired from his vigorous fucking. Loki, on the other hand, didn’t even think about letting you be. Unceremoniously, he pulled you on his lap so you came to snuggle up against his cold and naked chest, your face hidden in his neck. He supported himself by leaning against the metal wall, his cock still resting deep inside of you.

“How… are you… feeling?” You breathed out, barely able to keep your eyes open. Being taken thoroughly by a Frost Giant had been a lot more exhausting than you had initially assumed.

He was panting, his eyes almost shut. His erection inside you, however, was still very prominent and nowhere near ebbing down.

“Better… soon.” He growled into your ear. Soon? A high-pitched scream escaped your lips when he sank his teeth into your neck and bit down hard enough to make you squirm on his lap. You could still feel his ice cold sperm dribbling out of you and coating his own cock when he grabbed your arse and began moving you up and down his cold rut, forcing you to ride him.

“Oh… fuck…” You choked out. You were tender already, sensitive to the touch. This was too much, too soon. Yet Loki was too caught up in his pleasure and urges to give you a break. He took you several more times that night, eliciting orgasm after orgasm after orgasm from you—until you were on the verge of passing out.

-

You awoke with a hunger unlike one you had never experienced before. Irritated, you crawled out of bed—using the toilet but skipping your morning routine to get to the kitchen to prepare some breakfast. It was only seven. Loki had not… released you until half past six. There was no way your body could have drawn enough rest from this meagre hour of sleep.

Be that as it may—for now, you were hungry. Quietly, you tiptoed into the kitchen, ignoring the sweet ache and tenderness between your legs and resisting the urge to cup yourself through your pyjama bottoms. The white and bright light of the fridge blinded you when you opened it and reached for a package of juice and one of those pre-packed turkey sandwiches Tony kept buying. Unceremoniously, you then closed the fridge with your butt and sat down at the kitchen table to eat. And you kept returning to the fridge until Steve joined you in the kitchen to have a cup of coffee and then go for a run. When had you ever been this hungry before? Was it because of the aggressive sex you had had with Loki? Jesus…

You blushed when Steve asked you how you had slept—and you were rather grateful you had been smart enough to switch off the security cameras before… helping Loki out. He had still been in his Jötun form when you left at long last but he had looked content and… satisfied, in the most carnal manner possible. You would wait until the rest of the Avengers were up to check on him, to not raise any suspicion.

So when Thor staggered into the kitchen with a shit-eating grin on his face, you nearly jumped from your seat.

“Good morning!” He yelled—clearly in a very good mood. He managed to scarf down an entire package of fruit loops before you couldn’t take it anymore and aggressively scratched your fork over your empty plate until the room went awkwardly quiet.

“Didn’t you forget something?” You asked him heatedly. The God of Thunder frowned.

“No! I did flush the toilet this morning, (Y/N).”

Rolling your eyes, you stood.

“Loki. Loki is still one level below you, locked up in a cell, in pain, while you are enjoying your breakfast.” You hoped though, sincerely, that he was no longer in pain.

“(Y/N)… we spoke about this, there is nothing we can do. Down there, he can’t hurt himself or anyone else. I told you I’m going to Asgard soon, I will speak to—”

It was in this moment that your plate broke in half. You had, subconsciously, used your fork to stab it so forcefully it fell apart like a rotten apple. Eyes widening, you mumbled an apology.

“Sorry… I just… no one should be suffering like this. You all heard him last night.”

Bruce gave you a gentle smile. “You’ve always had a big heart for everyone, huh?” You nodded quickly. They did not need to know about your feelings… or the arousing ache between your legs. Your heart was racing. You took a deep breath, hurrying out of the kitchen without cleaning up behind you. Instead, you immediately locked yourself in the bathroom and turned on the tap to splash some cold water on your face. The icy temperature calmed you once it came in contact with your skin, reminding you of him—if only for a moment.

You were shaking. What on Earth was wrong with you? You took a quick shower to wind down, threw on an oversized sweater and then headed downstairs to the prison cells. A glance at the monitor of the security camera made you let out a relieved breath. Loki had indeed gone back to his Aesir form—and he did no longer seem to be in pain. It was, so you wondered, very unusual, however, to not complain and wreak havoc so the Avengers would let him out but then again… would they truly believe him if he told them he had overcome his heat?

With another deep breath, you opened the cell door and slipped inside.

“You were not supposed to see me like this last night. No one was.” He said quietly before you could even open your mouth, not bothering to make eye contact with you.

“Did you know? What was happening to you?”

“Yes.” He snorted, a bitter smile spreading on his thin lips. “I believed I would be able to control it.” Finally, he looked up, his blue eyes locking with yours. “Did I hurt you?” Your lips parted in surprise. Slowly, you shook your head.

“No… I mean… it was quite pleasurable… for me as well… actually.” You choked out sheepishly.

“Hmm… that I could tell,” Loki gave you a light smirk. “Thank you.” He said then—and for the first time since you had met him, you sensed true honesty and sincerity in his smooth voice.

“I’ll leave the door open.” You returned his smile; the planes in your belly flying loops.

“We are… keeping this between us, are we not?” He hastened to ask when you turned around.

“Of course.” After all, no one needed to know you had let Loki mate with you to regain control over his loins.

-

It was five days after your intimate encounter with Loki when your constant shaking became worse enough for him to notice—and if that wasn’t bad enough already, your body had begun to sweat; a lot. Day in and out, you had to change your sheets as if your bed was your personal sauna—or your personal hell.

You felt like you had been hit by a bus, like an extremely nasty form of the flu had you in its steel grip tightly, unwilling to let you go. Sleep, however, to get some rest and recover, would not come either. Two hours per night at most, three if you got lucky. And instead of getting better, it became worse.

He had been restless ever since. It could not be. After all, it had also never… or had it? Growling to himself, he locked the door to his room, enjoying the quietness and most of all, utter privacy.

Not a soul in the nine realms was aware he was still in the possession of the Tesseract. So when he produced it out of thin air—his large hand momentarily surrounded by a green mist—he made sure to hurry and quickly teleported himself back to Asgard. Heimdall would never open the Bifrost for him if he wasn’t accompanied by Thor.

He was worried about you and his surprise about these particular circumstances was remarkably low. When he closed his eyes, he could still taste your hard nipples on his tongue from when he had suckled on them. He remembered how warm your body felt against his when he had cradled you in his lap and the thought of your tight cunt around his throbbing cock stirred arousal in his leather trousers if only he indulged in reminiscences for too long. Most of all, however, he was unable to forget the sincere smile on your face when you had freed him from the cell the next day… and the mesmerised gaze you had met him with when he had ravished your sweet quim over and over again.

With another deep breath, he disappeared in an ice cold cloud of smoke.

-

Sneaking past the guards and into the palace library—the one place he had spent hours on end in growing up here, hiding away from Thor, his friends and the world, reading and hoarding knowledge—was pathetically easy. He knew exactly what to look for, what lecture would confirm his worrying suspicions. Once he found what he had been searching, he sat down on the windowsill—another usual spot he found comfort in—and began his research. He had known about the impact of a male Jötun’s seed on his female counterpart, of course; for even though he despised his own race, he, as opposed to Thor, had paid attention during their private tutoring lessons as children. The heavy book in his hands, however, made him, the God of Mischief and Trickery, hold his breath. What Loki had not known was that the repercussion of a male Jötun’s seed did not just occur in Jötun females. It applied to any species—including humans. However, the chances of survival for weaker lifeforms were alarmingly low.

Abandoning the book, he hurried out of the library and into the city. There was someone he needed to speak to.

-

“With all due respect, my prince but you are not welcome here.” Loki rolled his eyes. He knew it would not be fun, exactly, to seek out his ex-partners and ask about their well-being long after he had left them. The man opening him when he knocked on Sigyn’s door, a woman he had been engaged with for several years in his youth, was about as tall as Thor—his right hand decorated with a golden ring. Husband. Just great. And, judging by his obvious dismay of finding him on his doorstep, she must have told him about their shared past.

“I need to speak to your wife. Urgently. That is an order.” Sigyn’s husband growled, clenching his fists but stepped aside regardless. Loki made sure not to pay any attention to the furniture and his surroundings. Toys were scattered all across the living room, hinting that Sigyn had become both wife and mother in his absence. Her face fell when she spotted Loki standing in the middle of the small room—truly like he would even have preferred Helheim over being here of all places—as pale as a ghost.

“Loki… I mean… your highness. What… brings you here?”

“I need to ask you a few questions.”

“Um… by all means. Sit down. Would you like some ale?”

“No.” Sigyn pointed at the rectangular kitchen table and then sat down opposite of him. Her hands were folded on the surface of the polished wood.

“It is good to see you.”

“Likewise… Now this will sound odd,” he began unceremoniously, ignoring her husband towering above him with his arms crossed. “But I have to know how you fared after we separated. Not… emotionally. Physically.” He emphasised.

“Physically? That is indeed odd. Oh, I… um… let me see, it’s been such a long time. I had quite an appetite after you left,” she laughed, clearly uncomfortable with his presence. Loki sighed.

“An appetite. What more than that?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary. Except… yes, of course! I fell ill a few days after. The healers never found out what my body was rebelling against. It lasted for a few months. Tiredness, insomnia, attacks of sweat and I could not stop shaking. Why do you ask? Did you… did you experience it too?”

“No,” he replied quickly, a nauseous feeling spreading in his guts. You were showing the exact same symptoms. Symptoms of addiction. “You said it lasted for a few months?”

“I am sorry, your highness but is there a point to this interrogation? My wife has to feed the baby.”

“We’re almost done.” He barked, glaring at Sigyn’s husband from the corner of his eye.

“It did,” Sigyn confirmed. “But then it never returned.”

“Thank you. That will be all.” Loki took a deep breath and stood, resisting the urge to massage the bridge of his nose to clear his thoughts. It was only when he turned on his heel to leave this way too harmonic place that he noticed Sigyn’s husband had left the door open for him. He rolled his eyes.

“Loki! I-I mean, your highness…”

“Loki is fine, Sigyn. We have seen each other naked, after all.” Beside him, he could practically hear her husband gnashing his teeth. He smirked.

“I understand you do not wish to share with me what troubles you but whatever it is, I hope everything will turn out to be alright.”

Loki gave her a smile. It was as honest as he could muster in this tense situation. Sigyn had always known when he was being plagued by dark sorrows, even before he learned about his true parentage. Much like you. You too had been able to tell he had been unwell, both physically and mentally. He swallowed thickly.

“Thank you, Sigyn.”

He had to see Amora, too. They had not exactly gone separate ways peacefully but if she had experienced the same symptoms as Sigyn after their break-up, he had to get back to you immediately. And he had to tell you. The truth, a luxury given his nature, was the very least you deserved.

-

“Where have you been?” Thor roared as soon as he entered the kitchen to pick up one of those cold drinking chocolates you had introduced him to a while back—the ridiculous amount of sugar would help you, if only for a moment. The presence of Tony, Nat, Bucky, Steve and Thor, leaning against the counter or sitting at the kitchen table, he ignored as best as he could. He would have preferred to be alone now.

Loki quirked his eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Asgard, given that you were unwilling to get help yourself.”

“How? Heimdall wouldn’t…”

“There is a lot Heimdall does not know, brother.” Thor grumbled something he did not understand but it sounded awfully like a curse word in Old Norse.

“Whatever. Have you seen (Y/N)? Her room is down the same hallways as yours, has she left her room lately?” Tony barked at him.

“As far as I am concerned, she has Vision bring her excessive amounts of food, for she is too weak to come to the kitchen herself. No. I have not seen her around.” He replied nonchalantly, with false disinterest. This time, so it seemed, however, his choice of tone, equalled shooting himself in the foot.

“We need to get her to the hospital. None of the medicines I gave her worked even a little bit—and I contacted the best doctors I know.” Loki suppressed a scoff. As if a hospital full of human ‘doctors’ would be able to help you. The only one who could… was he.

“For Fuck’s sake, she has been feeling ill ever since…” Tony’s face fell. “Ever since we locked up your brother.” Belligerently, his gaze wandered over to Loki again. “Okay, Reindeer Games, what did you do to her and don’t even try to lie to me!”

“You do assume, automatically, that I have something to do with it?” He mocked. Tony clenched his fists.

“Loki,” Thor added calmly. “Do you… know something?” The God of Mischief sighed. If he told them, what little trust they had in his capabilities as an Avenger would vaporise like smoke. It mattered not. In fact, he could not care less if any of those self-proclaimed heroes even liked him. Yet if he spoke the truth… surely they would do anything in their power to keep you away from him—which was exactly what they could not do if they wanted you to survive and feel better again as much as he did. He could just take care of the problem on his own… sooner or later, however, they were bound to find out about their intimate encounters, and he was beyond keeping secrets like that. If he wanted to make love to you, then he would, may the Norns help him.

“It is… my seed.” He choked out reluctantly.

“Your… what!? Your… yeah, no, I can’t say that out loud without throwing up… is making her sick!?”

“The seed of a male Jötun is causing… an addiction. Withdrawal will make her weak and ill.” Loki looked up grimly. “Frost Giants live in strictly monogamous relationships.”

“What, like penguins? How did she even come in contact with… did you… did you rape her? I swear to God, I will kill you.”

“I did not lay a finger on her.” Loki replied darkly.

Tony threw his hands up in the air. “So how did your happy juice get inside of her in the first place then!? How did that happen, I wonder?”

“She came to me voluntarily, Stark!”

“But you knew? If you knew it would make her sick, why didn’t you stop her, you selfish asshole!?”

“How!? How, Stark!? Resisting the urge to mate in heat is like attempting to suppress a sneeze. It’s impossible. Don’t bother your pathetic human mind with things you do not understand.”

“Loki…” Thor began warningly. The God of Mischief ignored him with a hostile growl.

“(Y/N) would never do that.” Tony said then.

“Perhaps you do not know her as well as you thought you do.”

“You little shit, I will…” Tony jumped from his chair as if stung by an adder, prompting Loki to draw one of his daggers seemingly out of nowhere when he started at him. Both Natasha and Steve barely managed to hold him back.

“Leave it, Tony. This is Loki. He is just trying to provoke you.” Nat appeased.

Just this one time, however, they were wrong. Loki did, in fact, care about you. It was just he had not realised that until you had willingly offered your body to him when he had been in pain. Glaring at them darkly, he rose from his chair.

“I am going to fix this.” He spat. It almost sounded like a threat. “Not for you. I could watch you drop dead to my feet without so much as blinking. But for her.” Fuming, he stormed out, his right fist still clutching at his dagger in a desperate attempt to calm himself down. And as of right now, Thor knew better than to stop him.

He needed to see you. Remorse and guilt were eating him up from the inside out—and it wasn’t just the fact you had helped him in spite of everything he had done to Midgard only a few years back. It was… you were… Loki closed his eyes for a brief moment. You were his.

When he knocked on your door, there was no response. Now there was a chance you were asleep, yet he somehow knew better than to leave and try again later as to not startle you. After all… he was going to make you feel better.

He slipped inside, locking the door behind him with magic so you would not be disturbed. The sight of you almost broke his heart. You were trembling, buried under a pile of blankets, pale and weak.

“(Y/N)…” He spoke with a quiet voice, approaching you slowly. Your eyes opened when you heard his voice, your weak body barely managing to turn over to look at him. A cough escaped your lips before you could answer him.

“Hey…”

“How are you feeling?”

“Terrible.” You tried for a laugh but could only manage another cough. With a straight face, he sat down on the edge of the bed so he was able to bring his palm to your forehead. You were incredibly warm, yet the sweat made your skin cold to the touch. His heart skipped a beat. Suddenly, he was worried you only had a few weeks left until your body gave up fighting the withdrawal. He would not, ever let this happen.

“I brought you some cold drinking chocolate.”

“Oh…” You chuckled weakly. “Thank you. Is that the only reason you came?”

“No,” he laughed. “I came to check on you.”

“An eye for an eye, huh?” Your eyes fell shut when you smiled.

“Hmm… I’m afraid it is a little more complicated than that.” He purred. You never noticed how his eyes fell on your crotch, even if it was covered by a bunch of blankets. Slowly but determined, he slid his left hand under the layers of fabric until he found what he was searching for. With skilled fingers, he began to massage your clit until he felt you responding to his attentive touches. You arched your back, your sex growing wetter and wetter fast—like your body knew exactly what would follow. Licking his lips, he scooped some of it up to spread all over your quim and create even more friction. You were squirming by the time he removed the blankets entirely and positioned himself between your legs, careful not to shift all of his body weight onto you.

Was he going to… did he… could he possibly… reciprocate your feelings? Your heart skipped a beat, butterflies awakening in your belly. If only you could…

“Loki… Loki, I… I really want to do this again too but… not now, I’m… I really don’t feel well.”

“Shhh…” He would ponder over your words later. You wanted to do this again too? Had it not just be compassion and pity that had driven you to offer him your most intimate parts for relief? And what if you refused him now? You had to trust him. So he shut you up by pressing his lips against yours, capturing them in a passionate kiss and then, once again slowly but determined, removed the blankets and peeled your pyjama from you until he had you naked—fine, he had helped with magic; and he was certainly too impatient to remove his own clothes, so instead contented himself with freeing his growing erection from his trousers only.

A whimper escaped your lips when you caught sight of his arousal, his tip—not blue but the colour of flesh this time—pressing against your entrance. He slid inside you to the hilt with almost no resistance, your warm pussy welcoming him in. Loki moaned when your walls gripped him tightly; it was like your body already knew his release would make it feel better. Only this time, he was in control. This time, he would take his time and make gentle love to you—right until you began to tremble underneath him for entirely different reasons.

Your eyes fell shut when Loki started moving, retreating almost completely only to plunge back deep inside of you fast and passionately. You were too weak to buck your hips, as much as you would have loved to. And despite your weariness, he felt incredible. You were unable to decide which form of his you liked better.

You kissed him again when his nose brushed against yours and his breath tickled your lips, bathing in the intimacy between you. But when he slid his hand down to where your bodies were united to pamper your clit all the while speeding up, hungry for his release, you stopped him, albeit gently.

“I… I don’t think I can, I’m too… but I… it’s okay.” You murmured. “Cum.”

It was a request he could not resist, not any longer. Thrusting forward a few more times, his release was beginning to overwhelm him. He groaned into your ear, his hot breath brushing against your cheek, and let his climax consume him. He was throbbing against your walls, his seed—surprisingly warm and not as cold as it had been the first time—filling you to the brim and until you could feel it dribbling out of you again. Loki stilled, turning you over so you both rested on the mattress on your sides, with his slowly softening cock still inside of you and one of your legs draped over his hips. One heartbeat passed, then another and another. And just like that… you felt like you had been reborn.

“How… I feel so much better.” Loki kept silent. Remorse was sparkling in his blue eyes. Avoiding your curious gaze, he looked down, with a start fascinated with the blue roses on your bed sheets.

“Loki?”

“You did fail to read all of it, did you not?” He stated quietly.

“What… what do you mean?”

“The book you took from my shelf. I looked it up when you got worse. It wasn’t until I left for Asgard that I realised why our… sexual encounter is making you ill.”

“I… wait… Does that mean you believe it has something to do with you? I mean… what we did? Is it… I’m not pregnant, am I!?”

“No. You are not.” He smirked at you weakly. “That, I would have sensed already. No… I’m afraid it is a little more complicated. Frost Giants live in strictly monogamous relationships. They never… switch their partners once they mated during their first heat. If they do…” Loki took a deep breath. “It appears that the seed of a Frost Giant triggers some sort of… addiction for their female partner. They develop a carnal craving for their seed which forces them to keep returning for… more.”

Biologically speaking, this was a downright bulletproof way of ensuring the survival of a species—the Jötuns’ own bodies turning against them and demanding sex. The gravity of his words, however, hit you only a moment later. So this was why you had been feeling so sick lately. You were showing signs of… addiction. Your body had become addicted to Loki’s seed. You swallowed thickly.

“I-is there… is there a way to stop this?”

“I went to speak to my former partners back on Asgard—which, to be frank, does not just sound like a disaster. But I needed to know if they experienced any symptoms similar to yours when we… separated.” You ignored the painful sting in your heart when he said ‘former partners’. Of course Loki had had sex before, had perhaps even been in love. He did not strike you as the type of Norse God who was unexperienced in the art of love making. After all, he had more than just proved this to you. It mattered not, not now.

“And… did they?” You probed nervously.

Loki nodded seriously. “They were both bedridden for months, plagued by uncontrollable trembling and sweating. Their appetite increased, they ate twice as much than they usually would without ever feeling truly full… and they barely slept anymore, tossing and turning for most of the night. Amora added she became increasingly violent as well. They, of course, believed it was a virus which would pass, eventually.” Terrified, you remembered how you had broken your plate in the kitchen the night after your lovemaking. It all made sense now.

But you did not dare ask what this meant. When dreaming of having a relationship with Loki, you had not imaged a partnership out of physical and sexual necessity which would feel like a chore to him; like an obligation now that you had helped him out, after all.

“But they were Asgardian.” He suddenly said, pausing to let his words sink in. “You are human. You are mortal. I am uncertain you would survive…” If I stopped having sex with you. Is that what he had meant to say before he stopped himself abruptly?

Taking a deep and shaky breath, you gathered all of your courage, as weak as it may be.

“This is all my own fault, Loki.”

“It is not—“

“N-no, let me speak. It’s my fault. You couldn’t help it. And I came to you on my own accord. But…” You swallowed. “Even if I had known, I still would have helped you.”

The God of Mischief frowned when you reached for his hand and held it—but it was a downright vulnerable expression.

“Loki… I’m not going to expect you to keep having sex with me if you don’t… I mean…” It was then he began to smirk cheekily.

“And if I do?” Loki had truthfully speaking always been a puzzle—always keeping his deepest thoughts and feelings all to himself. Until now. So he did reciprocate your feelings.

“Y-you do?” His smirk widened.

