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awesomerextyphoon · 4 years

Text

Speculum Cupido

Summary: You’ve been Dr. Strange’s apprentice for some time now and you wanted to prove your best friend wrong. It goes awry and both of you find yourselves in a ‘dark mirror’ universe where the Captain, the Asset, the Kraken, and the Fallen Angel want to make both of you theirs.

Pairing: Dark!Steve x Female Reader x Dark!Ransom, minor Dark!Bucky x OFC x Dark!Sam

Rating: 18+ / Explicit

Word Count: 3,072

Warning: Dub/Non-Con Smut, Oral (m & f receiving), Daddy Kink, MMF Threesome, Double Penetration, Spit Roasting, Non-Con Drugging, Breeding Kink, and Artistic License w/Biology

A/N: This is my gift to @labella420 for @drabblewithfrannybarnes, @chrissquares , and @amythedvdhoarder’s Happy Hoelentine’s Day Challenge. Dividers are by the lovely @firefly-graphics. Shout out to @saiyanprincessswanie for letting me borrow an idea of hers for this fic. Thanks to @the-soulofdevil for the beta.

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Another Valentine’s Day, another day for the world to mock me being single.

You were having enough of a ‘meh’ week as it is. Dr. Strange had to return to Kamar-Taj for an in-person meeting and Wong was who knows where. They had instructed you to work on your portal and transfiguration spells while they were away which was fair since you’ve been lacking in that department.

It’s just that you longed for some excitement.

Luckily you wouldn’t be spending Valentine’s completely alone; Isabeau, your best friend, was coming over due to as she put it, ‘no one cares about a day where all one gets is somewhat good sex’.

Fast Forward two hours and you’re getting your room ready for Galentine’s Day Movie Night. You had decked out your room with homemade baked goods, drinks, best friend movies, all the good shit.

“I have wonderful news!” Isabeau burst in with gusto yet again.

You shot her a bemused smile, “What is it this time?”

“I have a new crush! It’s Eric from IT!”

“Are you sure this won’t end up like last time?” you queried in reference to the time when Isabeau’s crush turned out to be a complete asshole.

“Oh hush! This won’t be like that at all,” Isabeau retorted, “Now how about you? Have you had any luck with a hot sorcerer?”

“If only I’d be so lucky,” you muttered as Isabeau started on the Toffee Crunch Cookies you made.

A few minutes later, Isabeau’s eyes narrowed and her full lips curved upward in a mischievous smirk.

She had one of her ideas again.

“Hey, why don’t you try an ambiance spell. They’re harmless and you always feel better afterward.”

You didn’t like casting them due to something always going awry, but you relented once Isabeau broke out her puppy dog eyes.

“Alright, alright, I give,” you submitted, “I’ll try a simple floating star spell. Let me find the book.”

Both of you went to the library for the book but it was nowhere to be found. All of the ambiance and illusion books were blank.

“Is this a sorcerer thing? I’m not seeing any words or illustrations,” puzzled Isabeau as you went through book after book in the library only to find them blank.

“No. Maybe we should just go back to my room,” you suggested as you made your way to the exit.

“Wait! There’s one book left. You could try that one.” Isabeau pointed to the last book on the shelf. It was a little worn like many of the books that resided in the library, but the inscriptions seemed odd; like it wasn’t supposed to be there.

Yet it was the only book that had anything in it.

“Fine,” you relented as you took the book back to your room.

The spells in the book weren’t anything out of the ordinary, but one spell seemed to stand out to both of you.

“Speculum Mundus?” Isabeau wondered.

“It means Mirror World in Latin.”

“Oh,” her eyes got a mischievous glint to them again, “I bet you can’t cast the spell.”

“Not this again.”

“Oh come on,” Isabeau goaded, “It’s a simple mirror world spell. You’ve done it before. What’s the worse that can happen?”

“I don’t know…”

“Are you gonna chicken out again?”

“No! Just give me a minute,” you mumbled as your hands got into the starting position and recited the incantation.

The room changed instantly.

It was filled with prism-like structures and kaleidoscope imagery giving the space a surreal ambiance.

It wasn’t unlike the last time you went into the Quantum Realm with Dr. Strange and Wong, and yet the hair on the back of your neck stood straight, and a chill shot through your spine.

You heard a gasp and turned around to see Isabeau with her protruding eyes opened wide and her mouth gaping. Following her line of sight, you saw four of the hottest men you’ve ever seen.

Though something was amiss.

For one thing, there were two Steve Rogers; one with a beard and one clean-shaven. Bucky Barnes’ arm was silver and not dark gray with gold highlights. All of them were in black uniforms with sections of vermillion and/or maroon. Clean-shaven Steve had a black tactical suit with a vermillion Kraken on his chest. Bearded Steve had a skull with tentacles on it. Sam had three vermillion stripes and one maroon stripe across his chest and shoulders with a falcon’s head in red surrounded by a black circle between his pecs.

But the thing that set off all your alarms was the fact that Bucky’s outfit was a dead ringer of his Winter Soldier days.

Instinctively, you grabbed Isabeau’s hand and made a mad dash for the hallway. You needed to get some distance so you could ground yourself.

You tried breaking the spell but to no avail. Not only did the spell not break, but your hands also burned at each attempt.

“We won’t lose you again!” one of the Steves yelled as you and Isabeau turned a corner.

“Come here, mici prințese!” another voice, probably Bucky’s shouted as the two of you made your way into a closet.

“I think we’re okay for now,” you breathed telepathically as the four Adonises crept past your hiding place.

“What’s the plan now?” Isabeau asked fearfully as her heartbeat started to rise in terror.

“I don’t know but-” you were cut off by a strike to the back of your head and your vision rapidly fading to black.

Muffled voices and the beeping of medical equipment brought you from the void.

“Nothing is wrong….they’re…good, sir.”

“Be sure that they are. We can’t leave anything up to chance.”

Groggily, you open your eyes to find yourself in a sleek hospital room lightly chained to a bed. Several other people were monitoring your vitals. One of them is Dr. Bruce Banner, or what seems to be Dr. Banner.

Bruce turned to see you looking around with a slightly confused expression, “Ah, you’re awake,” he turned to one of his aides, “Contact the Captain and Lieutenant. Tell them to come to get their bride.”

You blinked. Bride?

“Where is Isabeau, my friend?” you inquired as one of the aides brought you some water.

Bruce scowled, “Don’t think about her. You might be able to see her if the Captain and/or Lieutenant wills it.” he remarked while eyeing you up and down in a condescending almost lecherous manner, “Hmm, looks great for breeding,” Bruce noted as he fondled and prodded your curves.

You’ve always been proud of how you looked, but at that moment you wanted to shrink in the corner after giving this Bruce a roundhouse kick to the groin.

You were about to tell Dark!Bruce to fuck off when Tony Stark, fuck it, Dark!Tony entered the room. This Tony looked a lot more sinister with his silver, gray, light, and steel navy blue armor. His face and hair were mostly uncovered with his facial expression positively predatory.

“Cap’s one lucky bastard. He gets a sexy bunny along with Lieutenant Smart Ass.”

Recalling how some megalomaniacs liked shows of submissiveness, you lowered your head and asked where you were.

Whether it be out of pity, spite, or malice, Tony answered your question, “You’re in another earth, another universe.”

You nearly swiveled to look outside the window. NYC’s skyline was radically different. There were fewer buildings and HYDRA insignias everywhere.

“HYDRA took over this world.” You deadpanned. FUUUUCK!

“Sexy and smart.” Tony praised sardonically.

It didn’t take time for HYDRA to regroup after WWII. Zola and his associates were able to convince Howard Stark to give them the Tesseract with the promise of great renown, riches, and no longer being bound by the laws of weaker men. They were able to create a superweapon with the help of Dr. Whitney Frost and have been ruling the planet ever since.

It could be worse. HYDRA knew they had to offer the people comforts in exchange for their obedience. They eradicated all diseases, created a good standard of living, and ended all petty conflicts under the new world order.

Though Tony didn’t feel the need to tell you. You’ll figure it out on your own.

The doors opened to reveal Steve Rogers and his younger, clean-shaven counterpart in all their masculine glory.

“Good, you’re here.” Bruce welcomed smirking at your silent pleas.

Both soldiers walked over and inspected you.

“Hello, kitten. Name’s Ransom.” The clean-shaven soldier drawled as he moaned from your scent, “Nice set of lips you’ve got there.”

“We’ll definitely have some fun with her,” Steve noted as licked his lips ogling your curves.

You had to use all of your restraint not to spit in their faces.

“We’ll take her.” Ransom decided while Steve nodded.

Several of the aides breathed a sigh of relief as Steve broke the chains on your bed like they were nothing.

“Don’t have too much fun now!” Tony called as Steve picked you up bridal style.

“Who am I kidding? they’ll breed her like a Catholic rabbit!”

“Um, where are you taking me?” you queried, your voice barely above a whisper.

“You will address us as ‘Sir’ in public unless instructed otherwise. Is that understood?” It took all that Steve had not to push against the wall and pound your pussy with his cock he was so enraged.

No, he needed to wait. No one was to see what’s theirs.

Ransom, for his part, chuckled and shook his head, “Best not to anger this one, kitten. He hasn’t been in the best of moods.”

You gasped once the doors to their living quarters opened.

The place was huge!

It had a modern yet retro design; it should’ve been confusing, but it worked. Grand windows showcased the skyline with a balcony in the middle with a huge kitchen next to what looked to be a restaurant-style fridge and a huge living room with a TV and a fireplace.

Yet there seemed to be something missing.

“Place needs a woman’s touch,” Ransom commented sending a smirk your way.

“I’ll see you in the guest quarters Ransom” Steve deadpanned as he led you down a hall.

The bedroom was enormous yet sparse like they didn’t know what to do with it.

You were about to say something when Steve dropped you onto the incredibly soft mattress. His eyes darkened with lust and you knew what he wanted. You couldn’t think of a way out of this, not with the magic inhibitors Bruce placed on your wrists.

Maybe you could give escape one last try; you just had to wait for the right opening.

Steve smirked upon seeing you removing your clothes. He liked that you knew your place, his pretty little princess.

You could only gasp when Steve removed his uniform top. He had an incredibly defined musculature: broad shoulders, beefy biceps, chiseled pecs and abs, and a seriously drool-worthy Adonis Belt. The light shining behind him made his body appear even more glorious.

Steve looked like an ancient god brought to modern times.

With a predatory smirk, Steve slowly crawled to you loving the smell of your arousal. “Let me lay out a few rules, sweetheart. You will make our meals, clean our rooms, bear our children, and be our good little whore. You must earn the right to wear a bra; panties are out of the question.”

Each rule was emphasized by a kiss or a love bite to your jaw, neck, collarbone, and shoulders.

Finally, you are to address us as Sir in public and Daddy in private. Say it.”

“Yes, Daddy,” you muttered with your eyes downcast.

Steve lifted your chin up with his forefinger, “That’s a good girl,” and brought you in for a kiss on the lips.

The kiss was demanding yet soft. You were surprised he was capable of such gentleness.

Steve was about to push his tongue into his mouth when Ransom strolled into the room.

“Does she know the drill?”

Steve broke the kiss with a smirk,” Just finished explaining it.”

Ransom shot you a sardonic smirk, “You got the rules, kitten? Good. Now if you misbehave, I’m gonna send you to the dungeons for a few days.”

Steve started up again, “But...if you’re good-”

“A good little wifey,” Ransom interjected caressing your right cheek and leaning in for a kiss.

This kiss started off soft then intensified (really know how to lure a girl) into one filled with passion and dominance. Ransom forced his tongue into and moaned at your taste. A few seconds later he was pushing what felt like a small tablet past your tongue forcing you to swallow.

“Did you do it yet?”

“Cool it, grandpa! I did, don’t you worry. She’s gonna feel it. Aren’t ya, kitten.”

You started to feel strange. Your body temperature skyrocketed, your mind was in a deep haze, your thighs were clenching on overtime you were so turned on. You needed relief and fast.

“Please Daddies!” you begged as you tried your best not to touch yourself.

“See grandpa? She’s ready.” Ransom purred as he grabbed your thighs and placed them over his shoulders. He planted a few kisses near your entrance and groaned at the smell of your arousal.

It only took one long, slow lick to your slit to turn you into a moaning mess. You couldn’t believe the pleasure you were feeling. It was like a bolt of lightning shot through you.

Ransom groaned at the taste of your juices. Not even Stark’s overpriced chefs could compare. “Fuck, she tastes divine,” he groaned and dove in for more. Ransom attacked your folds and swollen clit with insane intensity and precision alternating between his tongue and fingers.

You were on cloud nine. Each motion took you further to the precipice of an orgasm. Ransom kept bringing you back from the edge only thrust you back into his level of tumultuous.

Steve got in on the action by covering your moans with a kiss of all-consuming passion and started playing with your breasts.

“Fuck, these tits are amazing! Can’t wait until these are filled with milk” Steve purred as he took one of your nipples into his mouth and the other between his big and forefingers.

After twenty minutes of teasing, Ransom finally let you come. A volcanic eruption of ecstasy erupted from your core and Ransom lapped up all of your juices.

“Rogers, you’re in for a treat!” Ransom exclaimed as he hopped off the edge of the mattress.

“I get her pussy first since you got to eat her out,” Steve uttered as grinned at your blissed-out state.

With a tsk, both of them got you into position with Steve’s thick, muscular thighs on either side of your hips and Ransom standing in front of you taking off his pants.

He was huge! His cock was long, thick, and veiny. It wobbled against his masterfully sculpted abs with each step he took. You wondered how that was going to fit in your mouth. Turns out Steve’s was no smaller if his tip being coated with your slick is any indication.

“This won’t hurt, kitten. You were made for us.” Ransom cooed.

You didn’t know how right he was.

Steve made his move by pushing into you inch by delicious inch and moaned at the sensation. “Fuck, she fits like a dream.”

“Don’t take forever, grandpa.” Ransom chided.

“Shut up, ya punk!” Steve retorted as he began thrusting into you loving the way your pussy clenched around him like a vice’s grip.

“Open wide, kitten,” Ransom started to push his throbbing cock into your mouth.

It took a bit of time and effort to loosen your jaw enough for him to fully enter you. He started fucking your mouth before you were ready. You tried not to gag he was so rough.

What happened to the man from earlier?

“Fuckin’ perfect.” Ransom breathed as he was approaching his climax.

Steve came with a primal roar that reverberated throughout the room after making you come two more times.

“Swallow it, kitten” Ransom ordered.

Funny thing is, you didn’t need the order. You delighted in the salty, tangy, and slightly sweet flavor.

Two minutes after you swallowed all of Ransom’s spent, both men decided it was time to move. Ransom got onto the mattress and pulled you on top of him with his tip nudging your entrance. Steve got behind you and placed kisses along the juncture between your neck and shoulders while positioning himself at your ass.

“Please...please don’t do this!” you pleaded, the pill’s effect slipping for the tiniest of moments.

Steve grabbed your neck with just enough force to pause, not hurt.” Best be a good girl now, sweetheart,” he warned.