“It… does get better after a while, once the pair is more acquainted to each other’s bodies,” he continued. “And they are then able to spend more time apart without any signs of withdrawal showing. Ultimately, however, once the male Jötun claimed her, the female is bound to him… if he decides to keep her.”

Despite your weakness, you raised an eyebrow. “That sounds pretty sexist, Lokes.” Loki looked up. His heart jumped when you gave him a nickname.

“Sexist? No. Dominant? Yes.” He growled darkly.

“You’re right. It’s probably not sexist given that male Frost Giants go into heat.” You giggled in response. Loki tickled your sides for that remark, making you wriggle around on the bed. If your hunch was not deceiving your love-drunken mind, then the God of Mischief had just begun to court you.

“Loki?” You mused, raising your voice in a shy manner.

“Hmm?”

“I think I feel fit enough now to have an orgasm.”

The God of Mischief laughed—as heartily as you had never heard him laugh before. “Do you now?”

Next thing you knew he was already on top of you again, covering your naked body with tender kisses.

-

A/N: Check out my blog to find more Imagines and take a glimpse at my first (to be) published novel! If you enjoyed this story, I would appreciate it so much if you supported me on Kofi! ko-fi.com/sserpente ♥  

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

If I Fell For You (Part 10) - Take Care

Summary: The reader gets to meet Danneel’s parents in a somewhat unorthodox way but receives a warm welcome to her surprise. Meanwhile, a minor medical scare makes Jensen anxious that he takes too much and doesn’t give enough to the reader...

Masterlist

Pairing: Jensen x nanny!reader

Square: Playing With Their Hair

Word Count: 4,800ish

Warnings: language, minor frightening situation, minor medical situation, anxiety

A/N: Please enjoy! Also written for @supernatural-jackles​​ Tell Me A Story Bingo...

________

One Week Later

“Y/N, can we get orange?” asked Arrow from where she sat in the shopping cart. She pointed at the tubes of frosting and you took one off, handing it to her as you went back to searching for a box of red velvet mix. 

“Come on,” you sighed, squatting down. You saw one shoved in the back and you bent down, reaching back to get it. You huffed when you pulled it back, the expiration date still plenty good. “Score. Okay Arrow what other color…”

She wasn’t in the cart anymore as you stood, her bright pink shirt and shorts nowhere in sight. 

“Arrow!” you shouted, people from the farther end of the aisle turning to look at you. You breathed hard and spun around, exiting the aisle and looking at the checkouts. “Arrow!”

“Mam,” said a man in a white dress shirt and slacks, walking over with a headset on.

“I had a little girl with me and she’s missing and she was in the cart and I would have heard her climb out,” you said, walking quickly, the man following with you as you checked down aisles. “Arrow!”

You heard the guy talk into his headset when you caught pink and a guy near the front of the store. She spun around and you ran over, the manager not too far behind you. You didn’t say a word when you kicked the back of the guys knee and grabbed Arrow, picking her up.

“What’d I do?” he said, Arrow turning away. He looked more angry than you were expecting and you swallowed, the manager urging you back. “She’s the one that took my granddaughter!”

“She’s not your fucking granddaughter, pervert. I’m her nanny and soon to be step-mom so you can back the fuck off.”

“Step fucking what?” he said, his face going blank. 

“Grandpa I told you Y/N’s my friend,” said Arrow. You blinked and stared at the man.

“Prove it,” you said. The man angrily pulled out his wallet and ripped out a picture, turning it around. It was a large group photo but you could clearly see Jensen and the kids in it along with… “You’re her father. Danneel.”

“Who the fuck are you,” he said. You took out your phone and went to your pictures, showing him one of your backyard bonfire from the weekend before. 

“Is there a problem?” asked the manager. You shook your head and he rolled his eyes and left.

“Sir, I’m so sorry,” you said. He nodded and glanced down. 

“Well, I can’t blame you. I understand the feeling,” he said. 

“Can we...talk?” you asked.

“I think that’d be best before somebody else gets their ass kicked.”

Fifteen minutes later you had your bag of baking supplies in your trunk, Arrow was playing on the jungle gym and you were sat at a picnic table with Danneel’s parents.

“You guys came down early for JJ’s birthday, huh,” you said.

“We had to come down this weekend instead. Something came up last minute next week,” said her mom. You nodded and took a deep breath. 

“I am so sorry. That is absolutely not how Jensen and I wanted to tell you both.”

“I’m old but I’m tough. I’ll survive,” said her father. You looked over to where Arrow was playing, gnawing on your bottom lip. “You said you were the nanny and soon to be step mom. Mind unraveling that for us?”

“I uh, I started working for Jensen in January as a nanny to help with the kids. The relationship part came a few weeks later. We’ve been engaged very briefly. Don’t even have a ring or anything yet,” you said, shaking your head. “Please don’t be mad at him. It’s taken him so long to stop feeling guilty for having feelings for me. Please don’t be upset with him. I don’t...I’m not trying to replace anyone or anything. I didn’t want to like him. But I did and I love him and he deserves to be happy again.”

They looked at one another and back at you.

“Good,” they both said. 

“Excuse me?”

“We think he deserves to be happy too. He was in such a bad place after the accident,” she said. “He’s sounded like himself again recently.”

“Plus if you’re willing to kick my ass for thinking I took Arrow, that gets you some brownie points,” he said with a smile. You nodded and looked down at the table, swallowing. “Not what you were expecting?”

“Your daughter’s husband is engaged to a younger woman. I wouldn’t blame you at all for whatever you might think,” you said.

“He’s got a lot of time left,” he said. “He doesn’t have to be miserable for it. We don’t want that for him. It’s not what she’d want. He’s doing exactly what she’d want from him and that’s all we can ask of him. Well and maybe stick around the country for a bit so we can see the kids some more.”

“Yeah, no plans to be anywhere but home right now,” you said. You looked over at Arrow and watched her jump off a high platform. She fell down to her knees but got up and brushed them off before she was running again.

“She’d like you,” you heard, your attention going back to the two of them. She was staring at you and you smiled.

“You don’t know a thing about me mam.”

“I think we know the important parts,” she said. You nodded and glanced down. “What do Jensen’s parents think of all this?”

“They know he’s dating but that’s it. I’m supposed to meet them next week,” you said.

“We’ll keep our lips sealed for the time being then,” she said. “What about your folks? What do they think of Jensen and the kids?”

“The kids probably haven’t met either parent yet, right?” he said. 

“It’s kinda complicated...I was adopted. My mom died a long time ago. I don’t have a dad or family really,” you said. You pursed your lips and picked at the corner of the table with your fingernail, the air heavy. 

“Well we approve of him,” he said. “He’s a good kid.”

“I know. He’s very special,” you said. “I just wish something so horrible didn’t have to happen to him and your daughter in order to meet him.”

“We can’t change that fact,” she said. “She’d want you to take care of him, keep an eye on him. Oh and remind him to take a break and slow down every once in a while. He always gets so caught up in work and being on the go. She had to calm him down sometimes.”

“I have noticed that trend,” you said. “I hope you don’t feel like he’s going to forget-”

“No we don’t worry about that. If we learned anything from this it’s just that you have to live while you have the chance,” he said as Arrow ran over.

“Y/N, I’m hungry,” she said. 

“Alright, munchkin. Why don’t we head home and maybe your grandma and grandpa will have lunch with us?” you asked.

“We’d love to,” they said. “We’ll meet you two there.”

“That went shockingly well,” said Jensen late that night when you were having an extra slice of JJ’s early birthday cake. “Those guys loved you.”

“I think we both got a little too worried over the parents situation. Dee’s parents were great, especially considering I nearly broke his knee. I’m really excited to meet yours next weekend.”

“It’s not too long of a drive up there. I haven’t been home in a long time. I’m looking forward to it too,” he said, a big smile on his face. “I’m really glad they liked you.”

“What’s not to love?” you said, Jensen smirking around his piece of cake. “You’re so hard on yourself. I’m really happy they like me too but even if they didn’t, there’s no problem there. You’re allowed to live your life. Dee wants you to keep living it.”

“I still wonder if she was just like ‘this boy is driving me nuts again, he needs a girl,’ and somehow shoved you into my life,” he said.

“Maybe. I mean, it was good timing that I was looking for a new job the same time you were looking for a nanny.”

“Did you ever report that last guy as an inappropriate employer?” he asked.

“I tell the agency but nothing criminal no. I mostly feel sorry for the families. Nannies are stability in the kids lives and leaving them isn’t easy. Unless they’re little shitheads but even then I don’t blame them, it’s the parents that turned them into it,” you said. 

“What’d you think of those three, when you met ‘em I mean,” he said.

“They’re all a little shy like you but they open up if they like you. They’re pretty damn funny. They got wit and sarcasm, even if they don’t know it yet. They’re kind and intelligent and they look to you in how to act like most kids. I knew they were good kids from the start.”

“You’re gonna be a great mom,” he said. You smiled and watched him eat a piece of cake, Jensen tilting his head. “You know they have called you mom before. All three of them. Accidentally but still.”

“Being a nanny has some of the roles of a parent but there’s still a difference,” you said.

“Yeah but you’ve never just been the nanny,” he said, scraping up some frosting with his fork. “Speaking of your sudden thrust into motherhood, the whole kids thing...how many of your own were you thinking of?”

“I don’t know. I don’t need to make a baby to love it. I was adopted and my mom loved me so much. I mean there’s already three of ‘em to chase after.”

“I’d like to have a baby with you. Someday,” he said. You dabbed your finger across some frosting on the plate and sucked on it, staring at him. “I know you do. Y/N there’s no more secrets. There’s never gonna be a secret between us ever again. Sometimes you get nervous but we have to talk about these things and everything. The big choices and the little ones we make together.”

“Honestly? I don’t want you to think I’ll love them less than a kid I make. I won’t. I will treat them all the same but I don’t know how to prove that to you.”

“You told me the day I hired you that I needed to hire someone I could trust, that trust was going to be so important. Y/N, I’ve never doubted your feelings for them. Shit, I’m pretty damn sure you were in love with them before me. And I get it because they aren’t scary. They can’t hurt you like the adults can. We wouldn’t be having this conversation if I had a shred of doubt.”

“I gotta think about kids more I guess. How many, when. I don’t know that right now.”

“We’ll figure out all that when we’re ready. Just let me know and we’ll come back to this conversation,” he said, wrapping an arm around your waist. “You know...hearing about what you did at the store...that’s kinda super attractive you know.”

“Uh what?” you said, Jensen pulling you into his lap.

“You, going protective badass...that’s very, very hot you see,” he said. 

“You’re such a guy,” you said while he picked up the last piece of cake on his fork. 

“Well we-” he said as you leaned forward and wrapped your lips around the dessert, pulling back with a smile. “Oh you shouldn’t have done that.”

“What are you gonna do about it?” you smirked. He narrowed his eyes and set his fork down before he was standing and flipped you over his shoulder. “Jensen! Put me down!”

“Do the crime, do the time!” he said, walking over to the stairs. “Hm...what to do with you...ah I know…”

“You know…” you said before he flipped you down onto the couch and plopped down on top of you, catching most of his weight on his hands on either side of you. “Troublemaker.”

“You love it,” he said. He leaned down and kissed you, your hands wandering to his hair, holding him close. You grinned and wrapped your legs around his waist, Jensen kissing you sloppy and cheeky and like a teenage boy making out for the first time. 

“Dad,” said JJ, rushing down the stairs. He dropped this forehead to yours and sighed.

“What is it?” he asked. He sat up and you both looked at her, spotting the pale tint of her skin. “Feel okay?”

“Jensen call an ambulance, now,” you said, pushing him off and going over to her. He sat up and you kneeled down next to her, her lips slightly blue. You put a hand on her chest and felt the labored breathing. “Did you eat something new tonight? Or did a bug bite you?”

“I stepped on a prickly in the bathroom a minute ago,” she said.

“Jesus,” said Jensen as he rushed into the kitchen. “She got stung by a scorpion.”

He grabbed a bottle from the cabinet and started unscrewing it.

“Jensen go see what the scorpion is and get rid of it before the twins find it,” you said. He left the bottle with you and shoved the phone against your ear. “Hi, sorry how much of the anti-venom do I give her?”

“There should be a child dosage on the bottle, half the cap,” the person on the other end said. You unscrewed the lid and poured some out, having her swallow it down. She whined and you didn’t blame her based on the smell. “An ambulance will be there shortly.”

“Thank you,” you said, spotting Jensen at the top of the stairs. He was holding his wrist and had a slightly smushed object in one of the clear plastic cups from the kids bathroom. “We have the scorpion.”

“EMT’s should be able to identify it,” she said, Jensen walking down slowly. He took a seat on the bottom step and shook his head. 

“Jensen?” you said, his hand reaching for the bottle. You moved his hand from his wrist and saw two dots there. “Shit. My fiance was stung too.”

“There’s a nest in the bathroom vanity,” he said, pouring himself a dose and knocking it back. “I blocked off the door but get the twins out of there, please.”

“JJ,” you said as you saw her color get better while Jensen was getting paler. You took your phone out of your pocket and dialed, handing it to her. “Tell Uncle Jared to come over right now.”

Five minutes later Jared was there, JJ and Jensen sat in the back of an ambulance, Jensen getting a shot of something in the leg.

“We’re taking them to West County,” said a paramedic.

“I’ll see you guys soon,” you said, JJ staring worriedly at Jensen who has holding his wrist again. Jared looked around as they took off and you sighed. “Hey.”

“JJ said she and Jay got stung by a scorpion?” he asked.

“She got one as far as they can tell. Jensen got three. There’s a nest in the bathroom cupboard,” you said.

“Idiot,” mumbled Jared. You raised and eyebrow and he shook his head. “He forgot to get the pest spray done this year I bet. Dee always handled that kind of stuff. They’ve had a scorpion problem before when they first moved in.”

“Oh.”

“I’m gonna take the twins and stay the night. I’ll call and get the spray guys in first thing in the morning. You go take care of those two,” he said. You nodded and he grabbed your arm when you headed for your car. “Wait five minutes to calm down.”

“Jared I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. You just don’t know it. Go inside, get your purse, Jensen’s wallet, take a beat, okay?”

“Okay,” you said. “Make sure-”

“I got it. Go on,” he said. “Make sure he’s not freaking out. Last time he was at a hospital it wasn’t good.”

“Right. Okay. Call me if you need something. And stay away from the kids bathroom.”

“Y/N. I know. It’ll be alright, I promise.”

One Hour Later

“Is dad okay?” asked JJ from where she sat in your lap. Jensen peeled an eye open and smiled. 

“I’m okay. Sleepy is all. We’ll be home in a few hours,” he said. His wrist was bandaged and he had an IV in his arm but he’d taken the anti-venom soon enough that they had enough time to get the proper medication in both him and JJ. She was already discharged but you didn’t want to leave Jensen by himself.

“Mr. Ackles,” said a doctor when she walked in the room. “Your bloodwork came back and everything looks good.”

“Awesome,” he said, sitting up in bed. “Can I get out of here?”

“You got about fifteen minutes left on that IV drip but I’ll let the nurse know to start the paperwork. I want you to take it easy tomorrow. Nothing strenuous.”

“I got it,” he said with a nod. “Nothing strenuous.”

“Jensen,” you said around noon the next day, catching him unloading some wood from the back of his truck. “What are you doing?”

“I was gonna work on those shelves for the kid’s playroom,” he said. You crossed your arms and he threw his head back. “I feel fine. The nest got cleared out and the house got sprayed. I wanna work on this.”

“You have all the time in the world to do it. Work on it tomorrow,” you said, picking up the wood plank. He tried to take it out of your hands and you growled. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“Please do what the doctor said and rest today,” you said. He bit his lip and you moved the pieces of wood into the garage, Jensen leaning back against the side of the truck when you shut the trunk. “You’re scared, aren’t you.”

He nodded and glanced at his wrapped up wrist, then down to the ground.

“Hospitals freak me out now,” he said. “I don’t like bugs. My body hurt and knowing I forgot to do something so simple put them in danger sucks. Knowing if she hadn’t come downstairs it might have been real bad sucks. If you hadn’t noticed I don’t know if I would have and it scares me not knowing.”

“Close your eyes for me,” you said. He shut them and took a deep breath, letting you take his hand and walk around to the back of the house. You spun him around a few times stopping him so he was facing the pool about twenty feet away. “Know where you are?”

“Somewhere in the middle of the backyard,” he said. “What are you doing?”

“You said not knowing scared you. Lots of times you don’t know. It’s kinda just how life works,” you said, dropping his hand and moving a few feet away. “Take a big step forward.”

“Y/N, I don’t like this,” he said, fidgeting his hand along the bottom of his shirt. 

“I know you don’t. But would I hurt you?”

“No,” he said. 

“So listen to me. Big step forward.” He took a step and you looked around. “Jump backwards.”

“What?”

“Jump backwards.” He frowned and took a small bunny hop back. “Again.”

“I feel ridiculous.”

“Says the guy who plays pretend for a professional career. Now hop back and then step to the right,” you said. He groaned and did as asked. “Jog forward until I say stop.”

“Are you trying to kill me out here cause I feel like I’m about to break my neck slipping in the pool.”

“I’m trying to get your anxiety out in a non-life threatening way, okay?”

“By having me jump around the backyard like an idiot.”

“By having you get comfortable with the fact that most of life is spent not knowing and you can’t change that fact. You can’t see it all coming.”

He threw his head back but kept his eyes shut. He stared to run towards you and you wrapped your arms around him when he got there, Jensen peeling them open slowly.

“See? I wasn’t gonna let anything bad happen,” you said. He nodded and rested his forehead on your shoulder, pulling you into a squeezing hug. “You okay?”

“I’m sorry for being short and not doing what the doctor asked,” he said.

“Hey, it’s alright. I got scared too last night. Everything is fixed now so no need to worry over it. Why don’t you take a nap and maybe we have a real quiet lazy day while Dee’s parents got the kids for the day,” you said. “Sound fun?”

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll take quiet today.”

Three hours later Jensen was curled up with a blanket, his head resting in your lap as you watched a movie together. You played with his hair, Jensen turning into the touch every so often. 

“I know you’re worried about me,” he said. He turned and faced up at you, your fingers swirling in his strands. “I know I’m kinda clingy today which I’m normally not.”

“You can cling all you want, honey,” you said, stroking his cheek with your thumb. “I wish life would give you a break for a second. No work, no badness. Just some peace and quiet for you.”

“My parents lived here after the accident. For a few months. They were here, Jared and Gen were over every day, my siblings would stop down every week. The first few months I understood. I had an injury I had to recover from. But I felt like a child those few months once I recovered. Everyone taking care of the kids, of me. I was barely a father to them. Playtime. A story at bed. Someone else made most of their meals, did everything for them.”

“You’re a father but you’re still someone’s child,” you said. He blinked and you shrugged. “You were hurt, possibly the worst out of anyone. I know taking care of everyone else is your default but people get to take care of you too. I get to take care of you.”

“I feel like all I do is get taken care of by you,” he said. “I never give it back.”

“You’ve given me a family again. You take care of me every single day.”

“I never see you getting upset. It’s always me. I’m always the fuck up,” he said. You slumped down and took a deep breath. 

“I get upset Jensen. I got upset that very first time we fought, that night with the ice cream. I got upset when you got jealous of that nanny in Canada and we saw my father the first time. I got upset telling you the truth of it all because you of all people don’t need problems like that dumped at your feet. I got upset when we saw him again because I was scared and I was scared he might hurt you too. I got upset when we fought when you got home and I got upset when you proposed because you were so scared and I get upset Jensen. I get upset when you’re hurt. I get upset when I hurt. But I don’t have all those safety nets under me that you do, remember? I just got a couple right now and you’re my last resort. I’ve been my own support system for so long that I can’t undo that all overnight. I know it’s been months but the fact I even let you see me cry, the fact I can even talk about this stuff with you and know all you’re thinking about is how to make me feel better...I still need to heal too. You’ve done so much already. I’m gonna have my moments where this is switched, believe me. But today’s not my turn for that, it’s yours.”

“I love you,” he said, staring up with the softest green eyes you’d ever seen on him yet. “Even more than five minutes ago if that’s possible.”

“I love you,” you said, bending down and kissing him. “You’re the expert on the falling in love stuff though so I’ll leave that up to you.”

“It’s very...it’s what you think it is and it’s not at all what you think. There’s falling and nerves and then calm and then falling and calm and you spend the rest of your life doing that. It’s not magic and it takes work to keep it alive sometimes but all you gotta do is talk. Just talk and it always seems to work out for me,” he said.

“Can I tell you a secret?” you asked. He nodded and smiled as you went back to playing with his hair.

“You know I really like when you do that,” he said.

“I know you do. It relaxes you,” you said.

“Makes me feel safe too,” he said. “But what’s your secret cause eventually I’m gonna want to know them all.”

“I was very attracted to you when we met. But that kinda freaked me out a bit. I found myself liking you a lot that first day I was here. You got me a birthday cake. I realized how kind you are that night. It wasn’t for anyone’s benefit other than my own. I had a crush on you, even though I knew it wouldn’t go anywhere.”

“I had a crush on you from when you made me a cup of coffee. You’re so good and kind yourself,” he said. He reached up and cupped your cheek. “I’m really happy you had your mom eventually. I would have liked to have met her.”

“Maybe she and Dee are hanging out wherever they are.”

“I hope so. She won’t mind sharing me with you,” he said.

“You honestly think so?” 

“You gonna mind sharing me with her?” he asked.

“I’ve always shared you. Just hope that wouldn’t bother her.”

“I used to think maybe it would but no, she wants me to be happy and that’s you so you got all eternity to get to know each other eventually if you think about it.”

“Well when you put it that way we got nothing to worry about,” you said.

“Oh don’t worry about that. I think your mom was right. I get to have two people is all, kinda like she did,” he said. 

“She would have liked you. Would have said you’re a little old for me but she would have liked you.”