Ransom slid in first, “Holy fucking shit!” he moaned, “Sam owes me $40.

“That depends on how well their bride is taking to them,” Steve pointed out.

“Eh, we’ll say ours is better.”

Ransom moaned again once he bottomed out and grabbed the globes of your blessed backside. He couldn’t wait to grab and smack it around in their quarters.

Steve moved slowly causing both of your breathing to hitch, his from pleasure and yours from slight pain.

With a grin and smirk, they started moving in tandem. Your body almost couldn’t take the immense pleasure you were feeling.

“I could get used to this,” Ransom remarked.

“Well, we have the week,” Steve breathed past your ear.

Both kept at it until they came in you twice. You nearly passed out after your twelfth orgasm.

“Rest kitten,” Ransom purred as you finally gave in to your exhaustion.

“The bride took to our seed,” Steve reported to Director Pierce.

“Good. We found their parents along with the rest of the resistance.” Pierce imparted.

Steve scowled at the information.

You and your friend, Isabeau, were the only ones to survive the Eve Project. HYDRA wanted to genetically groom compatible brides for their top soldiers. You were promised to Steve and Ransom and your friend to Bucky and Sam. Both of you were whisked away to another Earth by the resistance and your treacherous parents.

Now you were back where you belong.

“When do we leave?” Ransom growled.

“Once Strange and Wanda crack the protection spell. In the meantime, enjoy your bride.” Pierce turned to leave, but stopped before turning off the screen,” I want to see some little ones soon.”

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i-can-even-burn-salad · 3 years

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The Rose

Sooo this isn’t whump.

I needed a fairy tale for a book I’m writing, so I took my favorite one, and uh, took some liberties with it.

Usually I don’t get too emotional about Valentine’s day, because it isn’t really a thing here? Like yes, some roses and chocolate, but no big deal. But my whump dash today made me tear up a bit. Who would have thought that of all places I would find my people here ;-;

Once upon a time, there was a merchant. The merchant had three daughters, and whenever he returned from his travels, he brought gifts for all of them.

This time, he was late. It was almost winter, the days getting shorter, the air colder. He didn’t have time to find something, to buy shimmering jewelry or pretty clothes like he usually did, trying to get home before the first snow. So when he passed a beautiful castle, surrounded by wild, lush gardens, he paused. A rose bush was growing there, still blooming at the end of fall, and he stopped to pick some for his daughters.

The moment he had plucked the third flower, a shadow fell on him. A man was staring at him, towering over him; tall and broad, with dark, wild hair, his face a horrible mask of scars.

‘Why are you stealing from me?’ he asked and the merchant could only stammer in response.

‘For each rose you stole, you will spend one year in my dungeon,’ the man continued, and dragged the merchant off. All his cries and pleas fell on deaf ears as he was thrown into the castle dungeon, and he decided that this man wasn’t a man after all, but a cruel beast.

As winter fell and the merchant wasn’t coming back home, the oldest daughter set out to find him. She followed the path he would have taken home until she found the castle. Her father’s carriage was still there, but no trace of him or his horse, so she dared to enter the castle gardens. She, too, saw the roses, but where her father had plucked them, she only admired them, before moving on.

When she had arrived at the castle, she knocked on the door and the beast opened.

‘I’m looking for my father,’ she said. ‘I’ve seen his carriage in front of your estate and I am very worried.’

‘Your father stole from me,’ the beast replied, ‘and he will spend three years in my dungeon for it.’

At his words, the girl began to cry, for how should her sisters and her live for three years, without their father? They would surely starve to death, before the first year had passed.

‘Is there nothing I can do to change your mind? Perhaps I can pay you back.’

‘Not unless you want to take his place,’ the beast snarled, not expecting her to agree.

But she did.

She promised to stay for three years, and the beast let her father go, giving his horse back and leading him off his property, locking the iron gates behind him. When the beast came back, the girl expected him to bring her into the dungeon, but he led her to a room instead.

‘If you promise to honor our deal, you can stay here. If you try to run, I will send you into the dungeon instead.’

She didn’t have to think twice about that. She wouldn’t have tried to run anyway, scared and bound by her promise at the same time. So she moved into the room, and it was a nice room. A large bed with curtains sheltering her, artfully carved wardrobes and dressers, soft carpets on the floor and colorful curtains in front of the windows.

The beast allowed her to take new clothes from the wardrobe, as the dress she was wearing was all she had. She was given enough food, too, the beast’s servants bringing her plates of freshly baked bread, of roast meat and vegetables, of cut fruit and honey. She was scared of them, though, their appearance just as frightening as that of their master. One was missing an eye, their face split by a horrible scar. Another was missing an arm, carrying the dishes he brought on a special tray. Yet another was walking hunched, her spine crooked. Even the one that looked normal at first never spoke, gesturing wildly instead, and it scared the girl. She hid behind her bed, whenever the servants brought her food or tidied her room.

Two weeks had passed when the beast returned to her.

‘You don’t have to stay in here,’ he said. ‘You can go anywhere you want, as long as you don’t leave the grounds, and as long as you stick to the common rooms. Don’t disturb my servants, or me.’

It took her some more days to finally gather enough courage to leave her room. She explored the castle, admiring the tapestries and paintings and stained glass windows. She looked into those rooms that were unlocked, saw cold fireplaces and covered furniture. If not for the eyes following her, the steps she heard from the shadows, she could have forgotten that she was a prisoner.

Then she found the library. It was huge, at least to her eyes; shelves reaching as far as the ceiling, overflowing with books, more than she could have ever imagined in her life. She liked books, but she didn’t own many, reading a pastime that just wasn’t proper for a young woman, who should learn how to cook and sew instead.

For a while, she wandered along the shelves, reading all those titles, before she picked one and took it with her to one of the seats in front of the fireplace. She didn’t notice when the door opened, but she noticed when a shadow fell on her.

‘I’m sorry. I’ll leave,’ she said, terrified of the beast’s wrath.

But he didn’t seem angry. ‘You can stay,’ he said, sitting down with his own book. ‘There is enough room for two.’

So she stayed. And on the next day, she returned, and on the days after. Often, the beast was there, too, and they sat in silence and read. Whenever she tried to catch a glimpse of his books, she found that they were more sophisticated than the fairy tales and legends she read. In front of the fireplace, a wool blanket on his lap, holding the book with one gloved hand, turning the pages with the other, there was none of the scariness left she had seen in him at first. Sometimes one of the servants entered, bringing tea or other refreshments, and he always thanked them politely.

She found that perhaps, he wasn’t a beast after all.

At one point, she dared to talk to him, and while his replies were curt at first, he wasn’t unfriendly. With time, they talked more, about the books they were reading, about the weather and the food, only slowly, very slowly approaching more serious topics. She told him about her life at home, a boring life, if she thought about it. In return, she learned that all his servants had been cast out of their previous homes and positions, if not been living on the streets all their lives. She finally started to see it too, see that there was no fear of punishment in the eyes of the one-armed one, even as he dropped a cup. See that the mute one wasn’t scary, but talking with their hands, and everyone seemed to understand them. See how the one-eyed one made the others laugh with little magic tricks, even when doing the most mundane tasks.

One day, the girl laughed, too, and she found that she was no longer afraid; neither of the man that held her prisoner in a cage that didn’t feel like one, nor of his servants, who seemed more like a family to the man, the longer she watched them. She talked to the cook, who was friendly and kind, but didn’t ever want to be touched by anyone. She listened to the boy tending the gardens, who never looked anyone in the eye, but knew everything about every plant that was growing there. She started to understand the signs of the mute one, and the others were willing to teach her, when she asked.