“Wasn’t she older than Ray?” he asked.

“Yeah. She was. She was only fifty,” you said.

“You grew up too fast,” he said quietly.

“Maybe. But it got me here and I don’t think I would have done anything different. I wouldn’t want to screw that up. Well I’d do one thing different.”

“What?”

“Drop by this house, have a conversation with a certain someone.”

“Say hypothetically you had that ability, you’d really do that knowing what you’re giving up?”

“I’d give her back to you right this second if I could.”

“I appreciate that, really,” he said. He let his hand fall down and reach around your back, curling around your waist. “But she’s not more important than you are. I miss her. Everyday. But I lose one of you either way in that scenario. And I can’t choose. I’ll never be able to. If she were here and you weren’t, I’d still be just like this. It’d still hurt.”

“Make me a promise. I keel over early, you try again. Try for both of us.”

“I will if you will,” he said. He held up his pinky finger and you grabbed it with yours. “But he can’t be hotter than me.”

“Equally as hot?”

“Slightly less hot but that’s my final offer,” he said. 

“Eh, fine,” you said. “You’ve worn me down.”

“Always words I want to hear,” he chuckled. You slid further down the couch until you were practically laying back, your arms wrapping around him. He got up and lay down with you on the wrap around side of the couch, pulling you into his chest. “Can I take you to dinner tonight? Just us.”

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

“Okay, honey,” he said, kissing your forehead. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Just thanks. For what you said. What you did earlier, just being with me,” he said.

“Lucky for you I like being with you a whole lot,” you said.

“Very lucky for me,” he said. “Very lucky indeed.”

______

A/N: Read Part 11 here!

[mypoisonedvine]

Love, Theoretically | Sebastian Stan x reader (chapter 10 - FINALE)

series masterlist

series summary: having lost your husband, sister, and best friend all to the same extramarital affair, you ran away to a secluded villa in the Hungarian countryside to write and get a little time away from the life you’d left behind.  you were only looking for peace and perhaps some inspiration for your novel, but instead you found an unlikely connection with the immigrant repairman– even though the two of you don’t speak the same language.

word count: 6k

warnings: implied smut, angst, fluff, romcom tropes, lots of swearing, pregnancy mention/minor breeding kink

note: click the asterisk for a hyperlink to a translation when the time comes

Six months later...

“It’s good!” she beamed, setting down the last chunk of pages and taking off her reading glasses. “Oh man, that ending hurt, but it’s really, really good!”

You leaned back into the plush chair and sighed with relief. “You think so?”

“It’s best-seller material,” she assured. “With some editing, of course. God, I can’t believe you were sitting on this for so long.”

“What are the biggest changes you want to make?” you asked.

“Well, I’m thinking we’ll cut the romantic subplot,” she mentioned in passing, like it was no big deal. “It’s distracting.

“Distracing?” you repeated. “Nia, it’s the story. It’s a romance.”

“I thought it was a thriller,” she frowned.

“A romance disguised as a thriller,” you corrected.

“Listen, I get what you mean, but I didn’t get this—” she tapped the nameplate on her desk: ‘NIA BROWN, HEAD PUBLISHER’ in shiny letters— “for nothing. I know what I’m talking about, and I know what your readers want. Violence, gore, drama!”

“It has all that!” you defended. “But it’s all there to talk about the real love he finds in her!”

“What do you mean ‘real love’?” she pressed flatly.

“I mean…” you pondered. “I mean love where you feel like a version of yourself that you actually like. Love where you feel unjudged, no precedents or caveats or back-up plans. Love that fucking hurts because you never wanted to rely on anything or anybody. Love that lives in silence because you don’t even need words.”

She furrowed her brow. “That… sounds nice, I guess, but I don’t think anybody really has that. Everybody needs a back-up plan. Everybody needs words— a writer should know that.”

“Oh my god. Oh my god,” you groaned, your face falling into your hands. “I’m so fucking stupid. Jesus Christ, I’m a moron.”

“What? What’s going on?”

“I had that! I had that, and I let it go! I’m the dumbest bitch on the fucking face of the Earth.”

“Don’t say that,” she soothed, but you were already standing up.

“No, I need to find him,” you decided as you grabbed your coat and briefcase. “I need to go back and try to fix this. I love him, I’ve never— I didn’t know I could love like that, I didn’t know I could be loved like that… oh my god, I need to find him. It isn’t over.”

“It isn’t over?” she repeated incredulously. “You said Michael signed the papers!”

“It’s not Michael,” you rolled your eyes as you stormed out of the office. “It was never Michael.”

You ran into the first telephone box you could find, slamming the door shut as you searched your purse for the business card that probably wasn't even in there.

After a moment, you gasped with delight when you pulled it from a very bottom pocket and began punching in the number as fast as possible with shivering hands, long-distance charges be damned.

“Hello?” the confused voice on the other end answered.

“Mrs. Alberti, hi— does Sebastian still work for you?” you asked hastily.

“No, dear," she sighed, apparently recognizing you by just your voice (and likely your request), "he quit recently, and moved away.”

“Moved?" you repeated with a wrinkled brow. "Where?!”

“I assume back home, sweetheart; to Bucharest.”

“Shit,” you sighed. “Shit!”

“Are you having your ‘run through the airport’ moment, sweetheart?” she realized.

“Yes, I think so— do you have his address?”

“Well, no, but I’ll see what I can find.”

You waited rather impatiently as she shuffled through papers in the background, mumbling to herself as she apparently searched for information that could help you.

“All I’ve got is the address of a previous employer… a carpenter,” she finally explained, breaking the silence. “It was his only reference when he came to work here," she explained.

"Wow, you really did just hire him for his looks," you blurted out.

"He was desperate for work, that boy had nowhere else to go,” she defended.

“Right, well, I guess if that’s my only lead then I’ve gotta go for it,” you decided. “Thank you, Mrs. Alberti.”

“I told you to call me when that book was a hit. Did it happen yet?” she piped up.

“It’s not published yet,” you explained. “It needs some more work… but I think it’s almost ready.”

“I think so, too, dear.”

Learn Romanian in 10 Weeks! A practical language guide.

Week 1, Day 1: Greetings

Hello                      Salut

Goodbye                La revedere

Thank you              Mulțumesc

You’re welcome      Cu plăcere

Good morning         Bună dimineata

Good afternoon       Bună ziua

Good evening          Bună seara

Good night               Noapte bună

You brushed your hair back out of your face with a sigh, turning the page as you mumbled the phrases to yourself. Broken Hungarian and your high school education in Latin were not getting you as far with this as you had been hoping.

How are you?          Ce mai faci

I love you                 Te iubesc

“Te iubesc, te iubesc, te iubesc,” you repeated over and over in a whisper.

Each day you had a new routine: practice Romanian for an hour, check flight prices online (or call the airline), research what you knew about Sebastian and the address Mrs. Alberti had given you, and then get back to practicing Romanian again.

Oh, and occasionally you worked on the edits Nia wanted for your manuscript. You were focusing on the minor changes— grammar errors, rearranging sentences— and putting off her big request for the removal and replacement of the romantic aspects. More than ever, they seemed like the most important thing the book had to offer.

You had a small apartment, just a place to sleep and shower really; much too small to fit everything you’d already taken from Michael’s house (you know, the one that used to be your house) along with what he’d shipped to you that you forgot before. He included a letter in the package as well. You threw it out, unopened.

Truthfully, you never really fully unpacked. As much as you realized you probably should, in order to really feel like you had a real home, you couldn’t bring yourself to empty your suitcases when you knew you’d be packing them again any day now.

You also realized how outrageous this all was. Ignoring the unlikelihood of even finding him in the first place, Sebastian probably wouldn’t want anything to do with you after you broke his heart, left, and then randomly tracked him down after over half a year. But to be totally transparent, you weren’t really doing this to get him back, necessarily. You knew that was probably never going to happen. You were doing this because you needed to try. You needed to go there, and get hurt, and come back knowing you did everything you could: you’d never be able to live with yourself if you did anything less than that.

You couldn’t start your new life until you had put everything else to bed. And if that meant being 100%, painfully certain that you and Sebastian could never be together, then that was just how it needed to be.

After two weeks of looking, there still weren’t any reasonable flights to Bucharest, so you booked another trip by train, figuring you could use the three day trip to brush up on the key Romanian phrases you were going to need as well as prepare your speech.

Yes, your plan was a speech. You didn’t have a back-up plan. You didn’t even have a return ticket back to London yet.

A passage by Yeats came to mind; But I, being poor, have only my dreams. I have spread my dreams under your feet. Tread softly, because you tread on my dreams.

In all your life, you’d never understood before why someone would want to only have their dreams. But now, here you were… and yes, it felt terrifying and vulnerable and uncomfortably naked, but it felt pretty damn good, too.

With a sigh, you scribbled out the last sentence you’d written, tossing the trash paper aside. You looked up out the window at the scenery flying by in a blur, worried that if you didn’t look out from the train every once in a while you’d get motion sickness.

The sun was beginning to set already, the green of hills and trees tinted orange. You only indulged in it for a moment, though, before getting back to this god-forsaken speech you were deadset on finishing before you arrived in Bucharest tomorrow. At first, you’d figured the translating would be the most difficult part… but writing in English wasn’t exactly a piece of cake, either. You had so much to say, and suddenly so few words for any of it.

You’d probably done more editing on this than any of your novels combined; the crumpled up pages spilling out of your wastebasket were proof enough of that.

“And I’m a fucking writer!” you groaned aloud, to no one in particular. “How is anybody else supposed to be able to do this, if I can’t?”

Other people aren’t as emotionally constipated as you, the voice of your inner critic reminded you plainly, making you roll your eyes at yourself.

A rap at your door made you sit up straighter and turn around. A stewardess slid open the frosted glass slightly to give you a friendly smile. “Is everything alright, ma’am?”

Your brows furrowed at the sound of her accent. “Is that a Romanian accent?” you asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” she nodded.

“So you’re fluent in Romanian and English,” you concluded.

“And Portuguese, yes ma’am,” she agreed.

“Could you come in here for a moment and help me translate something?”

She seemed slightly confused at the request but stepped forward, sliding the door most of the way shut behind her. Leaning beside you on the desk, she picked up your handwritten letter and blinked her wide, brown eyes a few times. You felt slightly embarrassed knowing she was reading such intimate thoughts, but that was how it felt the first time someone read anything you wrote so you were pretty much used to it by now.

“I usually ask the passengers what brings them to Bucharest,” she mumbled after a moment. “This is the most interesting thing so far. Am I reading this correctly, that you intend to confess your love to someone you met—” she scanned the page quickly— “during a vacation in Hungary?”

“Yup,” you smiled awkwardly, popping the ‘p’ at the end of the word.

“And he doesn’t speak English?” she assumed; you nodded. “And… you don’t speak Romanian?”

You nodded again, and she breathed in and out quickly, sitting beside you as she stared at the letter.

“I’ve never seen anything like this before,” she explained.

“Sorry for sucking you into the entropic vortex that is my life,” you chuckled.

“I don’t mean to pry,” she sighed, setting the letter down, and you laughed a little internally at the idea that she was worried about prying when she just read the most personal piece of writing you’d ever put to the page, “but do you think this is… enough? I mean, to build a relationship on?”

You just gave her a shrug. “I have no idea. But, you know, I spent my whole life worrying about stuff like that. I dated my husband for seven years before we got married, because I wanted to be sure. I was initially interested in him because he was successful and ambitious, and it made me feel like this was a really secure relationship that I could rely on. I double majored in English and Computer Science because I wanted a more stable career to fall back on in case being a writer didn’t work out, and even though it did, I’ve spent most of my career publishing what I thought people wanted to read instead of what I wanted to write, so I’d have a better shot at a good paycheck. I grew up thinking the best thing I could ever have was security. And now I’m divorced, watching my royalties shrink every month, more insecure in every way than I’ve ever been, and I’m realizing that the choices I made didn’t give me what I wanted. I gave up so much in the name of safety, and I let the one good thing I’d ever found go, so I could go back to being the same person I always was. I’m ready to settle again, if this doesn’t work… I’m ready to accept that this is just the way life goes, and be thankful that I got a taste of the kind of stuff I thought only existed in the sort of books I’d read but never write.”

She swallowed as she looked at you, and you felt your eyes water as you stared out the window towards the dimming scenery one more time, smiling at the sight of a distant village, a church with a steeple, vineyards and farms. Someone’s whole life is in that little town, you imagined, and they’re just watching your train go by like they see every other day.

“Sebastian gave me more security than I’d ever had before, even though the whole thing was such a ridiculous little whirlwind, and nothing like I ever imagined my life could be. But he made me want to be honest and raw and write sappy letters like the one you just read. He doesn’t have any money, at least as far as I know, and I haven’t known him for seven years, and on paper it makes no sense… but you would understand if you knew him. If you felt that joy that he radiates, if you saw him live his simple little life like it’s the best thing in the world. You would understand if you knew how much I needed this. You would understand if you had been just as miserable being who I’ve been for so long, and finally had a chance to be somebody you think you were maybe meant to be the whole time. So, if I never see him again, I hope I just get to thank him.”

You waited for her to say something, but furrowed your brow at the long moment of silence, looking back from the window finally and finding her staring at you with a tear running down her cheek. When you met her gaze, she quickly wiped it away with a sniffle and looked down at your desk again. “Let’s get to translating, shall we?” she announced with a half-smile.

You noticed the way the other passengers looked at you as everyone was in line to deboard from the train car; you stuck out like a sore thumb, since everybody else was carrying heavy luggage and all you had was a backpack.

In your defense, you really had no idea how to pack for a trip where you knew neither the duration nor the true final destination. So, it was mainly filled with your essentials, a few clothes for any kind of weather, and enough leu to buy anything else you needed along the way.

The stewardess was waving goodbye to everyone as they shuffled out into the train station, occasionally stopping to shake a hand or give directions to nearby destinations. When you were just about to pass by, though, she pulled you into a tight hug.

“Good luck,” she whispered, holding you just a moment too long before pulling back and giving you an encouraging look. “If he doesn’t take you back, feel free to blame my translation… because if he knows what’s in your heart, I know he’ll say yes.”

“Yeah, that’s the hard part isn’t it?” you laughed weakly. “Thank you for your help. I guess if I come back alone for the return trip tonight, you’ll know how bad it went.”

“Then I hope I don’t see you again,” she winked.

It being a major train station and all, cabs were waiting around every corner so it was pretty easy to grab one and give them the address you already had written down for this exact purpose.

“This is pretty far,” the driver explained, “on the edge of town. Not a tourist spot.”

“Good, because I’m not a tourist,” you nodded, already only giving him half your attention as you pulled out the translated speech to practice.

“And you can afford this?” he pressed. You sighed and dug through your bag, pulling out a haphazard stack of bills and handing them through the plastic partition.

“Is this enough?” you asked, and he didn’t answer, just taking the money and starting the car as you smiled and leaned back in your seat.

As much as you had tried to convince yourself to not get your hopes up, the butterflies in your stomach felt more like whole birds at this point, demanding to break free as you practiced the words hand-written on the page over and over again, committing it all to memory.

“What are you reading?” the cab driver asked after several minutes.

“Oh, nothing,” you mumbled, “sorry if I’m bothering you, you can turn on the radio.”

“No, it’s not bothering me, but what you are saying… it’s very odd. It sounds like something from a play, or movie,” he explained.

“Um, it’s not,” you replied, a little embarrassed. “But does it sound like it’s from a good movie? Like, if you heard a character say this to another character, would you think they should get together?”

“I… don’t know,” he answered, sounding confused. “I mean, it depends on what happened, right? How they met, how well they get along…”

So, you told him the whole story, as succinctly as possible (which is not very succinct at all). By the end, he was actually giving commentary as you spoke.

“Why the hell did you leave?” he interjected, clearly irritated with you. “You loved him!”

“Yeah, well, sometimes love isn’t enough! I loved my husband too, and look how that turned out,” you defended.

“But that’s different. That was love for all the wrong reasons.”

“I promise, it felt very real at the time,” you shrugged.

“And now?” he countered. “You realize that this man— Sebastian, right?— is real.”

“I hope I’m right this time,” you offered. “But even if I am, he may not agree.”

The driver scoffed, taking a hand off the wheel to wave dismissively. “If he’s anything like you said, then he will still be completely in love with you. After all, you still feel the same way after all this time apart, don’t you?”

“If anything, I love him more every day,” you admitted, your heart beating quickly just to say it aloud.

“You know, when I met my wife, she was engaged to another man. He was rich, good-looking, and he wasn’t even a bad guy unlike this husband you describe. He was a good man, but he wasn’t right for her. They were… content together, but she wasn’t truly happy. Every night I would come to her window and beg her to marry me, because I knew that she knew we were meant for each other, but she was scared because her family wouldn’t approve and she would be a poor man’s wife.”

“How did you convince her to marry you instead?” you asked eagerly, sucked into the story already.

“I didn’t. On the day of the wedding, some people told me to go and break it up but I didn’t. I thought it would be wrong, to try to ruin her happiness and take it for myself by making a scene at the wedding. I realized she was her own woman and if she wanted to choose him, I had to let her. I had locked myself in my house, not wanting to see anyone that day, and she appeared at my door. I didn’t need to convince her because she knew the truth in her heart, and called off the wedding herself.”

“Wow,” you smiled.

“She was still in her dress!” he recalled with a hearty laugh. “She looked like an angel. We were married just a few days later. And next month will be thirty years,” he added as he lifted his left hand to show the golden band on his finger.

“Thirty years, that’s… a long time,” you sighed.

“It wasn’t always easy,” he admitted. “But it was always worth it.”

Just as you wondered what you could possibly say to that, you felt the car slow down to a stop.

“This is the address you gave me, this is it,” he explained, pointing out his passenger-side window. You leaned up against the glass and gasped in dawning fear as you saw the storefront dark and empty inside.

“No, nonono,” you whispered rapidly to yourself as you swung open the door and hopped out, pressing your face against the glass to try to get a look inside and finding what was undeniably a closed carpentry business. There was a note on the door, taped on the inside of the glass, and you knew enough Romanian to know it said something about a vacation and three months.

“Shit!” you yelped, holding your face in your hands, wondering if your journey had come to an end before it really began.

“Are you alright?” the driver asked, rolling down his window to speak to you.

“This was my only lead, I don’t have his real address,” you explained. “He used to work here, I thought maybe someone would know him…”

He sighed, giving you a sympathetic look. “Get back in, we can search nearby. You came too far to give in yet.”

But getting back in the car felt like giving in, too, which you realized as you looked back at the note taped to the carpenter's door. This was the closest you'd gotten, and it felt wasteful to leave with nothing.

Just as you were ready to hop in the passenger seat and start searching aimlessly through suburban Bucharest, or maybe look around for a Romanian yellow pages, you heard a noise from behind you, across the street; a laugh. His laugh. But it couldn’t be because it was too good to be true… and yet you found yourself whipping your head around and hoping beyond all reason that it was Sebastian.

Across the street was a restaurant, with a large patio where patrons were dining and chatting as they sat at wrought iron tables, and your eyes searched the crowd for any signs of him.

And then your gaze landed on a head of thick brunette hair, red and gold highlights so obvious now when the sunlight hit it this way. Broad shoulders wrapped in a white button-up shirt. He was facing away from you but he was looking to the side so you could see his face; he was smiling, laughing at something someone had said. And it was his smile that you recognized; it was like everything else faded away, and in that moment you thought maybe you could almost be happy with just this, just seeing him be happy even if it had nothing to do with you.

“Sebastian,” you called out to him, but he didn’t react. “Sebastian!”

His whole body turned, his eyes met yours, and you couldn't help but let the tears well in your eyes as you ran across the road to him.

He looked, understandably, stunned, and you realized he was actually waiting on a table at the moment; he said something to them, apparently excusing himself, and stepped closer to you.

But he stopped walking, not coming any closer, not exactly dragging you into his arms like you might've preferred, but with a breath to try to soothe your racing mind, you summoned your memories of the practiced letter and began. *

“Când am venit în Ungaria…” you started slowly, doing your best to remember the words and hoping your pronunciation wasn’t too awful, “nu căutam dragoste. Căutam spațiu, claritate și poate o idee de carte de un milion de dolari. În schimb, am găsit tot ce am căutat toată viața mea…”

You did your best to bite back tears, especially when his expression was nearly unreadable and you had no idea how well this was going.

“Ești tu, Sebastian, bineînțeles că ești tu,” you sighed, laughing slightly. “Ai fost acolo pentru mine când nici nu știam ce vreau de la nimeni. Ai fost prietenul meu fără să spui vreodată un cuvânt - cel puțin nu un cuvânt pe care l-am înțeles. M-ai iubit și nu știam ce să fac cu asta, pentru că uitasem cu mult timp în urmă cum se simțea să fii iubit. Și ce simțeai să iubești cu adevărat pe cineva. Dar te iubesc. Și am fost prost să te las să pleci, atât de neconceput de prost. Vreau să fim noi, Sebastian. Lasă-mă să te iubesc, mai dă-mi o șansă și îți promit că nu te voi mai lăsa să pleci niciodată.

The first thing he said was your name, and just the way he said it made you fall in love with him all over again.

“I… I dream that you would come back,” he shakily replied. “But now I cannot believe. You are my dream.”

Tears were openly flowing at this point and you wanted to run into his arms, but you tried to stay calm and hear him out. He stepped closer, almost hesitant, like you would run away if he got too close too fast.

“I love you, very much that I am sure I am insane person,” he explained with a grin, and you giggled. “We will live anywhere, do anything you would like— be my wife.”

You gasped as he pulled you into him, gripping your arms tightly as his desperation became apparent.

“Marry me?” he asked softly.

“Da,” you nodded, “yes, of course, anything—”

He kissed you suddenly, but gently, and it said more than any words in any language could.

It was a small wedding, in the Hungarian countryside by the lake. You could remember diving into that lake for lost pages of your manuscript; you could remember looking out over the water and dreaming of this moment you were living right now, thinking it was impossible.

He didn’t have much family, but they welcomed you with open arms.

Your family, well, they were too busy with planning another wedding, for your ex-husband and your ex-sister. A few of them sent cards but the rest were suspiciously quiet. You honestly didn’t even notice… you had a new family to attend to, anyhow. And it wasn’t like you didn’t have any guests, since you were able to track down and invite a stewardess named Maria, and a cab driver named Andrei and his wife, Paola.

Sebastian’s cousins weaved flowers into your hair and his grandmother tailored her dress to fit you like a glove. A picture of his parents was hung nearby in tribute; he told you they would’ve wanted to see him get married but that he felt, in some way, they were able to even if they had passed away quite some time ago.

You realized you’d never seen him in anything even mildly formal before; in fact, the suit he wore was rather casual, all things considered, but he looked so painfully cute in it. Sometimes you thought he actually looked a bit out of place wearing a shirt, though, especially one that was buttoned up all the way.

Luckily, the shirt was halfway unbuttoned about ten minutes into the reception.

Mrs. Alberti cooked a massive dinner for everyone, and even grew the flowers that you carried down the cobblestone aisle.

And wow, can Romanians drink. You had to be careful not to try to keep up with them, because if you had you would’ve been blacked out halfway into the night and the last thing you wanted was to forget even a moment of this.

As the night started to wind down to a close, you and your new husband retired to the lakehouse, running up the stairs and finding them as creaky as always.

He wrapped his arms around you in the hall and kissed you eagerly as you stumbled back into the bedroom, tripping over the doorway and falling onto the bed together.

It felt so right to have his weight on top of you, to feel his smile against your lips, to wrap your arms around his neck.

“This room,” he mumbled into the kiss. “Do you remember first time?”

“Yes,” you nodded, “da, I remember, how could I forget?”

He grinned and moved his lips down to your neck. "I thought of you every day… I love you,” he whispered.

“Te iubesc,” you whispered back.

It was almost like the first time in so many ways: passionate, yet oddly hesitant as you rediscovered each other. It was comfortable, though… you couldn’t think of any other person you felt so comfortable with, somebody who finally got you out of your own head and who made you want to experience everything life had to offer.

You were sure you’d never gone so long without worrying about something in all your life.

“My wife,” he whispered against your skin. “This is all I had wanted… from seeing you in very beginning.”

“You’re all I ever wanted,” you sighed in return, “ești tot ce mi-am dorit vreodată, Sebastian.”

Life with Sebastian was beautifully simple. You spent most of the day writing, usually, while he built furniture to sell and occasionally gardened with his spare time. You could always tell how busy you’d been with a new novel lately by how perfectly groomed the hydrangea bushes were.

You’d told him once that you’d come to Hungary looking for a million-dollar book idea. A Killer in Disguise performed alright, but not anywhere near that. The Language of Love, on the other hand, was definitely a million-dollar idea… about eleven times over. Sebastian didn’t seem to worry too much about how much money you made, though; he was just proud to say that he was the inspiration for your hit novel. You secretly suspected that he was more proud of your work reaching enough international notoriety to be translated into Romanian.

His English still needed some work, but you found it endearing. He was determined to get better and spent at least a half-hour each day practicing, but you hoped he wouldn’t get too perfect because you would miss the silly little mistakes he made. At least you could be sure he’d keep the accent forever… damn, that accent; and he knew exactly what it did to you, too.

In fact, you were crossing through the hall in your robe one evening when your husband’s voice stopped you.

“Darling wife,” you heard Sebastian call from the bedroom in a playful sing-song.

“What is it, Seba?” you asked with a smirk.

“Come in here, please…”

You opened the bedroom door to find most of the room covered in rose petals: most of all the bed, which was surrounded by candles, and topped with a shirtless (as per usual) Sebastian, laid on his side seductively with a long-stemmed rose (one you recognized from his very own garden) between his teeth.

“What are you doing?” you laughed. “Is this some sort of special occasion I’ve forgotten?”

You were already searching your mind for what it could be, but your two-year anniversary had passed a few months ago already and since it was spring it couldn’t be the anniversary of when you first met since that was late in the summer.

“Iss not quite a thpecial occathion yeth,” he answered before taking the rose from his mouth so he actually made sense. “I was considering it could be a special occasion, when we’re done…”

You smirked and climbed over the candles and into bed with him, taking the opportunity to run your hands over his chest. “And what occasion would that be?”

“A year from now, it could be the anniversary of when our child was conceived,” he answered.

Your breath caught in your throat, your voice reduced to a whisper of surprise. “Seba—”

“If you’re not ready, I will be understand,” he instantly added, stern yet soft. “Only if you want this, I just thought that maybe—”

You silenced him with a kiss, lacing your fingers into his hair and letting him roll you onto your back. He pulled back just enough to let you answer, but your noses were still bumping into each other and you smiled.

“I’m ready, Sebastian. More than ready,” you whispered.

He grinned and kissed you again, deeper and slower as he held your face with one hand and gripped your waist with the other. As his lips trailed down to your neck, you were interrupted with one pressing thought.

“Can I ask you something?”

He popped up and looked down at you with a smile. “Sure!”

“Why are you wearing ratty old jeans?” you laughed.

“Hey, these worked on you the first time,” he defended.

You gasped. “You don’t mean those are the jeans—”

“Yes,” he nodded, “the jeans that I had been wearing when I was working on Mrs. Alberti’s cottage. And, truly, when I was finding an excuse to work outside your window.”

“Wait,” you sat up, “did you actually work outside my window on purpose?”

He laughed, hanging his head quickly before looking back at you again with a sparkle in his eye. “You are very smart, my love, except for those times when you are— how do you say? Oblivious.”

You chuckled, unfortunately very aware that he was right.

“Didn’t you ever wonder why I was building a window frame, nearly a dozen metres away from the window it was for?”

You thought for a moment before dropping your face into your hands and laughing. “No, I didn’t notice that. I was too busy giving you a thorough eye-fuck,” you recalled.

“Yes, because I was not wearing a shirt and this distracted you,” he pondered, sounding suddenly like a scientist explaining a theorem or something. “See, that’s the beauty of wearing the jeans and no shirt. The body distracts you while the jeans seduce you.”

“How about you take the jeans off and put that body on me, capisce?” you pleaded; not that you didn’t love his humor or anything, but maybe his funny bone wasn’t exactly the bone you were interested in at the moment.

He grinned devilishly and suddenly pulled your legs apart, settling his body between them as he kissed your neck again, nipping at your jawline and ear. “You’re being impatient, dragă,” he purred. “You want to have my baby that badly?”

You whined involuntarily, arching your back as his hands roamed your body and finally began to untie your robe and push the silk out of the way. “Yes, Sebastian, please—”

“Let’s just say, theoretically, I wanted to have more than one? Would you have another of my children?” he asked softly as he reached up and palmed at your breasts, teasing your nipples which were already much too hard and sensitive for how little he’d touched you. The rough denim rubbing against the inside of your thighs was oddly arousing— maybe it was the sensation itself, or maybe it was just that this was almost like the first thing you imagined when you saw Sebastian all those years ago.

“Yes,” you moaned out your answer, “yes, you know I’d do anything for you.”

“What if I wanted a big family?” he pressed. “Really big? Like, Catholic big?”

“We can have our own fuckin’ Brady Bunch, Seb, I just need you right now,” you begged, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him into a hot and desperate kiss.

He decided to wait until afterwards to ask what a ‘Brady Bunch’ was. You decided to wait until afterwards to ask when he’d learned how to use the word ‘theoretically’.

sfarsit; the end

[sacredsorceress]

Secrets (Five) || Bucky Barnes

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

summary: as time goes on at the compound, you begin to come to terms with your new abilities and your relationship with your husband, bucky

a/n: i'm so sorry for the delay, but i hope you enjoy!!

word count: 2.5k

warnings: pregnancy if you squint

Prologue, One, Two, Three, Four

masterlist || request || taglist

"You might have to get a matching set of earrings, but I don’t think it’s too shabby.” Nat said, leaning back in her seat.

Playing with the newly gifted bracelet on your wrist, you chuckled.

“I guess it could be worse.” You joked. “And this is supposed to stop me from... you know... turning the whole room to ice?”

“Not stop-” Bruce corrected you. “Control. We’re never going to be able to... reverse... what happened, but at least this will help you control it.”

Nodding your head along with what he was saying, your eyes strayed from your wrist to your husband standing against the far wall of the lab, his arms crossed and eyes focused on you. 

The two of you hadn’t spoken to each other since the first day you had woken up from being captured and he had held you in his arms. You were still struggling with coming to terms with who your husband was and even who you were. Knowing you needed your space, he had respected your wishes, keeping a painful distance from you for the past three days since you had woken up in the icy room of the Compound.

His eyes snapping away from yours, they landed on an article of clothing laying on one of the countertops in the lab.

“What’s that?” He asked, speaking up for the first time that day.

You, Bruce, Nat and Sam glanced at one another before your eyes landed on the suit on the table. Crossing your arms, you focused your attention at the ground.

“A suit.” Bruce clarified.

“Yeah, no shit.” Bucky said, picking up the cloth. “For who?”

“For me.” You said, speaking up, still not meeting your husband’s eyes.

An awkward silence hung in the room for a brief moment after your confession, before Bucky found his voice again.

“Can I talk to you outside?” He asked, pushing open the doors of the lab.

Nodding, you said nothing before following close behind your husband into the hallway of the Compound. When situated outside, you looked up at him.

“What?” You asked.

“What?” He repeated. “Don’t ‘what’ me, Y/n. Since when did you start having them make you a suit? I thought once this was all over you wanted to go home.”

Rolling your eyes, you crossed your arms.

“I never said that.” You said. “You just assumed that. I mean, what do you want me to do, Buck? I have abilities that other people don’t have. I can’t just go home after this and pretend like this isn’t a part of me anymore- like this never happened. I have these abilities and I should use them for good. I have to. You don't have to worry about me. I made this choice for myself.”

Staring at the resolve written all over your face, Bucky laced his fingers into his hair, tugging the short strands.

He understood what you were saying. He understood that you felt a responsibility to do good, but he thought of himself too- how he fell into the position he was in now.

He didn’t make the choice to be an Avenger. The choice had been made for him the moment he fell from that train and was taken into the hands of Hydra. He wanted better for you than a life you hadn’t chosen. He wanted better for you than a life where you were constantly risking your life and wondering if you would live to see another day.

He wanted more for himself than losing the love of his life because of a sense of duty.

“You don’t choose to go into stuff like this, Y/n.” Bucky said, unlacing his fingers from his hair and throwing his arms in the air. “You’re forced. You can still get out of this, doll. Don’t stay because you feel like you have to- you don’t owe anybody anything. You have the choice to go home and forget about all this and that’s what most people like me wish for.”

“Fine, you know what?” You said, throwing your hands up in the air. “You’re right. I don’t have a choice. I was forced into this shit because I didn’t know who I married and some guy tried to kill me because of it. Don’t stand there and act like you know what’s good for me when you’re the whole reason I’m in this mess.”

Slipping the bracelet off of your wrist, you held it between your fingers and watched as the floor below you began to turn to ice at your feet and frost started to coat the bracelet in your hand.

“Look at this, Buck.” You said, waving the bracelet. “Look at this! You think I can just go home and pretend like I wouldn’t turn you into a fucking popsicle if this was off for more than two minutes? I can’t pretend like this isn’t happening to me and if I have the chance to do something good with it then I will.”

Watching Bucky’s eyes soften as he stared at you, you slipped the bracelet back onto your wrist, the ice melting away with it. Shaking his head, you watched as the angry demeanor that he had been portraying seconds ago faded away as his shoulders relaxed and his hands went still at his sides.

“I just want what’s best for you.”

The way his voice cracked as the words slipped out of his mouth and he could barely meet your eyes made your heart tug in your chest. You knew he didn’t mean you any harm. You knew even after everything that he was just looking out for you, but you also knew that he had a clouded sense of what was right and wrong for you.

Relaxing your shoulders, you slowly walked over to your husband, resting your hand on his bicep.

“I know that, Buck.” You said softly, urging him to meet your eyes. “But when are you going to realize that you don’t know what that is?”

-

Looking into the room through the window of the door, you fiddled with the bracelet on your wrist, all the thoughts of what could go wrong running through your mind. Feeling the cold touch of vibranium wrap around your wrist, you stopped your fidgeting.

“Stop worrying, Y/n.” Bucky said from beside you. “Everything is gonna be fine.”

“What? I’m not worried.” You lied.

“You’re joking, right?” He asked, a hint of a smile gracing his face and what you would even call a chuckle slipping from his mouth. “At our wedding you twisted your engagement ring the whole time and remember when you took those pregnancy tests for Grant? You spent the whole time messing with that stupid bracelet on your wrist I was worried your skin was gonna turn red. Even that little- God what is it called? That thing Becca made for Mother’s Day last year?”

“Are you talking about that macaroni necklace?” You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Yes!” Bucky exclaimed, snapping his fingers when you finally said the name. “That thing. You were messing with that thing so much that when you saw me hit my head on the cabinet door you snapped the pasta right in your hand.”

You knew exactly what he was talking about.

Your kitchen sink had stopped working properly that day and rather than call an actual plumber, your husband had insisted that he knew what he was doing and he would be able to fix it just fine. You watched as he worked, his head inside the cabinet as you leaned against the countertop fiddling with your newly gifted necklace from your daughter around your neck.

When water began to shoot out of the pipe, your husband cursing as water blasted his face, he attempted to pull away, knocking his head on the doorframe on the way out. As soon as you heard his shout, you felt the piece of macaroni shatter in your fist as you squeezed it tightly.

“Oh God, Buck are you okay?” You asked.

“God damn it!” He cursed again. “This hurts like shit.”

“Are you bleeding?” You asked, now standing in the puddle of water that coated the floor.

Pulling his hand away from the spot on his head that he had just hit and not seeing any blood, he shook his head.

Breathing a sigh of relief knowing that you wouldn’t have to be making a trip to the hospital that day, you took in the scene around you as the water continued to spray out of the pipe flooding the floor of your kitchen.

“Buck?”

“Yeah?” He asked looking up at you, you just now noticing the droplets of water coating his eyelashes and face.

“Can we call a plumber now?”

Looking around him and the puddle of water he was sitting in, he sighed, giving in.

“Yes, doll.”

“You know, it’s kind of funny thinking about it now.” You chuckled to yourself. “I was worried about you hitting your head on a cabinet and you’ve survived shit that only happens in movies.”

As Bucky laughed along with what you had just said, you stared up at your husband, catching the smile that had crossed his face for the first time in a week, noticing now the dark circles under his eyes and the scruff that hadn’t been shaved in days. He looked exhausted, as if he hadn’t slept since the last time you laid in bed beside him. You hadn’t checked the mirror yet, but you could guess that you didn’t look much different.

“I guess I am kind of worried.” You confessed.

“I know, but there’s nothing to worry about. I promise.”

For the first time since you had found out about his double life, you trusted in what he said.

When you nodded your head you felt as his hand brushed along your back, resting in the curvature of your spine. With his free hand, he slowly opened the door of the room, revealing your son and Sam on the other side.

Upon hearing the door open, your son’s head darted from the table he was sitting at towards where you were standing in the doorway. As soon as his eyes landed on you, you watched as he pushed himself away from the table, the metal chair he was sitting on scraping against the floor, practically toppling over as he hopped out of it and ran into your arms.

“Oof!” You grunted as his arms wrapped around you, his face digging into your stomach. “Miss me?”

He nodded against your stomach.

“You have a great kid.” Sam said, sitting in his spot at the table your son had just been at, coffee in hand. “Your daughter too, but this one gives me a kick.”

“Yeah?” You asked chuckling and as soon as you did your son pulled away from your embrace.

“I was so scared ‘cause I thought that those guys killed you, but then Dad came back with Captain America and Black Widow and then we came here and-” Your son began rambling, throwing his arms in the air wildly. “And then yesterday Captain America let me fly-”

“You took my son flying?” Bucky asked Sam beside you.

“Depends on what you consider flying.” Sam shrugged taking another sip of coffee.

“-and then I got to play with the shield and it’s so cool, Mom!” Grant finished saying, catching his breath.

“Wow buddy that sounds... dangerous.” You said eyeing Sam while ruffling your son’s hair. “But I’m glad you had fun!”

Just then you heard the door on the far side of the room open, Natasha emerging with your daughter in her arms. The first to move was Bucky making his way over to Natasha, taking his girl into his arms and bringing her over to you.

“Hi sleepy girl.” You cooed, reaching out for your daughter who had clearly just woken up from a nap.

When your hands met her skin, however, she quickly pulled way from your touch, curling more into her father’s chest.

“Your hands are too cold, Mommy.”

Practically feeling your heart shatter in your chest, you looked up to meet Bucky’s eyes just as downcast as yours. Pulling yourself away from your daughter, you clasped your hands together, biting back the pain that you felt from her rejection.

Noticing how you began backing away, Bucky frantically took his daughter’s hand in his vibranium one, staring down at her.

“C’mon your mom’s hands aren’t that cold, right?” He asked. “What about mine. You always say my metal one is cold, right bug?”

Resting her head against his chest, she shook her head.

“Buck, it’s fine. She's right.” You eased, backing away from everyone towards the door. “Does anybody else feel hot in here? It’s really hot. I think I’m just gonna take a breather outside-”

“Y/n-” Bucky called.

“It’s okay, I’m just gonna slip outside real quick.”You said, pulling on the handle of the door and swinging it open. “I’ll be right back.”

Before anybody could protest further, you stepped into the hallway, shutting the door behind you. As you walked down the hallway, you were realizing for the first time that you didn’t recognize this place and you didn’t know where you were going. The more you thought about it, you barely recognized anything anymore and you didn’t know where you were going to go from where you were right now.

How did you end up here? How did you go from having some guy across the bar from you catch your eye to pacing down the hallways of the Avengers Compound, ice flowing through your veins? Frustrated, tired and confused, you felt a sob you didn’t even realize was there catch in your throat. Throwing your hand to your mouth, you leaned against the hallway wall, feeling tears begin to fog your vision.

“Y/n?” Bucky called, following you down the hallway. “You know Becca’s weird like that sometimes. She just woke up and was tired and cranky-”

“James, it’s fine.” You said.

After a brief pause, you heard his voice again, the tone more shaky than the last.

“Y/n...”

“Buck I said-”

“Y/n watch out!” He shouted.

Shooting away from the wall, your head darted to the big windows at the end of the hall, an unfamiliar object coming straight towards them from the outside.

Before you could even have time to discern what was happening, you watched as the glass of the large windows shattered across the hallway and heard them hit the floor, small bits nicking your skin along the way. You listened as loud beeps emitted from the device, growing quicker by the second. 

Snapping your attention back to Bucky, both of your eyes wide, the last thing you recalled was the feeling of his hands securing the back of your head and your lower back as you fell to the ground.

[idk-maybe-i-did-it]

Late Nights

Caitlin Snow x Reader

Request:  maybe a Jealous!Frost x Female!Reader? Maybe Cisco sets reader out on a date to try and get frost and caitlin to admit their feelings for reader, and when reader is about to leave Frost comes out and shyly admits both hers and Caitlins feelings for reader? I think shy & jealous frost is cute. Maybe finish it with a kiss?- @idontloveher

A/N: So I did switch up the request a little bit and I know the writing isn’t the best but I hope you like it. It’s been a hot second since I’ve turned on The Flash, I feel like I may have captured Caitlin’s character incorrectly but this is my first request for The Flash so please excuse any mistakes!

Warnings: Swearing, Innuendos, tell me if you see anything else

———————————

Caitlin Snow wasn’t even aware that Y/n L/n was going on a date that night until N/n asked her to come over to help pick an outfit. 

Frost almost blew Cisco out of a window when she figured out that he’d set it up. Caitlin was done working, merely helping Barry with something, when Y/n had walked in to ask her if she would leave with her then, to help her find an outifit. 

“ Caity bell, Cisco set me up with a date. Care to help me pick an outift?” 

She was leaning against the door, typing away at a computer pad, presumably finishing up her work for the day, and her hair was hanging like a curtain infront of her face. 

Y/n looked up at Caitlin after a moment of silence and tucked her hair behind an ear, “ Caitlin?”

She looked so wonderously glorious in that moment, a smile to her face, the furrow of her brows, Caitlin’s heart leapt at the sight of her. 

But Barry, no Barry was preparing for the blow Cisco was about to recieve from Frost. In those initial moments after Y/n had walked in, Caitlin’s eyes changed and he could see Frost take a look into the world for a moment. It was at that moment when he knew, Cisco was in a deep pile of shit.

Well, not really a pile of shit, he’d more or less just have to deal with Frost and Caitlin complaining about setting their friend up on a date for the rest of the week. 

Y/n began to smirk at the look on Caitlin’s face. She was being pouty but smiling nonetheless. N/n knew that Caitlin would dress her up in something casual yet elegant, because Caitlin knew how Y/n looked in everything, Caitlin knew what made her eyes sparkle and what made her cheeks flush, she knew what looked flattering on her and what complimented her smile. 

Caitlin knew everything about Y/n and Y/n knew everything about Caitlin. 

Caitlin, Cisco, Barry and Y/n the original four. 

But Caitlin and Y/n? They were the original two, the original set, the two people of their group who’d known each other for longer than anyone else did. 

They’d always told each other their secrets, their every thought, but they never told anyone of how they felt for one-another. No, that secrect, those thoughts, were meant only for themselves. Their feelings were something that went unspoken between the members of Team Flash, but neither of them knew that, neither of them wanted to make a move, they didn’t want to seem too ‘desperate’ but unbeknownst the them, they’d been desperate for each olther since day one. 

\\

“ You look stupendous Y/n, don’t worry about anything, Frost and I both think you look beautiful as always. Some random person meeting you at Jitters can’t bring you down.”