She barely noticed how the months passed, until one day, the man knocked on her door.

‘Three years are up,’ he said, his expression so dark as she had rarely seen before. ‘You can leave.’

And then, he was gone, and when she tried to find him again, to at least tell him farewell, she couldn’t. So the girl left, wrapped in the shawl she had arrived in, her heart almost as heavy as on the day when she had searched for her father.

Perhaps she could come back.

It was a desperate thought, knowing that she would likely never return. Her family would need her, and she was now long past the age where her father should have found her a husband, if one even wanted her after all of this.

Not that she cared much, but that was how it was done.

When she arrived home, her father and her sisters were overjoyed. They asked her for details, but she couldn’t bring herself to tell them about the past years. Not when their faces distorted in disgust, their eyes gleamed in hate when they spoke of the ‘beast’ that had held her prisoner, all over three roses.

They stopped asking, perhaps thinking that whatever she had endured in those three years was too horrible to speak about. She didn’t have the heart to tell them otherwise.

The girl fell back into her old life, helping with chores all day, sleeping at night, dreaming of a warm fireplace and books, taking her to faraway places. Her chamber seemed to small to her, cramped with boxes and sacks her family had stored her while she was gone, and not yet taken the time to move. Their meals were somber, her sisters still shooting her uneasy glances, her father talking about the prospect of marriage and how she had to hurry.

‘You can’t really want to marry her to a man twice her age,’ she heard a stranger’s voice say one day, tone hushed, low, too low for her to hear it, hadn’t she been just outside the kitchen in this moment. Her father had visitors, so she was supposed to stick to her room, but she had wandered out, looking to grab a glass of water.

‘Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a man willing to take her hand? Willing to not think about what this beast has done to her in all that time? His last wife died in childbirth. He’s wealthy enough, she will have a good life.’

The girl knew that her father was right. It didn’t stop her tears from falling, though, as she ran back into her room and cried into her pillow.

She didn’t want to marry this man she had never met.

She didn’t want to marry anyone, ever.

When her tears dried up, she laid on her back, staring at the ceiling. Her head hurt from the tears, but her heart hurt from a wish she could no longer brush aside.

He had taken in those no one else had wanted anymore. Those that hadn’t been a fit for the society they had lived in, had been shunned and outcast. Those that hadn’t been enough for their families and spouses and masters.

Perhaps he would take her in as well.

When night fell and the lights in the house were turned off, she grabbed her shawl, leaving a scribbled note on her bed; a farewell, an apology, a plea not to look for her. Then she left, following the path back into the forest, the moonlight showing her the way.

It was almost morning when she arrived at the castle. Winter was coming, the air biting cold, frost covering the leaves that had not yet fallen to the ground. Frost was also covering the roses, still blooming. Always blooming. She approached them, admiring them as she always had, but this time, she reached for one of the blossoms.

She didn’t feel the thorns as she broke it off, her fingers numb from the cold. Rose in hand, she walked towards the castle, knocking on the front door. It opened and the man’s shape filled the doorway, his face in the dark, her eyes too blinded from the frost to read the expression on his face.

She held out the rose and he looked at it for a long time, before taking her hand, leading her inside.

One year for one rose.

She would pick another one next winter.

#Yea so idk what to tag this with #Just gonna ramble a bit then I guess #I made my tumblr back in 2015 because I /learned/ of the term ace from a friend's blog #which I had followed without having an account #And things started to make sense #And I made my tumblr so I could have a lil dragon hoard of rainbow pictures #And ace memes and some other content I found adorable #And it all was fine for a while and I bought my first ace ring and I wondered #If I should get an ace of spades or ace of hearts pendant (do people still remember this)#but at some point all went to hell idk why #Over the months I had to unfollow almost every blog i followed #because they'd get (anon) hate and then replied and I got so #so tired of seeing it all on my dash and tag blocking wasn't a thing yet #I think on my main acc there's like 3 blogs from back then left that I still follow #and reddit is weird and is tiring for me in its own ways I don't need to elaborate here #and I've pretty much given up and then I found this side of tumblr and like #every second blog I check is ace and I can finally read stories I feel at home in and #I'm getting a bit emotional here and I love you all ;;#And like valentine's day is probably just as much if not more an aro problem #and while I was like instantly sure about being ace #aro has been in a state of /I'll figure this out when I have time/ for several years already lol #which I GUESS could be an answer in itself but one I've not accepted yet #so anyway those tags are getting longer than the story #happy /buy chocolate for 50% off tomorrow/ day everyone <3 #salad gathers aro/ace stories #my writing

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s0seo · 4 years

Text

Attitude Adjustment

Pairing: Roommate!Jk x Reader x Roommate!Taehyung

WC:11.8K. Rating: M.

Description: After hearing an argument between your two roommates, you are a bit shocked to hear that they both have feelings for you. Add a bit of possessiveness and a dash of domination and you have one heck of a trio.

Genre: Smut. It’s literally just smut Bit of exposition, but it’s a filthy mess.

Warnings: little to no editing, swearing, dirty talk, hair pulling, slight choking, possessiveness, sexual frustration, thigh riding, unprotected sex (please be responsible), nipple appreciation, praise kink (Taehyung is a good boy), soft dom vibes ,reader gets spit roasted, use of a sectional sofa, use of a wall, oral sex (f&m receiving), mentions of alcohol consumption (they leave a bar), slight mention of violence (someone gets pushed), bit of voyeurism, bit of exhibition, edging, scratching, mentions of jealousy, mention of a horror movie.

A/n: I hope you all enjoy! And as always I hope everyone stays happy and healthy. If you see a typo, no you didn’t, and if you don’t like fics like this, then don’t @ me I told you it was filthy.

A/n 2: I also want to give a BIG thank you to @ohhlalaniall for giving this a read and making sure it was good enough to post.

“Come on Y/N, I think we should get you home.”

It’s Saturday night, and your friend is dragging you out of yet another bar.

You lean into his embrace as you let yourself stumble a bit. A small part of you feels bad for making him take care of you like this, but if you plan on being bold enough to follow through with your plans tonight, you need the liquid courage to support you.

Even though you’ve both had the same amount to drink, you are just a bit tipsier than he is, and you’re definitely going to use that to your advantage.

“But Tae…” you pout, “I just want to have some fun tonight.” You say the last part into his neck as your head tilts to the side. As a result, you feel him produce a slight shiver as your words vibrate into his skin.

If everything goes according to plan tonight, his neck is only going to be the beginning of what your lips will do to him.

Your dark-haired friend puts his arm around your waist, trying to help you walk while he puts his arm in front of him and moves people out of your way.

You pull him closer to you and lean into him a bit more than necessary as you inhale his cologne. God, he smells good.

You think back to a week ago when you were sitting on the couch with your best friend and roommate Taehyung watching a movie. Everything was going great until the movie's climax hit, and you realized that the movie was too scary for him.

You wrapped your arm around him, and you were going to let him lean on your shoulder until the movie was over when suddenly your other roommate came home from work early.

While physical intimacy is pretty common between you and your roommates, it tends to get a bit awkward whenever you do it with both of them around.

Still, Taehyung has always been pretty understanding and laid back about it though. The real problem has always been with your other friend and roommate Jungkook.

Jungkook, while being one your best and oldest friends, has a bad habit of being a little possessive when it comes to you. For a while you weren’t sure if it was because he saw you as someone who needed his protection, or because he didn’t have a lot of friends. But everything changed that night. As soon as he walked through the door and saw you and Taehyung on the couch, he got angry.