“ Are you sure Caity?” she asked, earnest in her voice. 

Caitlin was sure that she looked stupendous, oh she was very sure. 

It wasn’t just another day when her best friend went on a date, no it was a very, abnormal day when that happened. 

“ I’m quite sure N/n. Now hurry off, there’s a person waiting for you.”

\\

Caitlin wasn’t mad at Cisco, no, quite the opposite. She was pleased that he’d gone and set her up with someone because Y/n had been looking a bit down lately. Although knowing it could help her friend feel better, Caitlin, and Frost, couldn’t help but be disheartened at the idea of N/n going out on a date, even a blind one, with someone else. 

Oh how she wished to be the person Y/n went to meet, how she wished to greet her with a warm smile and a peck on the cheek every morning, Caitlin wished the best for her friend but still wished she would turn right back around and tell her the meet up was cancelled. Caitlin was sadenned, yes, but she couldn’t help but be happy for her friend, no matter how much it hurt her inside. 

Caitlin wished she hadn’t gone out on the date but she wasn’t in charge of her best friends decisions, and she never wished to be. 

Everyone should have the right to make their own decisions for themselves. 

Frost handled her emotions differently than her counterpart did. When she’d heard Tech-Boy had set their friend up with someone she’d been infuriated with him. He’d known that Caitlin and I like Y/n and had still gone out of his way to arrange plans?! She was okay with Y/n doing what made her happy, although she couldn’t help but feel jealous of the person meeting her forever love at Jitters. 

Caitlin nor Frost had felt good watching their friend leave the building, they’d each felt uneasy and all they’d wanted to do was reach out, grasp her by the arm lightly and plead with her to stay rather than leave. Caitlin and Frost wanted her friend to be happy so they helped her prepare, dressed in the dress that they’d always favored on Y/n, those sandals that they’d picked for each other; so they might be able to ‘accidentally’ match shoes at work for the day. Caitlin dressed Y/n in all of her favorites, the clothing her and Frost had always thought was their favorite from Y/n’s closet. So that maybe someone else might see the beauty both inside and outside of her, so that maybe one day someone else would come to think those clothes were their favorites on her. 

So that maybe once day Y/n would have someone for herself, someone to cherish like Caitlin and her had always cherished each other. 

And then Caitlin (and Frost) knew exactly what she had to do, because it wasn’t someone else whom she wished Y/n would love and hold with a tenderness so tender it’d be like holding a newborn babe, it was herself whom she wanted Y/n to see that way, it was her who had loved Y/n with that gentle gracefullness ever since they were young. And it was herself whom she wanted Y/n to love with that gentle gracefullness for the rest of their lives. 

Caitlin and Frost were one in the same, but there were things they disagreed on. However what Caitlin was about to do, was a mutual agreement between them both.

Caitlin wanted to be with her best friend, she wanted to be with her for as long as Y/n liked. All she wanted was to rush off and catch Y/n before the date and whisk her away on a plate of ice. But she would wait until afterwards, because Y/n seemed happy when she left earlier. She would talk to her about it after her date, whenever after would be, as for the then and now, Caitlin would go to Y/n’s apartment and get the board games and Netflix and snacks set up for when she would be back.

One of her favorite things to do after going out with someone, which had always been the thing they’d done, was to come to Caitlin’s (or her own) home, watch movies, play games and eat a shitload of junk food.

\\

Caitlin was surprised when she unlocked her door and found Y/n laying on the couch, Barry sitting next to her, and a bunch of Big Belly Burger bags surrounding them.

Y/n turned, leaning against the armrest to peer at Caitlin. Caitlin’s heart nearly broke when she saw the glistening tears on her friends cheeks.

She set down her purse and cautiously walked towards the couch, glancing quizzically at Barry when he stood to leave.

“ Y/n what happened? Why are you back so early? Did something happen? Why are you crying?”

“ No—no Caity nothings happened I just.. I just realized I have something to tell you.”

Y/n looked down, sniffling and waited until after her best friend had sat beside her to talk.

“ Caitlin I—“

“ N/n are you hurt? Take of your blanket, let me see your arms for any bruises—she grasped her face and turned it from side to side— N/n you know how I get worried—“

A soft kiss was planted on Caitlin’s lips, an un-rushed, passion filled kiss.

Y/n let go and smiled tentatively at Caitlin, her finger on the underside of her jaw where she’s pulled Caity’s face closer to her own.

“ That was what I had to tell you.”

Caitlin’s face flushed and Y/n went on to explain, “ Well you see— I was opening the door to Jitters and— and well I walked in and I ended up rushing out because, because well I didn’t really want to go out on a date with anybody per say, anybody but you.”

Caitlin’s face remained unreadable so Y/n went on, “ I called Barry on the way back t—“

“ so why were you crying?”

Caitlin looked depressed in that moment, her eyes were sad and the corners of her mouth were turned down, she reached her arm in front of her to wipe a single tear away and off of her cheek.

“ Because, well I didn’t think you wanted to go on a date with me is all.”

The smile on her face was meek, the smile a child would wear had they been caught stealing cookies.

She reached out and wiped the tear from Caitlin’s eye.

“ there’s no reason to cry my love.”

Laughter, light and bubbly, came from Caitlin’s mouth and she popped her arms around Y/n’s neck, pulling her in for a kiss. One last kiss.

One last kiss. It would be all that she would take.

\\

Turns out, Caitlin didn’t really want to stop at the last kiss. So it was no surprise when morning came and there was the smell of food wafting through the bedroom door, it didn’t take her by surprise at all. After all, it had been a late night.

———————————————————————-

Drink some water, Eat some food and Remember You Are Loved!

^-^

[rqnvindr]

delicacies

pairing: baker!childe x gn!reader

genre: fluff, modern bakery!au, suggestive 

w.c: 1.5k

warnings: making out lol

synopsis: moving to a new country was quite the adventure. and you found new areas to travel further within the cute boy right down the road’s ocean eyes.

--

it had been a total of two weeks since you arrived in italy. getting settled was your top priority, but now that you’ve got your place set up and are getting used to college life in a new country, it was about time you started checking off some of the more leisurely activities on your checklist.

the streets were clearer, less busy than usual, on the weekend you enter the bakery. it seemed like an unpretentious, small business, with the simple, yet homely, beige walls and the old vinyl in the corner playing soft tunes. the bell rings when you enter, but no one seems to be behind the counter when you examine the array of cakes in the front display.

“welcome! i can help you when you’re ready to order!” a perky male voice interrupts you in the middle of eyeing a slice of strawberry cake. you look up to see a ginger with a warm smile, the crinkles around his blue eyes genuine. 

“hello! i was hoping to get this slice of cake right here.” you point to said strawberry treat.

“ah yes. my older brother has been WAITING for someone to try his new signature strawberry cake. but there honestly can’t be anything special about something that tastes the same no matter what.” you can practically hear the way he rolls his eyes as he takes the cake out to put it in a box. 

you raise an eyebrow. “complaining about your own products? that doesn’t seem like a very good marketing strategy, but i suppose reverse psychology will do its job.” 

“you sound like you know about sales quite a bit.” he smiles wryly. “are you a business major?”

“yup! i actually just moved here to study at the local university for an overseas program.” you only knew this guy for a maximum of 30 seconds, and he had already seemed so open and was able to read you like a book. it made you want to know more about him in exchange. 

“so your family bakes everything here?” you ask. 

“yes we do! my parents usually do the baking while my siblings and i work varying shifts here up front or stocking up the inventory. but we too, also experiment with different recipes to sell new things.” 

you hum in response. “you must have a lot of siblings then.”

the boy chuckles in response. “i do. i don’t know what i’d do without them.” he sounded so happy while talking about his family and it made you feel warm just hearing about how they worked together. 

“is this a competition for how much we can learn about each other within a span of a few minutes.” he smirks. “when we haven’t even learnt each others names yet?”

you inspect his attire, pausing at a name tag pinned to his shirt pocket. “ajax? nice to meet you, i’m (y/n).”

“well, (y/n), hope to see you again after trying my brother’s cake. hope it makes you realize that you gotta go for the chocolate or vanilla, not something that wasn’t meant to be a dessert in the first place.”

--

“i mean it was good so i came back for another one?” you can’t help but laugh when the same boy you met at the counter last week shakes his head.

“and you came to order right around closing time too, huh? guess this makes you a new challenge for me.” you avert your gaze to the ground, suddenly feeling nervous from his chastising. 

“fine, you can lose the pouty face. i’ll accept your questionable taste just this one last time.” he pushes his hair back with a sigh after packing up your order and you catch yourself staring. 

and of course, just when you allow yourself to indulge in the sight of a mysterious sea of unanswered questions in his blue eyes, he locks eyes with you. he knows you’re checking him out, causing him to smirk coyly. 

“ajax,” you begin, preventing the atmosphere from heading somewhere more tense. “have you lived here all of your life?” 

“as a matter of fact, no i haven’t. my family has been around, but i think we’ve finally found where we’re supposed to belong here. i’ve been living here long enough for people to start calling me by two different names too. ‘tartaglia’ and also ‘childe’.”

hm. so he was attractive and went by multiple names....

“‘tartaglia’? interesting, sounds like you’ve even earned yourself a name amongst the locals here.”

“i don’t know why they named me after the guy from that one play, though. maybe it’s because i leave a little bit of a stutter in people’s lives.” childe winks.

--

stutter, huh.

you thought he was just being a boastful young man. until you found yourself just happening to visit the bakery during times you predicted he’d be there. 

childe was like a peacock strutting his stuff out in the open, captivating, and divine. you had never met someone so adventurous yet down to earth at the same time. one moment he’d be bragging about his ventures with his friends, and then next thing you knew he’d do a 180 if his little brother called in the middle of your conversation. 

it wasn’t just his actions. he grew more bold with his words too. eyes shooting stars as he looked you up and down, noticing the new outfit you wore just for him when he purred about how good you looked and how it was always a treat to have someone as sweet as you visit after a long day at work. 

he was always full of surprises. you’re reminded of that when you find him standing behind the counter in a hoodie and jeans instead of his usual work attire.

“what’s up? disappointed that i’m not wearing the apron?” childe exits the space separating you two, and stands dangerously close to you. “don’t worry, i can put it back on when i show you the new frosting i’m working on.” he chuckles and rubs your shoulder, the small exchange of body heat making you feel warm all over.

“a new product, huh? is this to help your family business or to compete with your siblings?” you watch him count the cash at the register with your hands tucked underneath your chin. 

“sweetheart, even a guy like me can take on baking as a hobby rather than just a way to make ends meet or pick fights.” with that, he slides the cash register drawer closed. “come on, it should be processed by now.”

you slowly follow childe into the back. as promised, he puts the apron over his casual clothes, the sight rather domestic. 

he dips his finger into the light pink frosting after giving it one last stir and licks it off. the sight makes you shiver and lick your own lips.

“mmm. so i guess strawberry does taste pretty good. if done right of course.”

“what made you change your mind, mr.strawberry-anti?” you smirk.

“baking is a delicacy. i was never a ‘strawberry-anti’, just wary of how it’s supposed to mesh with desserts for the sake of compliancy. i made this frosting to test it out some more, and as a special treat. for you.”

before you can receive his gesture to claim your treat, childe gives you the same glimmering look that he always uses before pulling at your heartstrings even further. 

and it becomes way too much for you to handle when he leans his face closer to yours.

“here, have a taste.” childe teasingly presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth. he continues to leave gentle pecks on your lips, and you let out shaky breaths every time he pulls away.

“why did you stop?” you whine and he hovers over your entire body this time, pushing your hips onto the counter.

“hm, not enough? come closer then.” you wrap your arms around his neck, this time, getting a real taste of his creation when he claims your mouth whole. 

you grip onto his hair when he adds more pressure into the kiss, pulling especially harder when he nibbles on your bottom lip. as if having unlocked the key to your greatest depths, he effortlessly slides his tongue into your mouth, and you moan upon tasting the lingering strawberry flavor mixed with the feeling of your tongues connecting.

much to your dismay, you both pull away for air. your breaths mingle hotly before he coaxes you into taking a bit more for yourself. not long after you savor the sweetness, childe’s lips are back on yours. the way he sucks the cream off your lips makes your head spin, making you forget about everything else but this one boy in front of you, the mystery boy in a foreign country who sent you through a rollercoaster during only your first month of living here. 

“ajax...” you breathe out his name when he lets go of your now swollen and red lips. the boy proceeds to kiss your cheek and jawline gently, laughing softly against your skin.

“i can’t help it, baby. it tastes even better on you.”

[thataintnolady]

“What is… going on between you and my sister, exactly?” Elain asked. The question sounded more curious than accusatory, but Eris still wasn’t sure how to answer.

“We haven’t really defined it,” he said lamely.

“Okay,” Elain said. “It just concerns me a bit, that’s all.” Oh good, Eris thought. Another concerned younger sister to deal with. “She and Cassian were together for almost two years,” Elain continued. “It didn’t end very pleasantly, and it’s only been two or three months. I just think it’s maybe a bit soon for her to be getting into anything new.”

“We’re not rushing into some serious relationship, Elain,” Eris said gently. “We’re enjoying each other’s company. I’m not going to make her any promises I can’t keep.”

“It’s not her I’m worried about,” Elain said calmly.

______________________________________

New Velaris, Old Vendettas

Chapter 8 | Sur la Table

[3200 words]

<<previous chapter | masterlist

______________________________________

Eris leaned back in the uncomfortable meeting room chair as Auric triple checked his figures against the proposal draft, feeling lightheaded and almost nauseated with fatigue. He’d never been so tired in his life. So many nights with three or four hours’ sleep had compounded and at this point he was little more than a walking corpse. Lucien was handling everything to do with Usurper alone, because he had no time and even less energy.

“I think maybe we need to allow some more contingency for the construction phase,” Auric was murmuring. “There are high end concepts, the finishes will need to be flawless.”

“That’s fair,” Eris said. “The contracts will need to be very specific on that too, if and when the time comes.”

Auric nodded. “I’d be surprised if it doesn’t,” he said. “It’s a great proposal. You’ve done an incredible job to pull this together in such a tight timeframe. I still don’t really understand how you’ve done it.”

“It’s not what you know, it’s who you know,” Eris said cryptically. “Thank you, though. I imagine you’ll be as relieved as me when we finally submit this.”

Auric gave a humourless chuckle. “I’ll never take a full night’s sleep for granted again.”

Eris nodded his fervent agreement as Auric gathered up the papers. “Take those while you revise the figures, if you want,” Eris offered. “Just make sure you lock them away when you’re not using them and put them through the shredder when you’re done.” Wouldn’t want competitors somehow getting their hands on such sensitive information, he thought wryly to himself.

As he dragged himself back down the corridor toward his office, he met Daimon coming the other way. His brother had not spoken two words to him since the last disastrous Friday night dinner, but that suited Eris fine. Lucien wasn’t the only one lacking the family nose now, Eris observed, with a grim sense of satisfaction. The two black eyes Eris had given Daimon had faded to a faint yellowing, but the crooked nose was there to stay. Unless he got rhinoplasty, which Eris wouldn’t put past him – he was the only person in the family more vain than Eris himself.

Daimon shot him a vicious glare as he passed, and Eris pouted his lips and made a kissing noise in return.

He was nearly at his office when he changed course and headed for Lucien’s instead. He knocked on the frosted glass door. Lucien wasn’t usually one for a closed door policy, but since he now spent a lot of his time clandestinely working on Usurper, he liked to have some warning before anyone walked in. Luckily for both of them, he could pretty much handle the scutwork that Beron tossed his way in his sleep.

“Yo,” came the muffled reply from inside the office. Eris walked in, closing the door behind him. “What’s happening?”

“Just saw Daimon in the hall,” Eris said, grimacing. “Reminded me it must be almost time for Friday night dinner again. It’s been over a month since the last one, hasn’t it?”

Lucien pulled out his phone and flicked to the calendar. “Next week,” he confirmed. “I think it was originally meant to be this week but Finn had something important on. What happened with Daimon, anyway? I know Elain saw you deck him, but she either doesn’t know or wouldn’t say what sparked it.”

“He was just being a fuckwit,” Eris said dismissively. If Lucien knew Daimon had put his slimy hands on Elain, he’d be likely to do far worse than punch him. And he was more formidable physically than Eris. For Allegra’s sake, Eris was not willing to set off a prolonged feud among his brothers. Not when she already had so much on her mind.

“Well, that’s hardly anything new,” Lucien said, but didn’t press him further.

“Have you got anything on for Saturday night?” Eris asked, changing the subject.

“Nothing special. I’ve got stuff to do for Usurper, but I was just going to hang with Elain in the evenings. Why?”

“Perfect, why don’t you both come over for dinner? I’m inviting Nesta too.”

Lucien, uncharacteristically, was speechless for a few moments. “You’re inviting us over for dinner? That’s very… suburban of you. Are you and Nesta a couple now?”

“No. We’re… not labelling it. I think we should talk to Elain about maybe working on Usurper with us, if she’s interested. Nesta is smart about this sort of thing, hopefully she’ll help convince her.”

“You want Elain on board?” Lucien looked thoughtful.

“Feyre suggested it, and I think it’s a good idea,” Eris said, shrugging. “She has an HR background, right? We need to recruit some great journalism grads and content creators. And have a plan for future team growth. Elain is charming, and if that idea you had about key sponsors is going to work, having someone like her to collaborate with them would be an asset. Besides, it would give us someone we can trust to act as a go-between while we’re still keeping things afloat here.”

“Hm. She’d be good at it, no question. I’m just not sure it’d be what she wants. And don’t they say you should never work with your spouse?” He raised an eyebrow.

“You’re not married yet, and you wouldn’t even be in the same location most of the time. I don’t think it counts. Look, I’m not going to try to railroad her into anything, but it doesn’t hurt to ask, right?”

“I guess not. What time Saturday?”

“Six thirty? Seven?”

“Okay. We’ll be there.”

Beron submitted the proposal to his contacts at the City of New Velaris on Thursday afternoon. He must have been happy with it, because once Auric had completed the costings and Eris put the final polish on the document, he didn’t have a single thing to say. Not even a well done, but of course that was to be expected.

Eris took Friday off and slept for the entire day and night, but for a two hour break in the afternoon to take Orion to the dog park. He’d been a neglectful these past few weeks and the poor guy deserved it. He also ignored when Orion snuck onto the bed with him later that night, and it wasn’t just because he didn’t have the energy to shoo him off.

On Saturday he and Orion walked to the fish markets before heading home to prep for dinner. He spent the afternoon leisurely weighing out ingredients, julienning vegetables and chopping herbs, so that when everyone arrived for dinner he’d only have to do the finishing touches. It felt like an absolute luxury to have a day where he could do anything without the panic of that stupid proposal hanging over his head. He enjoyed every second of it.

Nesta rang the buzzer right on 6pm. He’d told her to come earlier than Lucien and Elain so that they could spend time alone together first. He buzzed her in remotely. “Come through to the kitchen,” he called out as he heard the door from the elevator lobby open. Nesta rounded the corner, wearing a sleeveless blouse in cobalt blue silk and a black pencil skirt that hugged her ass and hips like a second skin. Lord save him.

She put a bottle of Louis Roederer down on the corner of the kitchen counter. “Hey. This is nice,” she said, glancing around the loft. Orion trotted over to her, curious. “Oh, hi there!” she said uncertainly. “Who’s this?” Orion sniffed at her for a second, then wandered past her into the kitchen to patrol for anything Eris might have dropped.

“That’s Orion, my right hand man,” Eris said as he whisked together a dressing.

“He’s yours? I didn’t know you had a dog,” she said.

“I never mentioned it? Sorry, I should have said something. You’re not afraid of dogs are you? Or allergic?”

“No. I mean, I haven’t been around them much, but I’m okay with them. What kind of dog is he?”

“He’s a greyhound. A rescue, he didn’t cut it on the track so he ended up in a shelter.” An ex-girlfriend of Eris’s had been into animal rights, and he’d agreed to foster Orion for a couple of weeks as a favour to her. The relationship with Anaïs hadn’t lasted, but the one with Orion turned out to be true love.

“Oh, that’s sad. At least he has a good home now.”

Eris put the dressing in the refrigerator and draped the dishtowel he’d tucked into the waistband of his pants back over the hook by the oven. “I’m glad you could come.” He wandered over to Nesta and bent to kiss her.

She twined her arms around his neck and kissed him back, and instantly he was lost the way he had been in her office last week. Pulling away from her went against every instinct in his body, but after a minute he did. “You know, if you start on me like this right now, it’s likely the kitchen will be on fire by the time Lucien and Elain get here.”

Nesta laughed low in her throat, in a way that made the blood rush straight to his groin. “Okay. Later,” she promised.

He picked up the bottle of champagne she’d brought to distract himself. It was already chilled. “Very nice. You didn’t have to do that.”

Nesta shrugged. “A supplier gave it to me, and I know Elain has a weakness for it.”

“Shall we open it and have a glass out on the balcony? It’s a nice night, I thought we could eat out there.” She nodded. He filled an ice bucket and led the way out to the covered balcony.

“Wow, cool view. I wouldn’t have expected you to live in this area, to be honest.”

Eris’s home was in The District, an arty, historic neighbourhood of New Velaris full of black box theatres, whiskey dens and live music venues. His loft apartment, the top floor of what had once been a convent, was above a collective of artist studios. It was a fair comment – it wasn’t the sort of area anyone expected him to live in. When he’d decided on the loft, the main attractions had been that it was about as far as he could get from the family penthouse, and that Beron had hated it on sight. But he’d come to love the neighbourhood. He enjoyed the creative buzz of activity, and his neighbours seemed to accept the stiff in the suit without any qualms. Though that might have mostly been because Orion was so popular.