The worst part was, when you asked him, he wouldn’t even tell you why. The two of you argued for a solid thirty minutes about how he believed that you shouldn’t have been watching a scary movie without him because that was something for just the two of you. You countered with the fact that if he hadn’t flaked on your horror movie plans two weeks in a row then you wouldn’t have had to ask Taehyung to join you in the first place.

He even went so far as to imply that Taehyung guilted you into watching the movie just so he couldn’t.

Taehyung, who has never been one for any form of conflict, remained silent as you defended him.

Finally, you stormed upstairs, tired of the bullshit and the need to justify yourself to someone who was being angry and jealous for no reason.

You paced back and forth in your room for a few minutes, until you decided that enough was enough and that he needed to be more understanding.

You were just barely past the top of the stairs when suddenly you heard Jungkook whispering, or at least trying, to Taehyung. Your nosiness got the better of you, and as you tiptoed down the stairs you heard Taehyung trying to explain himself.

He claimed that he knew Jungkook liked you but that he liked you too and that he didn’t want anyone to get hurt. He said that all he wanted to do was watch a movie with you because you were sad that Jungkook canceled on you again. That statement alone both shocked you and made your heart pound. Without making a sound, you peeked your head around the corner of your staircase, only to see Jungkook push Taehyung into the wall before quietly growling out the words “I met her first. She’s mine” and stalking off to the kitchen.

You had no idea how they felt about you up until that point. You racked your brain for all of the signs that you must have missed.

Jungkook’s jealousy finally made sense and so did their continuously increasing levels of intimacy with you. Taehyung’s decision to watch the movie with you even though he was afraid of almost everything made a lot more sense as well. Honestly how could you have been so dense?

If you were being honest you were more than a little attracted to them as well, especially Taehyung. You felt an attraction to Jungkook multiple times throughout your friendship, but you never thought he saw you in that sort of light, jealousy or not.

However, even before you overheard their confessions, you’d definitely had your fair share of fantasies about them. Their lips, more importantly their mouths, and the things they could do to you as you ran your fingers through their hair had crossed your mind more than once.

After that night, Taehyung began trying to distance himself from you so that Jungkook wouldn’t get upset again. It took you a few days to notice, but once you did you became angry.

The more you thought about Jungkook's threat to Taehyung the angrier you became. After all, who the hell did he think he was claiming you like that? As if you were some prize to be won or some trophy to have in his possession.

As you laid in bed last night, fed up with the awkwardness that your roommate created between the three of you, you came to the conclusion that if things were going to get better for you three, Jungkook was going to need a definite attitude adjustment.

Once the two of you finally get back to your apartment, Taehyung helps you up the stairs and into your room where he leaves you to get changed and head to sleep.

You take a seat on your bed and watch him as he walks away, pausing for a moment to make sure that he doesn’t plan on coming back up.

‘Good’ you say to yourself as you walk over to your dresser and pull out a pair of lacy dark blue underwear and a matching bralette.

You quickly close your door and slip on your pajamas, making sure to move both quickly and quietly so as not to raise any suspicion.

You look over at your clock and nod to yourself as you throw on a baggy t-shirt that you stole from Taehyung a few weeks ago and a pair of short sleep shorts.

Jungkook should come home from work within the hour, and when he does everything needs to be in place.

You glance at your reflection in your mirror, retouch your makeup, and give your reflection a nod of approval before making your way back downstairs.

You take in the sight of him, leaning back on the couch with his phone in his hands as they rest between his legs. The black of his shirt and jeans only adds to his attractiveness.

His head is resting on the back cushion and his eyes closed as they rest behind his dark curls. God his thighs look good. Actually, all of him looks good.

You resist the urge to simply walk over to him and climb into his lap. No. If this is going to work you have to stick to the plan. You complete your descent, quietly walk over to him, and stop right behind him.

After taking a moment to decide on the best way to do this, you lean forward, place your hands on his shoulders, and start to softly massage them.

You feel him tense up momentarily in surprise as he lifts his head and looks at you in confusion.

“Y/N” he says as he runs his hand through his hair, his tired eyes taking in your change of apparel, “I thought you were going to sleep.”

You give him a small smile, walk around the couch, and take a seat beside him.

“I’m not tired anymore. Let’s watch a movie.” You suggest.

He tries to subtly move away from your body. As if you wouldn’t notice, as if you didn’t already plan for it.

You place a seemingly innocent hand on his thigh and another on his shoulder before turning his body back towards you.

“Come on” you pout as your fingers trace small circles over the fabric of his clothing, knowing that it’s his weakness. “I’ll go to sleep after it’s over. I promise.”

He glances down at your hand for a moment and looks over your shoulder at the clock on the wall behind you before letting out a sigh and giving you a nod.

“Fine. But just one.” He says as he pulls up your Netflix account.

You give him a nod and grab the blanket from the back of the couch before throwing it over the both of you and resting your head on his shoulder.

You feel him stiffen beside you for a moment before clearing his throat and looking down at you.

“What do you want to watch?”

You keep your eyes on him as you pretend to think about the question. You already have a movie in mind, it’s one of your favorites actually.

“How about The Passion Project?” You ask, knowing that he loves the movie just as much as you do.

He gives you a side glance and smiles as he pulls up the title and starts the movie.

“Excellent choice.”

You lean forward and wait for him to lay his arm on the back of the couch while you wait for the movie to start. He hesitates at first as if unsure whether he should or not, so you bring your eyes to his and tilt your head in question. He lets out a chuckle and shakes off his doubts as you curl your legs in front of you and lean into him. ‘Just like old times,’ you think to yourself as you breathe in a deep breath of his cologne.

As the movie progresses you steal a few glances at him, and to your surprise he’s beginning to fall asleep.

‘Shit,’ you think to yourself. ‘If he falls asleep now then everything falls apart.’

You glance over at the clock on the wall once again. Twenty minutes. Jungkook will be home in twenty minutes. You give yourself a small nod and form a new plan. Things might have to start a bit sooner than you expected.

You lean forward out of your friend's embrace, and you hear him let out a yawn from beside you. Moving backwards on the couch you wrap your arm around his shoulders and pull his body close to yours until his head is resting on your shoulder.

You raise your hand to his head and begin running your fingers through his hair, as he closes his eyes once again. He lets out a sigh of content, and you turn your head to look down at him, your breath tickling his skin, before asking, “are you awake?”

He takes a moment to respond, but he slowly opens his eyes and looks up at you, your faces just a few inches apart.

“Yeah.”

Your eyes travel to the TV, and you continue to run your fingers through his hair as you nod your head at the tv and whisper softly into his ear, “this is my favorite scene. You know why?”

He looks over at the tv as well and nods. “It’s because of the dancing, right?”

You look at the scene in front of you and watch as the two love interests stand in front of a mirror and begin moving their bodies to the rhythm of a slow and sensual cover of your favorite song.

Not only is the scene very well shot, but it’s also the part of the movie where the main character decides to finally give in to her feelings for her teacher.

You softly shake your head and slowly bring your eyes back to his face. They travel from his lips, up to his nose, then to his dark eyes, lingering as they go. You feel the stillness of the silence that lies in the few inches between your faces as he waits for your answer.

“It’s because of the tension,” you whisper.

You see his eyes flicker down to your lips and you watch him slowly closing the space between you.

He sucks in a small breath as your nails graze his scalp, and you close your eyes and silence him with your lips. He lets out a sound of surprise but doesn’t pull away. His lips slowly respond to yours, as if following your guidance.

He pulls away after a moment and looks into your eyes. The earnestness in his gaze sends warmth to your core, and you watch him lightly lick his bottom lip before releasing a small laugh and bringing his lips back to yours.

You kiss him slowly at first, careful to give him plenty of opportunity to pull away again or tell you to stop.