“Well, there you go,” Eris murmured. “Both of us living in unexpected places and occasionally doing unexpected things. Almost like you can’t tell everything about a person just from their reputation.” He twisted off the metal cage from the champagne bottle and slowly turned the bottle and cork in opposite directions until he heard the hiss of air escaping. He coaxed the cork out and poured each of them a glass. “Here’s to us deviants, I guess.”

Nesta smiled and clinked her glass against his. “Indeed.”

They sat and talked on the balcony until Eris heard the door buzz again and went back in to greet Elain and Lucien. Elain thrust a plastic carrier box into Eris’s hands as she came in and immediately rushed to greet the dog. “Hey puppy! Is this Orion? Hello! Hello baby! I’ve heard so much about you, I have, I have! Aw, you’re so handsome! You know it too, don’t you? You are!”

“Good to see you, too, Elain,” Eris said, with dry amusement.

“Shh, your dog and I are having a moment,” she admonished, tickling Orion behind the ears as he stood there with a dopey look on his face. “This place is not what I expected,” she said as she got to her feet.

“No, that seems to be the consensus.”

“Could use a few plants, though,” she observed. “They change the whole energy of a home, you know.”

“Not sure I could manage plants, it’s hard enough work keeping Orion happy. Where’s Lucien?”

“He dropped me off and went to find somewhere to park, he’ll be up in a minute. Those are for you,” she said, indicating the plastic carrier. It was filled with a dozen delicate little cupcakes decorated with piped lilac buttercream frosting and sugared violets.

“You made me more cupcakes?” Jesus, when would it end? Too much more of this and he’d have to join Azriel for some 3am gym sessions.

“Well, Lucien told me how appreciative you were of the last batch, so I thought I’d treat you. You deserve it. I mean, after that night at your Mom’s.” She frowned. “I’m glad you walked in when you did. And to thank you for Catherine, of course.”

“Catherine?” Who the fuck was Catherine?

“The Monstera,” she clarified. “I name all my plants. My favourite ones, anyway.”

“Smells good in here,” Lucien said, tossing his keys on the kitchen counter as he walked in.

“Come out to the balcony, we’re going to eat out there.” Eris led them outside, where they greeted Nesta. He poured them each a glass of the champagne before going back inside to put the starter together.

“Oh, this looks a bit special,” Elain gushed as he put plates down in front of her and Nesta before returning for two more.

“So what are we looking at here?” Lucien asked.

“King scallop ceviche, served in the half shell,” Eris said. “Fresh caught, Orion and I went to the fish markets this morning.”

“Of course you did,” Lucien said, rolling his eyes. “Such a show off.”

Eris grinned.

“Where did you learn to cook like this?” Elain demanded. “Lucien can grill a decent hamburger, but this is next level.”

“Well, this dish is technically raw, actually – it’s cured in citrus juices, no cooking involved. But I spent a gap year in Paris once,” Eris explained. “I took an eight week course at Le Cordon Bleu while I was there.”

“Just for the hell of it,” Lucien added. “Because that’s the kind of thing you do when you’re an insufferable fucking show off.”

While Elain and Lucien playfully argued about his failure to prepare Le Cordon Bleu quality meals for her, Nesta gave him an enigmatic smile. “Very impressive, Eris Vanserra,” she said quietly.

He winked at her. “Like I told you, hidden talents.”

When Eris picked up the empty plates and went in to prepare the main course, Elain followed him. “I’ll give you a hand.”

“It’s already mostly prepped,” Eris told her, as he scraped the empty scallop shells into a plastic bag of seafood trimmings in the freezer. The trash wouldn’t be collected for another few days and he didn’t want it stinking up the loft. “It’ll only take me a few minutes if you want to relax with the others.”

“I wanted to talk to you, actually.”

“Oh? Okay.”

“About Nesta.”

“Ah.”

“What is… going on between you and my sister, exactly?” Elain asked. The question sounded more curious than accusatory, but Eris still wasn’t sure how to answer.

“We haven’t really defined it,” he said lamely.

“Okay,” Elain said. “It just concerns me a bit, that’s all.” Oh good, Eris thought. Another concerned younger sister to deal with. “She and Cassian were together for almost two years,” Elain continued. “It didn’t end very pleasantly, and it’s only been two or three months. I just think it’s maybe a bit soon for her to be getting into anything new.”

“We’re not rushing into some serious relationship, Elain,” Eris said gently. “We’re enjoying each other’s company. I’m not going to make her any promises I can’t keep.”

“It’s not her I’m worried about,” Elain said calmly.

“It’s my heart you fear for?” Eris said incredulously.

“Only because I suspect it’s softer than you let on,” Elain replied. “I can see you feel my concern is misplaced, so I won’t harp on about it. Just take care, okay? Now, what can I do to help?”

Eris turned over her words as he pulled a tray of snapper fillets out of the oven and showed Elain how to open the parchment paper sleeves and plate the fish on the celeriac mash. This was the first time he could remember being accused of having a soft heart. And what kind of monster did Elain see her sister as?

He quickly whisked a little more butter and white wine into the pre-prepared sauce base and tasted it before ladling it over the fish. “Help me take these out?”

Nesta was laughing at something Lucien had said when they came back out to the balcony. “Shh, here he comes,” Lucien stage-whispered. “Don’t tell him I told you that.”

Eris refused to rise to the bait. “Red snapper en cocotte with beurre blanc sauce,” he said smugly, placing a plate down in front of Lucien. “Sorry it’s not a hamburger.”

As they ate the meal, Eris floated their ideas about Usurper to Elain. She was confused at first.

“But there must be plenty of people who would be better at it than me,” she said, frowning.

“Possibly, but we’re so deeply committed to nepotism in this family,” Lucien joked. ‘It’s really all we know.”

“You sell yourself short,” Eris said, ignoring his brother. “You’re intuitive with people, which is really valuable. Besides that, we need someone we know we can trust to act on our behalf while we’re still involved with Forestier. You’d be good at it. Just think about it, okay?”

“I will,” Elain promised.

“I was going to serve a cheese board instead of dessert,” Eris said once he’d cleared away the main course. “But Elain made these, so I think we’ll have them instead.” He placed a two-tiered stand laden with Elain’s purple cupcakes in the middle of the table.

Nesta laughed and began peeling a cupcake out of its paper wrapper. “Some things never change,” she said, glancing at Elain fondly. A sudden breeze whipped over the balcony and Nesta shivered, her bare arms erupting in goosebumps. She leaned closer to Eris, and he put an arm around her shoulder. Elain and Lucien exchanged glances.

They stayed at the table talking until it got too cold outside, then retired to the loft’s living area for a Vanserras versus Archerons game of Pictionary, largely fought between the hyper-competitive Lucien and Nesta while Eris and Elain watched on in amusement, delighting in irritating their respective siblings by occasionally guessing wrong on purpose.

Eventually, Elain yawned and turned to Lucien. “We should probably go. Didn’t you have some things you wanted to get done tomorrow?” she asked pointedly.

“Yeah, I suppose so,” Lucien agreed.

“Do you want a ride home with us?” Elain asked Nesta.

“No, I’m good.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Okay,” Elain said slowly. “Thank you for the wonderful meal, Eris. Can we give you a hand cleaning up before we go?”

“No, you go ahead. I’ll do it in the morning.”

Orion kissed Elain goodbye like she was a soldier going off to war, and she and Lucien took their leave.

“Finally,” Nesta said, when the door closed behind them. She stalked toward him slowly.

[pascalpanic]

Caffeine Rush: Chapter Three / Cappucino

Summary: Javier shows up to your coffee shop again, at an ungodly hour.

W/C: 3K

Warnings: food/eating, coffee, implied age gap (reader is about 25)

A/N: I don’t have anything to say I just hope you guys enjoy :)) OH JK YES I DO: I’ve decided that Caffeine Rush will come out on mondays or tuesdays, alternating every week!

previous chapter || next chapter || masterlist

Cappuccino: two-thirds frothed milk, one-third espresso. Light and airy, full of fluff. Has a stronger coffee flavor than a latte.

As you drive him back to the hotel, you smile over at him. He looks so gorgeous, his dark hair dampened from the snow, his lips soft and extra pink from being pressed to yours. “How long did you say you’re in town for?” You ask him.

“A month,” the man tells you with a nod. “There’s a whole policy with vacation time. Use it or lose it, basically. They told me I had to use it now, so I told them to give me a month. I really have about… three months saved up now,” he chuckles.

The thought makes you grin. Javier will be here for Christmas. He’ll be here for New Year’s- that is, if he’s staying.  “And what are your plans for it?” You ask softly. You hope whatever they are, they won’t take him away from you.

Javier is eating the second red velvet cake in the passenger’s seat, and you giggle at the sight before turning back to the road. Crumbs gather on the top of his shirt and in his mustache, flecks of red in the warm brown.

He smiles at your laughter. “I have none. I have no work to do. I can’t go back to Colombia early- well, I could, but I won’t be working so it wouldn’t be worth much,” he sighs, thinking aloud. “I could go home and visit my father, but I couldn’t stay there for very long. My hometown is a place you only want to stay for two or three days, at most.”

Your eyes watch his face, that surprisingly soft skin and how it moves with his expressions. Your eyes are holding a question, even if you don’t ask it aloud. Javier can read it without your words as he turns to look at you. “I’ve heard D.C. is nice over the holidays,” you offer softly. It’s less of an offer and more of a silent question: please stay. I want you to stay.

Turning back to you, there’s cream cheese frosting in his mustache and an adorable smirk on his face. Just when you thought it was impossible for this man to be any more beautiful. “I think that sounds like a wonderful idea. Then, like I said earlier, I have time to properly romance you.”

You grin and stare at the road. “I don’t normally kiss on the first date. I don’t think it’ll be hard for you to romance me,” you tease. “I can be your personal tour guide to the city. I only work mornings, so we can do whatever we want all day and night. Which is good, because the Smithsonians are only open during the day, and I want to take you to all of them.”

You ramble when you’re excited. Javier can already tell, can see you slowly leaving that shell you’ve hidden yourself in through all of your time in D.C. Your eyes glimmer in excitement as you consider the things you can do, the places you can take him.

Javier smiles back. “You’ll have to show me everything. I’ve never been here for anything other than work.”

“Oh, trust me,” you laugh. “I know all the best parts of the city. You’ll never be bored with me around.”

Javier’s immediately certain that’s true.

-

You told Javier last night that you work from 5:00  to 10:30, and he told you he’d swing by for a coffee. What else did he have to do without you?

What you didn’t expect was for the door chime to jingle at precisely 5:34, and for the customer that enters to be none other than the newest head of the DEA’s investigations into the Cali Cartel.

Rushing around the counter, you laugh and throw your arms around him. “Hi, Javi,” you chuckle and bury your face into his neck. He wears a warm red flannel and dark blue jeans, boots beneath them and a thick black coat over it all. He smells like soap and aftershave.

“I’m starting to like the fact that you’re a hugger,” he laughs as he hugs you back, resting his head on top of yours.

You break away and brush off your apron. “When I said you should come visit me, I meant, like, at normal human functioning hours. Like, maybe 9 or something.”

Javier frowns a little as he looks at you. “This is when I normally get up. Later than normal, actually,” he shrugs and puts his hands in his pockets. “You got a dark roast this morning?” He asks as he nods his head to the side, gesturing to the big vats of brewing coffee.

You smile at the question, chuckling a little. Of course he’s observant and remembers little details- it’s his literal job. “We do. Large redeye?” You ask, already heading behind the counter and back to the ceramic mugs.

The man tilts his head. “Actually… I think I changed my mind. Can I do another peppermint mocha?” he asks, a shy look on his face.

Looking up at him, you bite your lip at his expression. He’s so goddamn cute, really, even when he’s being ashamed for something stupid. “You don’t have to be shy about it,” you tease and nod. “There’s nothing less manly about you for ordering something sweet. In fact, most of the sweet drinks we make here are ordered by the business guys or Congressmen.”

Javier chuckles and leans forward on the counter on his elbows. “Oh, yeah?”

You nod and laugh at the memory of other customers. “Matthew, he works at the senators’ offices downtown, he’s a regular. He orders a caramel frappe with marshmallow and vanilla. Full shots of both.” As always, you happily chat as you make the recipe you know by heart.

Javier’s brow furrows. You’ve known the man maybe 24 hours, but you’re starting to get a good read on him. You can tell when he’s confused or worried or happy or stressed by the way his eyebrows position themselves. This one is a lighthearted confusion. “What’s a frappe?”

Your eyes glimmer with uncharacteristic excitement for so early in the morning. “Wait. So you’re telling me you’ve never had one?”

He shakes his head, pulling his leather jacket tighter around him. The shop is cold this early in the morning, before the body heat of customers and the steaming espresso machines warm the building. “No. What is it?” He asks again.

“It’s delicious, oh my god,” you grin. “It’s kind of like a coffee milkshake. It’s frozen and creamy, blended with ice and coffee. It’s my favorite in the summer, when hot drinks just feel too much.”

“So it’s light?” He asks, gratefully accepting his ceramic mug when you hand it over. It’s peaked with foamy white cream and pieces of candy canes. Javier thinks it reminds him of you. Soft, warm, sweet and indulgent. Energizing. Not like anything he’s ever had before, but he’s already addicted.

“Not really. Like I said, it’s really creamy. It’s like a milkshake, really. That’s the best way to describe it. Do you want me to make one and you can try some?” You offer as you stir the spare espresso shot with a little cream and sugar in a to-go cup for yourself. The warm sugary scent rises and you smile to yourself.

Javier shakes his head. “Not if it’s a cold drink. It’s too cold outside anyway. And in here. You do have heating in here, right?” He asks dryly as he sips the hot drink. You can see his broad shoulders soften, the tension rising into the air with the steam from his mocha.

You roll your eyes but shrug. “It’ll get hot in here later. I just appreciate that it’s cold now,” you chuckle and chug the espresso shot, tossing the paper cup into the garbage. “What can I get you for breakfast?” You ask as you nod to the pastry case further down the bar.

He shakes his head. “Don’t eat breakfast.”

You frown. “That’s going to have to change. You seem like the type who doesn’t take care of yourself, thinks he’s too good for it,” you tease and fold your arms on the countertop, leaning into it.

Javier scoffs. “I am not too good for breakfast,” he says, amused.

“Then eat.”

The mustached man rolls his eyes. “Fine. Maybe I don’t take very good care of myself, but I don’t need you to take care of me.”

That makes you frown. “Well, that’s too bad, because if you want to kiss me like we did last night, you’re going to have to let me take care of you, Javi.”

Javi. No one ever calls him that. He’s always Agent or Agente Peña, usually just Peña for the sake of convenience. Those who know him better call him Javier, people like Steve or Trujillo. True, he asked you to call him Javi, but the name is like a song from your lips, as soft as calling him baby. He absolutely fucking loves it. Can’t get enough of it.

You begin to babble on about the baker here and his skills, talking about the various treats beneath the glass case. There are muffins and scones, donuts and sweet breads, croissants and various puff-pastry delicacies. Javier is overwhelmed. He normally doesn’t eat many sweets, even though he loves them.

A cinnamon-sugar sprinkled pastry twist calls to him. He asks for one of those and insists that he pay for it, even as you wander away from the cash register to prove he can’t pay.

Javier stands at the bar as you make yourself your own hot drink, chatting as you stir the syrup with the espresso. God, you love that mustache, you think as you smile to yourself and look down. “So. How did the mustache come to be?” You ask him, smiling and tilting your head to the side in question.

Javier raises an eyebrow. “This?” He laughs, smoothing it down with his forefinger and thumb. It brushes out some sprinkles of cinnamon and sugar from his pastry and you bite your lip to hold back a laugh.

You both have to talk a bit louder as you begin steaming the milk for your cappuccino, but it hides your giggle as you say your next words: “Yes, the porn stache.”

“Hey,” he frowns and sips his drink, setting it back down and smiling again. “It was a thing with my father. When I turned 30, he told me I was a real man now, and real men wear mustaches. He always had one, so I said okay. He shaved it for me and taught me the right way to do it and everything. I liked the way it looked, and it stuck, I guess,” he shrugs and chuckles.

“Really? Because that thing looks straight out of 1975, but I don’t think you’re old enough for it to be that old.” You giggle. The mustache is very retro, certainly behind the times and the fashion of ‘93. “You can’t possibly be… what would that make you from ‘75… 45?”

Javier shrugs. “Well, you’re not far off. I’m 40.”

Your brow furrows. You certainly hadn’t expected that. He looks so young, really. 40 wasn’t even a thought in your mind- maybe a stressed-out 30. “Really?” You ask, though you doubt he’d lie and make himself seem older. He should probably know that you’re around the proper age you are, seeing as you’ve told him about just finishing grad school.

He frowns too. “Is that a problem?” He asks hurriedly, standing up straight from his hunched position, where he leaned over the counter to be closer to you.

“No, no,” you shake your head, and his body relaxes. “Of course not,” you smile and put your hand over his. “You just look really young for 40.”

Javier shakes his head, smiling a little at the compliment. He doesn’t get many of those, the ones where people tell him he looks young or he’s cute or any non-sexual compliments in general. “No I don’t. You’re just being cute.”

“No!” You laugh happily. “You saw my face. You’re a special agent of the D-E-A,” you say, drawing out the letters. “Head of the Calí Cartel investigations. You can read me like a damn book, Javi,” you smile at him. “Tell me, do I look like I’m lying?”

Javier shakes his head, the smile growing wider and his cheeks turning a slightly warmer shade. These kind of honest, pure and uncomplicated compliments make him almost embarrassed. “Yeah, yeah,” he sighs, brushing it off.

You’re absolutely beaming by now. “You’re not used to this, are you?” You tease as you scoop the foam from the milk pitcher into your ceramic mug, with chocolate and almond syrup in the bottom already. Mandy’s in the back stocking something, and no one else is in the shop yet. With this privacy, you lean across the counter, and Javier matches your position.

His face is painfully close to yours. You can feel his coffee breath, and you giggle softly. “Hey. Javi.”

“Yeah?” He asks teasingly.

“I like you a lot.”

Javier laughs genuinely, kissing you softly for a moment before breaking away and standing up straight again. “I like you too, abejita,” he says and finishes off his peppermint mocha.

“What does that mean?” You ask him. You’re nearly fluent in Spanish, from having studied it for years, but the word is unfamiliar.

“Little bee,” he chuckles. “You’re fluttering around this coffee shop like you’re on an adrenaline rush and it’s 5:30 in the goddamn morning.”

Little bee. It makes your heart race in your chest like a bee’s wings, a million beats per second. Goddamnit, this Javier knows what he’s doing, you think to yourself. He must be doing this for the sole purpose of stealing your heart; why else would he be this fucking sweet and sexy and flirtatious?

“It’s the caffeine rush,” you shake your head and wave a hand dismissively. You’ve already chugged a few shots of espresso, and your chocolate-almond cappuccino is about halfway gone now. Either way, Javier makes your resting heart rate double just from looking your way.

“Sure,” he teases and raises an eyebrow. “I’m gonna hit the bathroom. Be right back.” He sticks his hands in the pockets of his heavy wool coat as he heads to the restrooms, near the front of the store.

You take his mug back and Mandy wanders out from the back. “Wow. Who’s got you so chatty?” She asks out of genuine curiosity. She didn’t see Javier come in or go to the bathroom.

You’d talked with Mandy while you prepared the store, filling her in on all of the details of last night’s date with Javier. “It’s, uh, Javi, actually,” you laugh softly as you pull more espresso shots to make him another peppermint mocha.

“You’re kidding,” the woman squeals, her curls flipping over her shoulder as she tosses them back. “Why is he here so early?” She asks in confusion, making herself a drink on the machine next to you.

Your foot taps out a quick rhythm against the tile floor beneath you, the energy already flowing through your body. “Beats me. He says he wakes up this early normally. I don’t know if I believe it, but…” you shrug and stir the shots into the peppermint syrup, scooping chocolate chips into a steaming pitcher with milk and putting it under the steaming wand.

“He’s in the DEA, isn’t he?” She asks. “Maybe they start work really early in the morning. I’ve heard they work really long hours.”

“Well, he did say he works a lot,” you nod. “I don’t know. Doesn’t matter. He’s here now and he’ll get to see me cry my way through the morning rush,” you say sarcastically.

Mandy nudges your shoulder. “Says the most competent barista who works here,” she scoffs. “You have everyone out the door in under three minutes. That’s no easy feat.”

“Okay,” you roll your eyes and pour the chocolate milk into the syrup and espresso, stirring it with a long, twisted spoon. “I doubt that, but thank you.” You swirl a perfect peak of whipped cream on the top, then sprinkle the candy cane pieces on.

“I think she’s right,” you hear Javier’s voice from the other side of the counter.

“Stalker,” you tease and put his mug in front of him.

“Am not. Just think you’re good at what you do.”

“I made you a refill,” you say, ignoring his compliment. “Oh, Javier, this is Mandy. You might remember her from yesterday. Mandy, this is Javier.”

She nods and shakes the hand that Javier offers. “Nice to meet you- well, again,” she says with a bright smile. “You got the prettiest girl here.”

“Mandy,” you roll your eyes. She just laughs as she makes her way to the back of the store again.

Javier watches her then turns back to you with a smile. “I think she was right on both of those,” he comments with a smile on his face.

“Go sit down, stop flirting with me, and drink your damn coffee, Javi,” you teasingly scold him with a smile, turning away to go wash the steaming pitcher and spoon you used to make his drink.