His lips taste like strawberries, no doubt because of his favorite strawberry soda he likely opened before making his way to the couch earlier. It’s intoxicating.

You can faintly hear the chorus of the song in the background as he deepens the kiss, and you let out a small moan as his hand finds its way to your jaw and slides into your hair.

You crawl onto his lap in response and place your hands on both sides of his head as you slide your tongue across his lip.

He moans against your mouth as he opens up to you, and you slide a hand down to the bottom of his black shirt and slip your fingers underneath it.

Your fingers trace over his abs, and you release a sigh as he brings his lips to your neck and wraps his arms around you, one of his hands now sliding down from your face to your ass.

God you love his hands. His long fingers and his veiny yet muscular arms have been the subject of your less than decent imagination on multiple occasions.

You grind your core against his crotch and imagine how hot it would be to straddle his thigh while you jerk him off. Or even hotter, if Jungkook walked in and caught you doing it.

The thought of his jealously turns you on more than you know it should, but you just can’t help but think about all the ways you and your roommate could torture him after the way he treated your friend.

Your thoughts are interrupted as Taehyung brings his lips back to yours, and now it’s your turn to let your lips roam.

Your tongue trails along his jaw, and you begin kissing your way down his neck. God you love his neck. The thought of his collarbones, and the way his throat bobs as he swallows hard only gets you wetter and wetter. Maybe if you’re lucky he‘ll let you wrap your fingers around it.

You remove your hand from his abdomen and place your palm on his collarbone, slowly but surely making your way to his throat.

His hands roam through your hair and across your back, and he lets out a quiet groan before placing a hand on your shoulder and whispering, “wait Y/N, hold on.”

You slowly pull away from him and look down at his face as you continue running your fingers through his hair, a hand now roaming up to his chest.

‘Maybe it’s not over, maybe he just wants to pause the movie or something,’ you think.

“What happened? What’s wrong?” You ask, already preparing to guide the situation back to where it needs to be.

He looks up at you through half lidded eyes but keeps his voice confident as he says, “what are we doing? This isn’t right.”

He puts his hands on your waist and tries to move you off of his lap. Following his wishes, you climb off of him and pull the blanket over your legs once again.

“What do you mean?” You ask him, letting a small pout rise to your face. You’re guessing that he’s probably afraid of Jungkook finding out what happened. Part of you wishes that he weren’t so shy sometimes. That’s one thing that Jungkook continuously beats him at: confidence.

He slowly shakes his head, and you cross your arms and give him a small, worried glance. Yes, let him believe you didn’t see this coming. You knew that he was bound to become anxious and stop you at some point during the night, you just weren’t sure when.

He looks around and opens his mouth to respond, but before he can you both turn your heads to the sound of keys and the turning of a lock. Jungkook is home.

‘Good,’ you think to yourself, ‘now all I have to do is wait for the right moment.’

He opens the door and runs his hands through his slightly ruffled hair before glancing straight ahead at you and your roommate on the couch. The two of you are far enough away from each other to ward off any suspicion, but Jungkook’s gaze still hardens as it lands on your friend.

“What’s going on here?” He asks, trying to keep his tone light yet still managing to make Taehyung avert his gaze. ‘Such an obnoxious bastard,’ you think to yourself as you tilt your head at him and draw his attention back to you.

You give him a small half lidded smile, acting a bit less sober than you actually are, and you rest your elbow on the arm of the couch and point to the tv.

“Tae agreed to watch a movie with me before I go to sleep. We were about to call it a night when you walked in.”

You glance over at Taehyung and notice how stiff his body is next to yours. You can tell by the anger in Jungkook's eyes that he wants to say something to your roommate, and if left alone, you know he will.

His jealousy is as sexy as it is infuriating and you tilt your head to the side and bite your bottom lip as you call out to your roommate, “how about you take a shower, and we all finish watching it together? It’ll be fun...”

You make a point of slowly sliding your gaze over his figure as you say the word “fun” and bring a bit of anticipation to your eyes.

His eyes travel over to you and he glances down at your mouth as he thinks about it.

“Fine. I’ll be quick. After all, I do still owe you a movie.” He gives Taehyung a threatening glance before making his way up the stairs and into the bathroom. You wait in silence until you hear the water of the shower running and turn back to your friend.

Placing a hand on his thigh, you turn your body and fully face him.

“Tae.” You say, “look at me.”

He glances up at you as you place a hand on his jaw and turn his face until he’s looking at you.

“I want you,” you confess as you begin slowly closing the distance between your bodies. “God, I want you so bad. Don’t you want me?”

He lets out a soft groan as you let your hand on his thigh accidentally travel a bit too far up, and he closes his eyes as he groans out the word “yes.”

You move your body even closer, practically on top of him at this point, and bring your lips to his ear as you ask him once more, this time letting you voice drop to a husky whisper “do you want me Tae?”

Your fingers lightly trace the outline of his hardening cock over his pants, and he unconsciously raises his hips up to follow your feather light touch.

“Yes.” He breathes out, before opening his eyes and looking over at you. Good. You have him exactly where you want him.

“Say it.” You tease as you let your nails lightly scrape along the fabric and watch your touch bring another groan to his lips.

“God...I want you…” he breathes out.

“Do you like me,” you ask, slowly guiding him to exactly where you want him.

He stares into your eyes and gives you a nod, and you crawl into his lap once more and bring your lips a breath away from his as you ask, “then why didn’t you tell me?”

You see his eyes flicker to the staircase, and he clears his throat before shyly admitting, “I... Jungkook likes you.”

You tilt your head at him and run your fingers through his hair once again, so he has no choice but to look into your eyes.

“That’s not what I asked…” you warn, bringing your lips back to his ear and nipping at his lobe.

He looks away from your penetrating gaze and lowers his voice. “I don’t want to make things awkward between the three of us.”

You reach out for one of his hands and slide it underneath your shirt until his long fingers graze your bra.

“Does this feel awkward to you,” You ask.

He swallows hard and shakes his head in response as his thumb teases the lace.

You give him a look of satisfaction and place your lips on his once again. This time your kiss is a bit slower and definitely more aggressive. You tease his lips with your tongue then pull it back as his tongue chases it. Like your very own game of cat and mouse held within a kiss.

Suddenly, he pulls away from your kiss and places a hand on your shoulder.

“Hold on Y/N…I don’t know if this is such a good idea. What about Jungkook?”

You grind your hips into him, and tug his curls out of his face, smiling as you hear a moan escape his lips in response to the sudden show of aggression.

“Why not,” you ask before bringing your lips next to his ear, your nails now scraping along his scalp and chest. “You like me, right?”

He gives you a small nod in response as you run your fingers through his hair and grab onto his curls a bit tighter this time and feel his hips rise up to meet your body.

You are vaguely aware of the fact that the sound of the shower has stopped, and you bring your lips to his ear and say, “I know you’re afraid of him…”

He tenses up underneath you, but you slowly grind yourself against him and place a finger underneath his chin before lowering your face back to his and asking him, “do you trust me?”

His eyes are filled with uncertainty, but he gives you a small nod, so you continue.

“Will you be good for me,” your question is barely audible now, but he looks up at you and earnestly nods, nonetheless.

“Good,” you whisper as you brush your lips against his and begin kissing him again. Now he doesn’t hold back, all of his worries and fears seeming to vanish as he moans into your mouth and pulls your body against his.

His hand makes its way to the bottom of your shirt, and you break the kiss just long enough for him to remove it from your body. His gaze roams over your chest and back up to your face, his hands reaching forward slightly before patiently dropping back down to your waist, and you give him a look of approval as you softly grab his face and whisper, “you’re such a good boy aren’t you, always doing what you’re told...”