Another customer walks in the shop. You can tell from the jingle of the bells on the door. With that, Javier finds a table in the lobby and sits at it, reading the daily newspaper and sipping his peppermint mocha. He’s starting to see why you’re so addicted to these. To him, they taste like you. -

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[bakuhoes-dumbass]

Lacking Love

Shoto Todoroki x F!Reader

Slight Angst/Fluff

Words: 1.7k

A/N: Hey, this is my first anime based fic! I hope ya’ll like it~ (They’ll get less shitty as I continue lmao)

Warnings: None!

~~~

"I'm sorry again, Y/N. I didn't mean to be late to our date."

You're sitting across from your boyfriend in a nearby cafe. He noticed how unnaturally quiet you've been for the past hour, his concern growing with every passing moment.

"I had gotten caught up-"

"It's okay, Sho. I already know how you've been feeling."

Todoroki tilts his head, confused at the statement. "I don't quite understand-"

"I know you don't love me." You cut him off. "At least, not like I love you."

Todoroki's eyebrows furrow, a taken aback look on his face. "W-What? You don't think I love you?"

You let out a soft giggle. "I know you don't. And it's okay. Not everyone falls in love with their partner right away."

His mouth drops open slightly in shock. "Y/N, b-but I do…" He trails off.

You shake your head. "You're quite often late to dates. You never call me any pet names. You rarely kiss me. I haven't even heard an 'I love you' leave your mouth first. How often do we cuddle or hold hands?" You speak in a quiet voice. "Shoto, do you even know what today is?"

Your last question catches him off guard. Shit, today is a special day? Why couldn't he remember?! Taking his silence as his answer, you smile sadly. "It's okay, Sho. It wasn't anything special."

Suddenly, your phone rings. Todoroki looks down, noticing Mirio's picture pops up, signaling an incoming text. He furrows his brows in confusion, wondering why the Big 3 member was messaging you. You read the text and put your phone away. Todoroki is surprised when you suddenly stand up.

"Hey baby, I gotta go. But I'll see you later tonight, yeah?"

Todoroki opens his mouth to speak but closes it and chooses to nod instead. You give him a quick kiss on the cheek.

"I love you. I'll see you later."

"I-I love you…" you were out the door of the cafe before he could finish his sentence. "...too." Todoroki sighs and stands up to leave.

On his way back to the dorms, Todoroki's head is spinning. Your words and your disappointed expression flashes in his mind. He never knew this was how you were feeling and now all he could do is worry.

~~~

"Hey, Todoroki. How'd it go?" Midoriya greets him as he walks through the door. Todoroki mumbles something before walking into the kitchen. Midoriya follows closely. "Are you okay?"

Opening the fridge, he continues to ignore Midoriya, choosing to mindlessly stare into the fridge. Midoriya tilts his head at the boy. "So I take it something happened?"

"Y/N said something…" Todoroki trails off, still in shock at what happened in the cafe. Midoriya gestures at him to keep talking. He sighs. "She said I don't love her-"

"Move the hell outta the way, half-n-half. You're letting the cold air out." Bakugo shoves the boy out of the way before rummaging through the fridge for his drink.

Midoriya stares wide eyed at Bakugo's rudeness before turning back to the duo quirked boy. He shakes his head, confused. "Wait, what? What do you mean?"

Todoroki shifts his eyes to a certain explosion boy who finally found his drink, now just leaning against the counter listening with a curious scowl. Todoroki rolls his eyes but turns his attention back to Midoriya.

"I'm not sure. She just started saying how I never show affection or say 'I love you' first." Todoroki runs a hand through his bi-colored hair. "I've never really been in a relationship before but Kaminari had mentioned how girls like guys who play hard to get-"

Bakugo chokes on his drink, nearly dying from a coughing fit. He bursts into laugher. "You're taking relationship advice from dunce face?! Dude wouldn't even know what to do in a relationship if it bit him in the ass."

Todoroki's face turns bright red and holds out his hand, freezing Bakugo's drink. Bakugo stops laughing and glares at him. "HEY, WHAT THE HELL, ICY HOT? WANNA DIE?!"

Todoroki huffs, clearly embarrassed. "Shut up. I just have no idea what I'm doing, clearly."

Midoriya sweat drops, holding up his hands and trying to calm his two friends down. "Alright, let's all just calm down. This is easily fixable. You just have to do the opposite of what Kaminari suggests, right? Easy enough. Did at least the gift you got her help kind of ease her worry?"

Todoroki's furrow his brows. "Gift? Why would I give her a gift?"

Midoriya's jaw drops. Before he can say anything, Bakugo speaks up. "Isn't it like, her birthday or some shit today?"

Upon hearing those words, Todoroki freezes. "N-no, that can't be…" He fumbles with his phone to check the calendar. "Her birthday isn't until-" His eyes widen and his face pales. "-today." He slams his head against the kitchen wall. "Fuck!" He slides down against the wall onto the floor, his hands over his face. "No wonder she doesn't think I fucking love her. I'm such an awful boyfriend."

Bakugo was able to unfreeze his drink. "Yeah you are." He takes a sip before heading out the door. "Better hurry the fuck up and fix it before she dumps your emotionally challanged ass."

"Kacchan! What the hell!" Midoriya throws his hands up at the explosive boy. Bakugo flips him off before heading back to his room. Midoriya sighs and turns to Todoroki once more. "She's not going to dump you."

Shoto leans his head back against the wall and side eyes his friend. "Why wouldn't she? I sure would."

Midoriya shakes his head. "Y/N isn't like that. She's an understanding person."

"Mirio texted her earlier. She's probably with him right now. Probably treating her to a birthday dinner or something." He clenches his fists, frost building up from his right hand.

"Okay, you need to calm down before you freeze the entire dorm." Midoriya sweat drops. "You can fix this, I have a plan. I promise, everything will be alright."

~~~

"Thanks for the ice cream, guys! I really appreciate it!" You smile at the Big three members.

"Of course, Y/N! It's your birthday, after all." Nejire giggles.

The corners of your mouth twitch, suddenly remembering how your boyfriend forgot what today was. Tamaki furrows his brows, noticing your sudden change of mood. "A-are you okay, Y/N?"

You shake your head to rid yourself of those thoughts and smile at the shy boy. "Yeah, I'm okay. No need to worry about me!" Suddenly, you feel your phone go off in your pocket.

♡Shoto♡: Please come to the dorms when you're done, love.

You smile slightly at the text from your boyfriend and quickly send a reply.

You: I'll be there soon. ❤

"Um, sorry to run out on you guys. I have to meet back at Heights Alliance."

"Oh, we're headed that direction anyway! Why don't we accompany you?" Mirio speaks up with a smile.

You giggle at his always sunny attitude and smile back. "Sure, that would be great."

~~~

Todoroki paces back and forth in the dorm common room. Anxiety overwhelms him, the only thing running through his mind is you breaking up with him. He knows he royally screwed up, but you love him too much to leave him. You'll forgive him… right?

He looks over at the dining table, set up with your favorite take-out and a beautiful birthday cake that Sato helped him make. Your gift lay wrapped behind him, wanting to surprise you with it. He really hoped this would help make up for his stupidity.

His head whips up after hearing the door to the building click open. You poke your head around the door giving your boyfriend a smile before closing it behind you. Todoroki rubs his hands on his pants, his anxiety causing him to sweat. 

You walk up to him and give him a peck on the cheek. "Hey, Sho." Your eyes wander behind him to see the table set up. "What's all this?"

Todoroki takes your hands into his shaking ones, avoiding your eyes. "I-I know I've been a horrible boyfriend from the start. I haven't shown you how much I appreciate you. How much you mean to me." He squeezes his hands over yours, his eyes now fleeting to meet yours. "How much I love you."

You tilt your head. "Baby, you're not a horrible boyfriend."

"Yes, Y/N. I am. I've kept myself so distant from you, I've neglected you. Fuck, I forgot your fuckin birthday was today!" His eyes turn hard, his tone angry. But not at you, at himself.

"Sho, it's not a big deal-"

"YES IT IS! WHY DO YOU KEEP SAYING IT'S NOT?!" He raises the tone of his voice, making you flinch slightly. He notices and immediately regrets it. He brings his tone down to his natural softness. "I've been so busy training and thinking about becoming a Hero, I neglected to remember an important event. Even fuckin Bakugo remembered."

"Pfft!" You cover your mouth with your hand before bursting out laughing. Todoroki's face turns confused at your reaction. You wave your hand. "I'm sorry, just the fact that Bakugo remembered for some reason is hilarious to me."

Todoroki sighs and smiles softly at your beautiful laugh. He runs a hand through your hair, caressing your cheek. "God, I love you more than anything, baby. I really truly do." His smile drops, anxiety once again taking over. "Please, don't leave me." He practically whispers, his other hand squeezing yours again.

"No no no." You grab his cheeks with your hands and kiss his nose. "I absolutely was not even remotely considering it. I promise."

Suddenly Todoroki pulls your body against his, making you squeak. He tilts his head slightly before meeting his lips to yours. You melt into the soft kiss, feeling nothing but love being poured into it.

"Oh, I have something for you." He speaks after pulling away. He picks up the nicely wrapped package from behind him and hands it to you. "Please, open it."

Carefully tearing the paper off, you gasp. "Oh my god, Shoto! This is the limited edition Mirko figure! I thought these were sold out weeks ago?!"

Your boyfriend smirks. "I was able to snag one before they sold out. I'm assuming you like it?"

You squeal and throw your arms around the hot and cold boy, squeezing him tightly. "Thank you so much, Sho! I absolutely love it."

Todoroki buries his face into your neck, holding you tightly as if he's still afraid of losing you. He smiles into your neck and murmurs.

"Happy Birthday, Baby."

[potter-imagines]

Library Confessions (George Weasley)

Summary:  george fluff?? maybe like some sort of best friends to lovers kinda deal?

Notes: I've been wanting to write George for a while so I was excited to make this !! hope you enjoy x

Pairing: George Weasley x Reader

Warnings: None, just fluff

Word Count: 5.3k

It was a flurry and cold winter day, the kind of day when every breath stings the lungs and every exhale chills the lips. The frigid air, the slippery ground and the sheet of white covering the once green grass. All signs winter was here and cold times were ahead. Even in the highlands of Scotland, the winters were ferosus and unforgiving. Seeing as it was your seventh, and final, year at Hogwarts, most would assume you’d have adapted to the cold by now, but that wasn’t the case. Although as much as you despised the freezing temperature, the pulsating tick of your headache preferred the cold over the thunderous noise back inside.

The Gryffindor common room was too rambunctious- wild, uncontrolled for your desires tonight. It was Friday and tomorrow was the highly anticipated day trip to Hogsmeade. Students were understandable thrilled and you would have loved to join in, but the throbbing pain and stress of school on your shoulders masked your fun. The migraines were brought on by school, but also the idea that you would not get to join your friends tomorrow.

Your feet carried you further from the common room, the rowdy noise fading with every step. If the weight of homework wasn’t so heavy on your shoulders, the party would’ve been in your plans. You tried to stay as long as you could but after about twenty minutes, and three Weasley fireworks being set off, you decided a breath of fresh air sounded delightful.

Your best friends, Fred and George Weasley, were the cause of this chaos. They were fully sober yet drunk off the energy of the room. When you had left, Fred and Lee were orchestrating a tournament of pumpkin juice pong, and George was sitting on the scarlet couch talking to Harry, Ron and Hermione. His eyes darted to you every few seconds. Sometimes he would hold the gaze, or send you a wink, but most of the times he snapped his head back to the golden trio, pretending his attention was elsewhere.

It made your heart thump against the bones of your chest. You were sure if he had been sitting beside you he’d surely hear it, loud and clear. A deep pink blush spread across your cheeks at the thought of George. You had been close friends with the twins since you stepped foot on the Hogwarts Express and sat in the same cabinet as them. Through the years, the bond grew stronger yet developed differently with each twin. Fred was like an annoying, overbearing, proactive big brother and George, well, the affection you felt for George was not in a brotherly way. 

Since your third year, you started noticing subtle things about him. Like how he arched his eyebrows when he spoke, or when he’d bite his lip when taking notes. He also had a tendency to eat his dessert first, if you got him laughing enough he’d accidentally let out a tiny snort and he always stood to your left when you walked to class together. When winter came, George was always shedding his clothes in order to keep you warm. Fred would complain that you knew it was snowing, therefore it’s your fault for being cold, but never George. Not to say that Fred is cruel, he can be a gentleman when he chooses but your relationship was more sibling bickering and competition. But George had always been a bit, sweeter than Fred.

Most wrote the twins off as one person but the differences between the twins was written out in neon signs, in your eyes. Maybe it was because you were closer to the twins than most, besides Lee. They were both your best friends, but they treated you in polar opposite ways. If Fred ever tried to cuddle you in his bed, you were sure you’d ‘Stupefy’ him into oblivion. When George did it, you could hardly croak a breath with all the rockets exploding in your heart.

The fragrance of frosted pine and butterscotch wafted through the nipping air as you approached the north entrance of the castle. Winter was finally here. The beauty of Hogwarts shined most bright during this time of the year. Snow crunched under the weight of your foot while you trudged through the courtyard taking advantage of the short cut. With the overwhelming school work piling by the second, slipping into the library didn’t seem like such a bad idea. You had two papers, a research project for Magical Creatures, and an exam in Potions. Not to mention you were expected to memorize and perfect a list of disarming and protection spells before Defense Against the Dark Arts by Tuesday.

Lost in your own stress, you hardly noticed your feet carrying you into the large doors of the library. The lighting was low and the attendance was even dimmer. A few Hufflepuffs and a handful of Ravenclaws were scattered around the room. Madam Pince nodded her head at your arrival then returned to her work behind the main desk.

Sliding into an empty table, you started to situate yourself. A stack of parchment was already waiting next to a clean quill and glass container of ink. It wasn’t hard to find the necessary textbooks and you returned back to your seat rather quickly.

A good twenty minutes had passed before your ears perked up at the sound of Madam Pince scolding a student. You didn’t have a clean view of her desk but you assumed a group had gotten too loud for her liking. Turning back to your book you faced away from the main entrance of the library. Eyes scanning the textbook, a new presence creeping up behind you went unnoticed. As you flipped to the next page in the advanced potions book, a grasp clamped down on either shoulder and a pair of lips hovered dangerously close to your ear. The unexpected warmth created a jolt on energy through your body. You practically flung out of your chair in surprise, whipping around to face your attacker. The initial glare and scowl soon washed away as your eyes met a familiar pair of warm, chocolate orbs.

George Weasley had a devilish grin, proudly basking in your shock. Not giving you a second to refuse his arrival, George pulled the wooden chair besides you out and sat in it. Throwing his arm across your shoulder, he smiled innocently at you.

“And what might you be doing in here on this eventful Friday evening, hm?”

Still reeling in shock, you placed your hand over your heart in hopes to calm down from the scare. Wildly glaring up at George, you yelled in a hush tone,

“George! You nearly gave me a heart attack- what’re you doing here?” You smacked his chest with a thud, though George remained unphased. His eyes squinted down at you while he shot back,

“Pretty sure I asked you first, love.” He said smugly. A large maroon and gold sweater adorned his frame, paired with dark washed jeans. You could smell the signature scent of pine and cinnamon that wafted wherever he followed. Folding your book on the table top, you glared playfully at the ginger.

“What else is there to do in a library besides studying?” The smart reply caused a twinkle in George’s eyes. You could practically see the gears turning as his witty side took control. His fingers tightened around the blades of your shoulder, dragging you a tad closer to him.

“Plenty of things-” An instant smack came as you knocked his side once more. George chuckled at your reaction, clearly amused by the flusterness taking over your features. Motioning towards the stack of parchment and mountain high pile of lengthy textbooks, you shook your head.

“I’ve got a lot of work due this coming week, so figured I’d get a head start.”

“Ah, you weren’t enjoying the party.” He declared knowingly. George typically never left your side during house parties. The anxiousness and suffocation of the noise that crept into your veins was always capped by the feeling of his arm around your shoulder protectively. Although tonight, George ran to the Golden Trio the moment the function began, leaving you alone in the corner with Dean and Seamus. You were friends with the boys but George was the only one who could make you feel relaxed and him being busy, escaping the party seemed like the best option.

Leaning into your chair, a heavy sigh fell from your parted lips at the recollection of tonight. “Not really I suppose. I don’t know… not in the partying mood tonight.” You admitted softly. George’s face furrowed immediately, concerned painting his features boldly. The dim lighting of the library all but hid the gleam of worry in his eyes.

“What’s got you stressed, darling?”

Scoffing at the question you picked up your book and started flipping through the pages again. For starters, you couldn’t decide where was the best place to start when it came to all your worries. There was He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named who returned last school year, the fact that the twins were planning on leaving early to open their shop (which they asked you to help run once you finished with school), home stress, school work, your feelings for George, trying to figure out your plans for after Hogwarts, and so much more. The weight of the world was crashing down on you and for the first time, you felt like allowing it to crumble you.

“You mean besides the school work I’m drowning in and the ever looming fear of being murdered by the Dark Lord himself? Eh, not much.” The sarcastic reply was all too familiar to George. Having spent the last seven years glued to your side, he started to pick up on your antics. Like your constant need to use sarcasm to hide your genuine fears. He studied you for a moment, searching for any hint on what really had you worked up.

Reaching his hand out, George plucked the potions book from your hands and started surveying it. He tilted the book upside down, pretending to read the text. Scrunching his brows, the fiery twin feigned comprehension of the material, a small ‘oohh’ and ‘hm’ falling from his lips as he did so. His silly antics caused you to giggle as he threw the book back to the table.

“Why’re you doing homework on a Friday night, anyhow? You’ve got all tomorrow morning and all day Sunday for that!”

“Technically have all day tomorrow as well-” George stopped you short as he cut into the conversation stubbornly.

“No, we’re all going to Hogsmeade and I already claimed your spot next to me at The Three Broomsticks!” He resembled a pouty child as he huffed besides you. Flipping the page of your textbook, your mouth bunched in the corner, guilt entering your bloodstream.

“I’m really sorry, Georgie. If my grades slip any further- my mum’ll have my head on a stick! Besides, I didn’t figure it would be that big of a deal, everyone else is going so I’m sure my absence will not be noticed.” Your laugh was meant to cover the tang of honest hurt, although you hoped it would slip past him. Of course, George noticed everything when it came to you and seeing you down was definitely not something he felt okay with ignoring.

“But I’ll notice- just like I did tonight.” He added with a point of the finger. It was true, George always seemed to notice when you were missing. He also always seemed to know where you were when you did sneak away.

“Thanks…” Trailing off, you glanced over to George. The honey like orbs were already examining your features. You assumed he must’ve picked up on the sadness dripping through your pores because the next thing you knew, George was offering up his entire Saturday.

“You want me to stay back with you?” Your head snapped in his direction immediately. With a bugged stare, you shook your head feverishly.

“What- no! You and Fred practically countdown the days until we get to go to Hogsmeade. I know how bad you wanna go, don’t skip out ‘cause of me.”

“We do have another trip next month so I can just wait to go until then. I’m sure Hogsmeade will still be flourishing by then. C’mon, you know you want me to stay back. You’ll bore yourself to death without me around!”

“You’d just be staying back because you feel bad-” George interrupted you, face reading bewilderment at your accusation.

“No, I’d be staying back because I want to. Y/n, when have I ever hung out with someone I don't want to be around- besides Percy seeing as I’m obligated to share a home with him. I want to spend time with you, that’s why I look forward to Hogsmeade trips. Get to spend time with you outside of the castle. So if you’re not there, I’m just gonna be miserable, love. Which means, I better just stay back with you.” A mischievous smirk rose to his lips as he finished his spiel, crossing his arms across his chest. The material of his sweater bunched around his fold and you admired Molly’s handiwork. Pressing your finger into his chest, you gave George a playful shove. He reached out for the table top to sturdy himself as he chuckled. Batting your lashes you teasingly cooed,

“Sounds like someone can’t get enough of me.” Not missing a beat, George rested his elbow on the tabletop. His chin was planted in his palm as he leered dreamily.

“Thought we already established that.” He winked over to you. Lifting up your heavy book, you sheltered your blushing cheeks behind the pages. Your forehead pressed deeply into the pages as you folded the covers around your heated face.

“You joke too much.” Mumbling into the book, you were taken aback when a hand abruptly snatched the book from your fingertips. You watched as the book went above your head, then settled in George’s hand. He snapped the cover shut between his hands, an echoing ‘snap’ invading the library. The peppermint lingering on his breath smacked against your lips. George ran his finger over the title page, then tossed it to the side. As the book slammed on the counter, he turned his head back to you.

“Never about my feelings towards you, though.” He stated seriously. Your brows pulled together in a stern line.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Your furrowed gaze rested heavily upon him.

“I just… really like spending time with you. Like just the two of us.” As he finished speaking, you watched cautiously as George’s hand sneaked over to land on top of yours. His palm was warm on top of yours. After a few seconds, he flipped your hand over so it was set inside his. That comfort feeling bursted in your chest under the weight of his eyes. It was funny how the simplest of actions from him could cause a firework extravaganza in your chest. The tension in your throat was increasing.

“I do, too, Georgie. You’re very sweet.” You smiled awkwardly, the bashfulness overcoming every cell in your body. When Fred complimented you or was too kind, it made you suspicious. Usually he buttered you up before a prank, so you never fully trusted his words but George? George was too gentle to ever set you up or put you in harms way.

“Y/n… there was actually something I’ve been meaning to ask you- well something I was gonna ask you tomorrow but seeing as you’re not going, might as well as you now.” The mumble was a notch above audible. You watched on as he fumbled with his hands, twiddling his thumbs nervously. His anxiousness was contagious as you soon felt uneasy as well. Your mind raced in worry as you wondered what was clouding his mind. As if it was second nature, your hand moved out in reaction to his worrisome state to snake his hand into your own. Softening your piercing stare, you squeezed his hand tightly.

“What’s wrong, George?”

His attention was shifted to your locked hands. It wasn’t the first time you held his hand, although it was the first time you were knocked off balance by the wave of electricity streaming down your spine from the touch. Based on his reaction, you figured George felt it too.

“Uh, would you ever want to, like, go on a date? I um, I’ve really liked you for quite some time now and I keep trying to ask you but I get nervous cause… I just needed to tell you myself before Fred does it for me.”