His hips rise to meet your core and he gives you a nod, his long warm fingers digging into your ass as he does. God, you could watch him look at you like this for hours. How the hell did you get lucky enough to have someone as hot as he is as a best friend and roommate?

“What the fuck” you hear Jungkook demand from your right. He’s only a few feet away from you, but still far enough behind you that you need to turn your head to look at him.

A shadow of a smile makes its way to your features as you note to yourself in satisfaction, ‘Jungkook has officially entered the game.’

Taehyung tenses underneath you and moves you from his lap as he tries to explain himself.

“Jungkook, it- “

“It’s exactly what it looks like.” You interrupt, making a point to place your hand on his thigh and slide your fingers closer and closer to his hardness.

Jungkook’s eyes shoot to yours, full of irritation and jealousy.

“Even now,” you think to yourself smugly, “he isn’t upset at what’s happening. He’s upset that he’s not a part of it.” Well, lucky for him, he will be.

You tilt your head at him and bite your lip as you admire him from your place on the couch.

His wavy black hair drips water on the towel around his neck as well as his chest, and his pajama pants hang low on his waist.

God the things you wanted to do to those curls, and his chest, god his chest.

You admire the water dripping down his torso and you feel yourself getting wetter and wetter as you see the way his body glistens under the light.

Part of you wonders if he decided to leave his shirt off because he heard the two of you, or if he was planning on using his body to intimidate your friend. The thought doesn’t sit well with you and you are once again reminded of how petty your friend can be.

You’ve often imagined yourself walking up to him after he gets out of the shower and simply running your hands over his chest and muscles. Seeing him here in front of you with jealousy in his eyes and his hand in his hair makes you realize that your imagination has absolutely nothing on the real thing.

If he wants to be petty and an asshole to your friend, fine. Two can play at that game.

You look over at Taehyung and give him a wink before standing up and walking over to Jungkook.

“What the hell are you doing?” He demands quietly as you get closer to him.

“What’s wrong Kookie,” you ask, lowering your head and looking up at him. You keep your tone innocent and your steps slow as your eyes continue to roam over his body. “Tae and I were just hanging out while we waited for you.”

“Is that what that was supposed to be,” he asks with an edge in his voice as he takes a step towards your roommate. Of course, he thinks Taehyung is behind this.

You put your hand on his chest and walk him backwards until his back rests against the wall, his hands hanging limply by his sides as he lets out a groan.

His eyes stare into yours as your hand lingers on his chest, and you slide your other hand up his body and turn his face towards you.

“Why do you keep looking at him? I’m right here in front of you.” You whisper as you lean your body into his, the fabric of your bra now absorbing the moisture from his chest.

His eyes search yours for an explanation, and upon finding none he flashes Taehyung a threatening glare and looks down at your half-clothed body as he whispers, “I don’t understand…”

You give him a small smirk and run your fingers through his damp hair before bringing your lips to his ear.

“How about I give you a hint?” You tease as your lips hover around his face, one hand continuing to run softly through his hair while the other lightly traces the over his chest, your fingers just barley grazing the skin of his nipples..

“I know what you said to Tae last week.” You whisper as you trail your lips across his jaw and bring them to his other ear.

His body stiffens underneath you as you confess, but you continue anyways. “You have no idea how angry I was to hear you talk about me like that.”

He pulls his face back and opens his mouth to explain, but before he can you silence him with your lips. You feel him stiffen in surprise, and you pull your lips away and look into his eyes.

“This is what you wanted right,” you ask, “to have me all to yourself….”

He closes his eyes and lets out a shaky breath as you tease him.

‘He’s so close,’ you think to yourself, ‘now, just a little bit further…’

“My lips…,” you whisper against his skin as you prong your mouth to his neck. Your lips hover over his throat as you continue, and you slowly mark his skin with your teeth as you go.

“My hands…” you whisper, letting your hands roam over his chest. You slide an arm around his waist and pull his body towards you as you whisper one final thought, “my body, wrapped around you, begging for your touch…”

He releases a frustrated groan before bringing his hands to your face and guiding your lips back to his. You lightly tug at his bottom lip with your teeth, and he flicks his tongue across your bottom lip before massaging your tongue with his own.

He spins your bodies around and you feel your back press into the wall. You release a moan as the kiss becomes more possessive and he pins your wrists above your body. The thought of his strength sends a jolt of satisfaction to your core, and you pull your hands from his grip and return them to his hair.

His hands roam your body, and you feel him slide his thigh between your legs while one of your hands roams from his hair to his throat.

The kiss is as infectious as it is aggressive, and you guide his lips to your neck. Stealing another glance over at your friend, you see that he’s begun to run his hands over his thighs in anticipation. He’s probably getting more and more turned on just watching you tease your roommate.

You have no doubt that if you pushed him hard enough, he’d show you a possessive side of his own, but that’s a challenge for another day.

The thought of him becoming turned on as he watches you makes you wet with satisfaction, and if the hardness against your thigh is any indication, it’s turning Jungkook on as well.

Though Jungkook’s arousal probably has less to do with the idea of being watched and more to do with showing off to the one that’s watching.

He places one hand above your head against the wall and slides the other against your waist, rubbing his thumb across your skin as he holds your body in place.

You bring your hand from his throat to his chin and make him look at you. There is a hint of panic in his eyes, as if he thinks you’ll push him away, but you run your fingers through his hair and smirk at him instead.

“You like me,” you whisper against his lips, not bothering to present it as a question.

His eyes shoot down to your lips, and you watch as the panic in his gaze turns into something else.

“Of course, I do. I wouldn’t hang out with you if I didn’t.”

You tilt your head and narrow your eyes at him, pulling a bit of his hair as you correct him.

“No,” you say as you slide your hand up his chest.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me,” you tease as you nod your head at Taehyung and whisper against his lips, “just like he does...”

You watch as jealousy makes its way back into his eyes at the reminder of his competition, and he opens his mouth to say something to Taehyung, but you lift a finger to his lips and stop him before he can.

“You’re jealous right? Is that why you always get angry with me if I bring someone home with me? Is it because you wish it was you instead?”

He breaks your gaze and looks at the ground before giving you a small nod.

“When you heard me, did you imagine that it was you in my room... making me moan…. making me scream?”

His hips unconsciously grind themselves into you, and his grip on your body tightens.

‘Honestly, it’s just too easy,’ you think to yourself.

You give him a smirk and place a hand on the side of his face as you continue to comb your fingers through his hair and carry on.

“It must drive you crazy...hearing me moan for someone else when you know it should be you making me feel good.”

He closes his eyes, and you watch him release a quiet whine as you drop your hand down to his pants and trace his hard outline over the fabric.

He grits his teeth and closes his eyes as he leans his head forward into your neck and groans out the word, “Yes…”

You lean in closer to him and whisper into his ear while looking at Taehyung.

“You want to hear me moan for you, and only you. Is that it?”

He stiffens against you and lets out a small whimper as your fingers stop their tracing and suddenly grab him in your hand, the thickness and thought of what’s to come making your walls clench.

When he still doesn't respond you bite his ear and let out a small growl.

“Say it …”

“God...Yes. I want you. I want you to moan for me and only me.” He looks into your eyes as he confesses. “You belong with me.”

You smirk at his confession, and suddenly spin your bodies before pulling away from him.

“That’s too bad…” you tease.

His eyes widen and follow you as you walk back over to Taehyung. Looking down at him you use a finger to lift his chin up and sweetly ask, “be a good boy and take off my shorts.”

He glances behind you at Jungkook who is likely giving him a glare that could kill, but after a moment he smiles at you and curls his fingers into your waistband.