“Tell me now if this is a prank, George Weasley.” The sternness in your voice was something George only heard on occasion. He knew not to joke when it came to your heart so he was taken aback by your words, though understood why. You saw the confusion stirring in his brain before he settled your worries.

“It’s not a prank, love, I swear on my life. I would never lie about my feelings, that I can promise.”

“Tomorrow?” You looked up, eyes peeking over to your side. George had hardly moved and stared blankly at you. It was if his brain had hit a wall and was lagging in processing. The candle on the table flickered, orange and red shadows flashing across his face. Even in the shadows the razor sharp edges of his jaw and cheekbones popped.

“Huh?” He croaked.

Catching a Weasley twin off guard was not a common thing and George appeared baffled. Hands folded in your lap, you could feel the small shake to his grasp. In an odd way, you felt a surge of confidence knowing you had the power to make George blush. Tightening your hand around his own, you roamed the pad of your thumb across his knuckles.

“Could we go on a date tomorrow? After I finished at least two of my papers- could we go on a date then?” It was hard to shake the electric shock tingling through your bones. Never before had you basked in eyes as beautiful as his. His eyes reminded you of a pool of whiskey and shades of chestnut. When the light flashed, a honey, caramel tint soaked his orbs. Simply calling them ‘brown’ eyes did no justice.

Your voice brought a large smile to George’s lips like he won the lottery. The glistening gleam brighten the dim corner of the library. You could feel your breathing become inconsistent once again at the sight. Nodding his head, you watched with a smile as his sandy, ginger hair danced in tune.

“Yeah, yeah of course. Does uh, does that mean you like me too?”

Leaning back in your seat, you started to think back on all your years at Hogwarts. There wasn’t an exact moment you fell for him- it didn’t happen all at once. It was born as a crush, your heart leaping at the sight of the handsome boy your first year. When you started hanging out with the twins, you immediately grew close with them by the third week. Since then, you only got closer with the twins although it was undeniable that there was always a more intense gravitational pull you felt towards George. Not that Fred hadn’t pointed out the obvious connection between his twin and you numerous times. He enjoyed harassing George and yourself a bit too much.

Shrugging your shoulder in uncertainty, you admitted,

“Honestly it’s been so long I can’t remember when I first started liking you. I mean I’ve had a crush on you since first year and… I’ve always found you to be the funniest, most handsome guy I’ve ever met.” You paused your word vomit to take in George’s expression for a sign. Glancing up, you noticed he was far closer to you than he was before. The tip of his nose faintly brushing against your own. Your eyes enlarged in seconds at the lack of space between you two. “What’re you doing?”

A gulp echoed through George. His teeth dug into the skin of his bottom lip, tugging at the skin in an attempt to calm his nerves. You viewed in curiosity as his eyes darted from your lips, to your eyes, then to the floor, then back to your lips again. Your suspicions were confirmed as George locked his peer into your own. His face read seriousness as he asked you gravely,

“Are you going to slap me if I kiss you? I’ve seen you knock the daylights out of Fred for trying to. Mum says you need to take a girl out before you kiss ‘em for real so I wanna do it somewhat right. Y’know, be a gentleman and such.” 

Your cheeks flared red instantly, eyes planted to the floor. George had always been sweet but you never expected him to be this sweet. There was nothing more in the world that you desired than finally getting to kiss George Weasley, but it was an incredible kind of him to take your own feelings into thought before acting. You pressed your lips together tightly, exceeding all your effort into suppressing the bashful smile threatening to breakthrough. It took everything inside to contain your excitement and nerves at his proposal.

George broke your messy train of thought as the sensation of his hand against your skin registered. His slim fingers brushed a strand of hair back behind your ear, then wrapped around the side of your cheek. Like two magnets matching up, you melted into his touch. Finally drawing your gaze back up, you placed the palm of your hand against George’s chest, grasping a light fist of his sweater for stability. The height difference wasn’t immense, but enough that you needed some sort of control to keep on your feet.

“How proper of you, Mr. Weasley. Yes, I would really like that.”

Leaning into his hand, you met George’s gaze as you slowly moved towards each other. Meeting in the middle, you were nearly knocked off your feet by the force of his embrace. Your lips connected like a perfectly mapped constellation. His kiss was warm and fulfilling, yet constantly left you wanting more. It was undeniable he had practice before, his lips moved far too calm for this to be his first.

You practically melted in his arms, kissing him softly. Your lips danced for a moment until you steadied your hand on his cheek, holding his face. You needed that sense of control, wanted to feel the hold you had under George. Taking the first leap, you dragged your wet tongue along the smoothness of his bottom lip. A tiny, almost inaudible groan fell from his mouth. You deepended the embrace momentarily, then pulled away to press one lasting kiss to his puckered lips. George giggled in reaction, a cherry red blush painting his cheeks.

“You’re adorable.” George ‘booped’ the tip of your nose when he finished speaking. You laughed at his action then extending your finger, you placed a similar tap to his nose and teased him,

“Stop talking about yourself, George.” Although before you could fully retreat your hand, George’s own wrapped around your fingers. In one swift motion he lifted your hand to his face, then pressed his lips to the back of your hand. As he raised his head, his arm was quick to wrap around your shoulder, jerking your chair towards George as a result. His fingers clutched your upper arm loving. 

That smug smile was plastered across his face again, pleasantly pleased with the peach glow tinting your cheeks. Feeling the heat rising you dove to cover your cheeks in the sleeves of his sweater. George accepted your full embrace, arms moving to circle your body entirely. Suddenly a light bulb popped in his mind as he released his grip slightly to glance down at you.

“Maybe if I help you with some of your paper tonight, we’ll have more time for our date tomorrow!” The excitement in his voice was by far the sweetest sound you’d heard. You smiled back at him and nodded in agreement.

“Sure but I do the writing- I don’t trust you enough for that. Your handwriting resembles that of a child.” You laughed at your own jab while George gave you a deadpan look, clearly unable to form a comeback. He’d say so himself that his print was what the Muggles would call ‘chicken scratch’, a phrase you taught George. When George first learned to write with a quill and ink, he had a tendency to smear the ink a smudge as he scribbled away faster than the speed of light. Molly would scold George as the side of his hand would be stained a deep black shade and his paper was hardly legible.

“Rude but, understandable.” George commented. It was sweet of him, but you couldn’t help but wonder if he truly wanted to spend his Friday night stuck in the library. Raising your eyebrow to the boy, you gave him a questionable look.

“Wait, don’t you have a party you should be getting back to?” Arm still enclosed around your frame, George gave you a squeeze. A mischievous smirk now covered his lips as he confessed the truth. 

“What do you mean? I only threw that party with Fred so I could spend the night around you- maybe impress you with my wicked dance moves.”

Giving him a pointed look, your chest erupted with a fit of giggles. A memory popped into your mind of the first time you got the chance to view a drunk George Weasley putting on a ‘show’ for you. Sober George was a decent dancer but drunk George was on a different level of skill. The liquid courage had left George regretting a lot of nights and quite a bit of scenarios that came as a result. 

Although dancing drunk with you was never a regret of his. Especially when the two of you went to the Yule Ball together as ‘friends’. Mummers followed your every move as you waltzed with George, students gossiping about George and yourself. Not that you paid attention to anyone but George- there wasn’t a chance given to! You didn’t spend a single second resting on your feet as George had you dancing until the band was packing up. He spun, twisted, lifted, and twirling you all night long. When a slow song finally came on, the prankster king put his gentleman side on full display. It was by far one of the best nights of your life, one you still had yet to stop daydreaming over. Poking his side, you smirked teasingly at the boy.

“Georgie, darling, I’ve seen them before. You’d have a better chance sending yourself to the infirmary than impressing me with your ‘moves’. I haven’t forgotten the Yule Ball last year. My head was spinning for a month!” You laughed together at the reminiscence. George was just as mesmerized by the night as you, maybe a tad more so. For those few hours of pure bliss, George had never felt more complete. Seeing you all dressed up and glowing from head to toe- the image was captured in his mind forever. He never understood the term ‘speechless’ until he saw you walking down the stairs in search of him. He replayed that moment over and over again for a year now. Rubbing your shoulders lovingly, George leaned his head on top of yours.

“Aw, c’mon! You loved it! Twirling around like a beautiful ballerina in your dress. You looked breathtaking- everyone was staring at you. Can’t blame them, I couldn’t keep my eyes off you either.” His words made your insides feel fuzzy, kinda like the sleeve of his sweater. That of which your fingers were absentmindedly petting. George smiled down at the quirk, he loved every antic of yours.

Shaking your head, you pulled the book back that George had discarded. After all, you still had a stack of unwritten essays to get working on. You popped open the top of the ink container. George unraveled his arm from your shoulder to wrap lightly around your waist.

“Stop making me blush.�� Crimson flooded your s/c cheeks, far too flustered to meet George’s eyes. That confidence from early had flown away just as sudden as it came. A sprout of warmth came as George’s finger pressed against the side of your jaw, turning your face. Sweetly, and silently, he requested your gaze to which you obliged.

“But you look so beautiful when you do, darling. Now stop distracting me- we have a paper to write, in case you’ve forgotten, love.” His lips darted forward and soon enough, his enticing lips kissed your reddening cheeks. George smirked teasingly, reaching the feathered quill out to brush against your nose. You lightly smacked it away, giggling at him as you did.

“You’re the one distracting me-” The squeal was silenced by George as he pretended to ignore your words as he continued to tease you. Pressing his finger against your lips, George purred,

“Hush, we’ve got work to do so I can take you out tomorrow, love.”

“Fine but don’t forget Georgie, I’m doing the writing.” Narrowing your playful glare, you spoke sternly. It was a sort of game you played- going back and forth with one another. Although finally that teasing crossed the line of flirting to something real. In a way, it almost felt fake. Like all those years of waiting hadn’t really paid off, you were just asleep in your dorm room, dreaming this all up.

The touch of George’s arm leaving your waist cold was enough to question; however the radiating sensation of his hand slipping into yours was confirmation it was real. The chaste kiss he left on the back on your hand still buzzed. Despite the lack of lighting, every handsome feature was distinct from his blazing locks to the scatter of freckles dotting his face. Giving you a sly wink George flirted,

“Ah, I love a woman who takes control.”

For the next hour and a half, far in the corner, behind rows of bookshelves and torches to light to way, George and yourself attempted to write your essay. The first hour consisted of stolen kisses, stolen looks, and George constantly stealing your book from your hands. He made it nearly impossible to the point you threatened to cancel your study date, which shaped him up immediately. 

The last half and hour George read to you different pages from your stack of books until you got a good jump on the paper. You were feeling hopeful until Madam Pince had announced the library would be closing for the night. In a matter of seconds, George’s hand was clamped around your wrist, attempting to drag you out. You managed to scoop your school supplies together and tuck them away in your bag before allowing him to escort you back to the common room. You just hoped your study date tomorrow would consist of some actual study. If not, it’s a good thing you have all of Sunday.

[tragic-shadows]

If The World Was Ending

Word Count: 2080

Warnings: Major Character Death(s)

Prompt: If the world was ending, write what a certain character would do and who they would do it with. I chose the whole Gibbs team!

A/N: Now taking requests for NCIS (first 15 seasons), Psych, Warehouse 13, and Miraculous Ladybug (only Gabenath). I don’t write mature content.

The earthquakes and fires roared throughout the city of DC. News trucks had been abandoned hours ago as reporters ran to take refuge. The NCIS team was down in autopsy, trying to stay as far away from the madness as possible. Most of the building had gone home as soon as the first fire hit, wanting to make sure their families were safe, but Team Gibbs was an exception. It was Gibbs, Tony, Ziva, McGee, Abby, Ducky, Jimmy, there were a few others like the janitor and such but not many. They had no way to see the outside world, the elevators had crashed not too long ago and there was no television. Palmer was frantic on the phone with Breena, McGee was trying to keep composure after having hung up with Delilah, Abby held on to Burt The Hippo with one arm and Ducky the other etc etc. All at once, there was a stab of electricity and the lights went out.

“Oh well isn’t that just the frosting on the cake,” Ziva groaned.

“Icing,” Tony corrected quietly. He sat next to her, shoulders barely touching. “It’s icing on the cake. Boss, when can we get out of here?”

“Don’t know,” Gibbs answered. Truth was, no one did. The solar flares had started as small tiny bursts, but all of the sudden fires broke out all over and tremors shook the ground. “When it quiets down.”

“It’s been roaring for hours, Gibbs.” McGee points out. “I’m starting to get hungry.”

“And I need to use the bathroom,” Abby said quietly over her stuffed animal.

“Well go, Abs. It’s right through there.” Gibbs pointed out in the hallway but Abby shook her head. “Why not? We’re safe down here,” Gibbs assured her.

“But- but what if I go.. and I’m okay. I’m not worried about me. But what if I go and I come back and you’re all gone? What if the earthquakes kill you guys when I’m not here? We all go out together or not at all, but not one by one and not one left behind.”

“Would it help if someone went with you?” Ducky asked. “That way you wouldn’t be alone.”

Abby nodded. “Yeah that would be good.”

“How about we all go,” McGee wiped his eyes. “I need to go as well.”

“Maybe we can force something out of the vending machine,” Palmer offered.

“Vending machine?” Gibbs asked.

“Didn’t you guys know? Dr. Mallard had one installed a few weeks ago after a string of days where I forgot my lunch. Just a bunch of snacks but it’s better than starving to death, right?”

“It is indeed,” Ducky agreed. “How’s Breena?”

“Scared, really scared. Aren’t we all? I told her to take Victoria to the basement.”

“Guys can we go?” Abby asked gently. Ducky nodded and she helped him up, Palmer, and McGee following them both out.

“Not coming boss?” McGee asked.

“Nope. Stayin' here with them.”

“So I guess it’s just us three,” Ziva said, leaning her head on Tony’s shoulder. Tony gently rubbed his thumb over her hand

“Guess so,” Gibbs answered.

“How are you so calm over all this Gibbs?” Tony asked suddenly. “It’s literally the end of the world and you’re fine.”

Gibbs shrugged, “Nothin’ we can do bout’ it.”

“We should play a game or something.” Tony suggested.

“At a time like this?” Ziva exclaimed.

“Why not? Half the world has been destroyed by now, surely. We don’t know how bad it is out there, we can’t hear or see anything, the elevators broken, and last time we tried to use the stairs the exit door was blocked by something. Why don’t we all tell a secret we never would otherwise?”

“Sounds dangerous, DiNozzo,” Gibbs let the corners of his mouth turn up. He situated himself so he was sitting up straighter next to Tony. “Kay, you go first.”

“You are really going to give into this?” Ziva said, flabbergasted.

“Sure. Let him have a little fun fore’ we all blow up.”

The doors slid open and the rest of the people came in. Palmer held some waters while everyone else had as much food as they could carry in their arms. They set it down in the middle of the floor and they all reached for what they wanted.

“We should all thank Mr. Palmer’s forgetfulness for this, otherwise we would be a lot less comfortable.”

“Thanks Jimmy!” Abby exclaimed, taking her spot next to Gibbs again. “So what are we gonna do to pass some time? I saw the clock out there, 6:30. We’ve been down here since 4. And I’m tired of paperwork.” she gestured to the stack of files they had been sorting through.

“Tony said we should play a game,” Ziva mused.

“What kind of a game?” Ducky asked.

“Reveal a secret,” Gibbs said. “Cause’ why not?”

“Sounds.. intriguing,” Ducky smiled, opening his Famous Amos cookies. “Mr. Palmer, could you grab the flashlight from my desk drawer? That way we may actually be able to see who’s talking.”

“Of course, Doctor.” He stopped midway. “Umm, we don’t have any bodies in here right now, right?”

Ducky chuckled. “No, there will be no smelling bodies in here.”

Jimmy relaxed and sat down.

“I can go first if you’d like me too.” Dr. Mallard said. “Well it’s not very exciting but.. I used to actually be terrified of dead bodies. My first day at NCIS? I fainted before even turning off the van at a crime scene!”

“He did,” Gibbs confirmed. “Thought I was gonna have ta’ fire im’.” The group laughed and Palmer raised his hand.

“I can go next,” Everyone nodded. “Remember the time when I was dating the one girl from MTAC who turned out to be a security leak? Yeah well whenever Dr. Mallard left or was doing something else, she would sneak in here to be with me. That closet right there is where we always used to make out.” Everyone looked at him with varied expressions.

“You could have told me!” Dr. Mallard scolded.

“That’s when Gibbs made rule 12,” Jimmy explained

“Mhm,” Gibbs agreed.

“Well, that’s mine, someone else go.”

Silence until Abby spoke up. “McGee and I had sex in my coffin.”

Tony choked on his water and spit it out, coughing. “McGeek!!” He exclaimed. “Wow. And in a coffin? Hey wait, you said you were a virgin!”

“No, you said I was and I never corrected you,” McGee smirked. “And you know what I’ve done with Delilah!”

“So you and Abs..” Tony laughed. “Well, we learn something new every day, don’t we? Wait- was that your first time…”

“But I just have to say, of course I told the boss man.” Abby said, grinning, leaving Tony’s question unanswered.

“Mhm,” Gibbs agreed.

“You knew??” McGee gasped.

“Mhm. That a problem?” Gibbs asked, a glint in his eyes.

“Oh, no boss, I just-“ McGee stopped. “Never mind. That would have been mine so I guess I’ll say my other one.” He groaned in frustration. “Tony, whenever you bend over I can’t help but stare at your butt. There!” He exclaimed. “I said it! You have a nice freaking butt.” McGee crossed his arms. “And yes,” he mumbled. “Abby was my first time.”

There was a chorus of gasps and a smirk from the lab tech. “Oh Tim!” She giggled. “Hopefully it was a good first impression.”

McGee flushed an even deeper shade of red, but before anyone could say anything else, there was a rumble that shook the room. Everyone grabbed on to the person next to them, it was getting worse.

“Tony,” Ziva whispered, holding on tighter.

“Alright I’m gonna go,” Tony decided.

“Wait,” Gibbs interrupted. “Lemme go first.”

“But I have two,” Tony pouted. Gibbs rolled his eyes.

“Fine.”

Tony looked at Gibbs and squeezed Ziva’s hand tighter. “Gibbs there’s something I have to tell you.”

“You’re in love with Zivar.” Gibbs smirked.

“Uh— that wasn’t—“ he turned to the woman on his left at her awestruck face. “I mean— rule 12, boss.”

“Yep.”

“Tony,” Ziva warned, “For once in your life I am going to need you to be quiet, got that?”

Tony put his head to the side in shame and bit his lip at the rejection, but it didn’t last long, a gentle hand turned his chin and before he realized, even softer lips were on his. He gasped before reciprocating in an equally as feverous manor. Ziva sighed as Tony’s hand ruffled through her hair. He was just about to deepen the kiss, but they had forgotten they weren’t alone.

“Eh hem..” McGee cleared his throat. “Guys really?” Gibbs reached over and head slapped him. “Ow, come on boss!”

“Well I suppose I do not have to say anything more,” Ziva breathed, resting on Tony’s chest.

“How about you still say what you were gonna say,” he urged.

“Hm. Well, what I was going to say, is I have been in love with DiNozzo here for quite some time. McGee might like his rear-end, but I like all of him,” she smiled gently. “I am truly sorry Gibbs for breaking rule 12, but we never acted upon it until now, I swear.”

“I know,” Gibbs nodded kindly. “Mk, I’m goin’ now.”

“No, wait,” Tony interrupted again.

“What! DiNozzo?” Gibbs snapped.

“Saying I was in love with Ziva was going to be my second thing. Which I guess means I have to apologize to her and promise—“ a tremor shook the ground once more. “I never, ever, was going to do anything about it. I love you, Ziva, I really really do, but.. before you.. there was someone else.”

“It wasn’t Kaitlyn was it?” Ducky asked, breaking his seemingly vow of silence.

“Oh Kate? No no,” DiNozzo assured everyone. “It was um..” He rolled his head back and sighed.

“Tony, say somethin’,” Gibbs said. “You go or I will.”

“Alright, you go, I need a minute.” He stood up and kissed Ziva on the head before going out to the hall, out of sight.

“Bathroom,” Gibbs said. “Everyone stay here, tremors are gettin’ worse. Gotta check on Tony, too.”

“DiNozzo.” Gibbs put a hand on his second in command’s shoulder. “Hey, you ok?” Tony turned, tears in his eyes. “Hey hey,” Gibbs tried to give him a hug but Tony pulled away. “We’re gonna be alright, ya’ know that, right? I’m not mad at you and Ziva. I suspected for awhile.”

“We’re going to die down here,” Tony whispered. “You can say all the good things and proverbs that you want but we are going to die down here. But I guess that’s a good thing, then I won’t have to face my stupid stupid mistakes.”

“Then say we do all rot here. What did you want to say out there? I know you don’t want them to hear, so just tell me.”

“I— okay. Boss, Gibbs, Jethro,” he tried. “The someone else was you. And it still is somedays. I look at you, and I wonder what it would have been like if I had never taken this job, if I had met you out there somewhere. If you.. if you felt the same. And if we do make it out of here, I’ll quit and you’ll never have to see me again, I’ll get out of the country. I broke rule 12.”

“No Tony, rule 12 is never date a coworker. I never said anything about falling in love with one. If I fired people for falling in love with coworkers I’d have to fire myself.” He chuckled a little. “How about I say my secret now? You’re the only one who needs to hear it.” He turned towards Tony more and looked right in his eyes. “Tony DiNozzo, I guess you were right, everyone eventually falls for ya’. I was tryna say it but then ya’ told Ziva how you felt and I couldn’t do that to ya’. You’re such a different man now then when I first met ya’, and I suppose thats what I like so much about’ ya.”

Before the blue eyed man could say anything else, there was a earth breaking crash as the ceiling fell. Anyone in autopsy could hear the screams of Ziva calling for Tony, and the same from everyone else for Gibbs. Gibbs had fallen on top of Tony, but both their lights had gone out.

Team Gibbs of NCIS was no more.