You place your hand on his shoulder, step out of your shorts, and lean him back as you straddle his thigh and remove your bra.

He closes his eyes and leans into you as you run your fingers through his hair, and finally bring his lips to your neck.

“You’re so good to me aren’t you,” you ask as you let your hand roam up his chest and lean your body into him.

“Y/n… what are you doing,” you hear Jungkook ask from behind you.

You glance back at your friend and see the jealousy and possessiveness return to his eyes, as you run your hand underneath Taehyung’s shirt once more.

You look down at him and smile before releasing a sigh as his lips find their way to one of your nipples, and his fingers begin working on the other.

“So good,” you moan out, “such a good boy for me…”

You hear Jungkook release a sound of frustration and look back at him one final time as you move Taehyung’s mouth to your other breast.

“I don’t belong to anyone Kookie. You want me? Then you’re going to have to share.”

“Y/N…” he whispers in what is probably meant to be a warning but comes out as a whine instead.

“I’m going to show you” you say to him over your shoulder while admiring Taehyung, “exactly how it feels to have your feelings not matter…”

You look down at your roommate and pull his head back by his curls until he is once again looking into your eyes. Leaning down, you begin to grind your clothed clit against his thigh, rolling your hips in agonizingly slow circles, and trace his lips with your tongue.

He lets out a whine at your teasing, and finally, giving in to his pleas, as he releases a second moan you silence him with your lips.

He kisses you slowly. You can tell that he’s making it a point to show off how good he makes you feel while Jungkook has to stand back and watch. Good. Jungkook needs to learn that bullying your friend will get him nowhere.

You let out a moan at the friction caused by his thigh and your soaked underwear and take pleasure in the realization that you’re leaving a giant wet spot on his leg. Good, let him feel how wet he makes you.

His hands travel to your ass and your hair as your teeth dig into his bottom lip, and he moans as he pulls your body against his just a little bit harder.

You help him remove his shirt and trail light kisses from his chest plate, to his nipples, and then to his neck. Your hands busy themselves with unzipping his pants before wrapping your fingers around him and bringing your lips back to his, taking your time with both your hands and your mouth.

“You’re so thick,” you praise, “and already so hard, just for me…”

You feel Jungkook's eyes burning into you, watching you, as you show him just how good you could make him feel. How good you should, be making him feel.

You bring your eyes to Jungkook as you ask Taehyung, “does that feel good?”

You hear him moan into your neck, and you squeeze him tighter as you instruct him.

“Say it. Tell me how good I make you feel.”

He lets out a gasp, and your fingers make their way to his throat and squeeze lightly.

“So fucking good...” he whimpers.

Your lips travel to his neck, slowly marking him as you continue to grind your body against him.

“Good boy,” you whisper at his response. His thigh flexes between your legs and you let out a whimper as the friction causes you to see stars. Your teeth continue to mark his neck and throat, your tongue softly sliding over the bruises as they form.

He lifts his leg up higher and you slow the movement of your hips as you feel yourself getting close.

“You’ve thought about this before haven’t you,” you whisper in between bites, “having me on top of you, touching you and teasing you until you cum for me…”

He lets out another grunt before closing his eyes and confessing.

“Yes.”

“How would I do it? When you imagined me? How did you use me?”

“God. Your mouth...your mouth....”

“Do you want my mouth?”

“Please…”

You look over at Jungkook and smile. The bulge in his pants betrays the scowl on his face, and you slow your hand as you bring Taehyung’s attention to your other roommate.

“Look at him…” you whisper into his ear before giving it a nibble then letting your teeth drag against his lobe.

He looks over your shoulder at Jungkook's frown and you feel him twitch in your palm. He’s enjoying this, making Jungkook jealous. Who would have guessed that they'd be into a little exhibitionism?

Your hips return to their original pace as you feel his orgasm building and you increase the speed of your hand as you prepare to send him over the edge.

‘He looks so angry, doesn’t he?” You ask, not bothering to spare a glance at your friend a few feet behind you as you feel yourself reaching the edge.

Taehyung lets out a loud moan, looks up at you, and nods. His hands wrap around your waist and pull your body down onto his leg as you jerk him off.

“Good” you whisper breathlessly, and as his lips travel back to your breasts, you feel yourself stiffen on top of him and bury your teeth in his shoulder as your orgasm barrels through you.

His thigh shoots up in response to your teeth, and you feel yourself getting close to another. Looking down at his fucked out gaze, you tighten your hand around him slightly and return your lips to his neck and command him, “Be a good boy and cum for me...let him see how good I make you feel.”

He releases a cry into your neck and moans your name as his orgasm barrels through him. You watch him as his body tenses, and he unloads himself into your hand and onto his stomach.

Slowly, you lick his cum off of your hand and slide two fingers across his stomach before bringing them to his lips to taste. He looks into your eyes as he slowly opens his mouth and flicks his tongue against your fingers, sucking them as he goes.

You bring your fingers to his hair once again and softly comb it away from his eyes. Noting the beads of sweat that have appeared on his chest, you drag woke tongue across his skin as you ask him, “did you enjoy it? Making him watch as I jerked you off...as you made me cum for you?”

He glances behind you at Jungkook and gives you a small nod. You wrap your lips around one of his nipples and smile inwardly as he releases a moan. His hand flies to your hair as your lips travel to the other one and lightly drag your teeth against it.

“You like that,” you ask. He gives you an earnest nod and you smile at him and say, “maybe if you’re good I’ll give you some more. Would you like that?”

He gives you another nod and you glance back at Jungkook and smile as you look at Taehyung and say, “I need you to wait your turn then, we can’t have Kookie feeling left out now can we?”

You trail your tongue up from Taehyung’s chest and back to his mouth. You place a slow kiss on his lips before bringing your attention back to your friend and smile as your eyes travel over his tense shoulders.

He looks at you with discontent and irritation as you rise from your friend’s thigh and stalk over to him.

‘Oh, he’s angry,’ you think to yourself. ‘Good, now he knows how it feels.’

As you get closer, you slide your hands up his body and tilt your head at him, slowly pinning him to the wall again as you do. Letting your hands slowly roam across his chest and up through his hair, you feel his hardness pressing against you.

“God you look so fucking hot right now,” you whisper as you close your eyes and breathe in the smell of him.

You watch as confusion makes its way to his eyes, and you smile as you drag your nails across his scalp and trail your lips from his collarbone to his ear, while oh so slowly marking him with your teeth.

He lets out a moan, and his hands travel to your ass and pull your body against his as he uses his long fingers to grab you.

“You don’t know how much it turns me in to see you like this.”

He lets out a gasp, and you slowly drag your tongue from the base of his neck to his jaw before marking him once more, this time letting your teeth sink into his skin a bit deeper. He thrusts his hips into your body, and you smile up at him as you notice how much he likes the pain.

“Does it turn you on,” you ask as you grab a fistful of his hair and bring your lips to his ear, “knowing that you have me all to yourself while he watches?”

He sucks in a breath as your fingers finally reach the bulge in his pants, and his lips make their way to your neck and begin sucking on your skin without warning.

You moan at the thought of the bruises that his teeth will bring, and he begins slowly thrusting his hips into your hand.

He lets out a growl, and one of his hands travels to your hair and grabs it, suddenly causing you to release a cry of your own.

He slowly pulls your head back until you’re looking up at him and he reaches down with his other hand, grabs your wrist, and slides it inside of his pants as he smirks down at you.

You wrap your fingers around his hardness and try to hide your surprise as you realize just how long he is. While Taehyung may be a bit thicker than he is, Jungkook’s length is in a league of its own. You feel an all too familiar ache in your core as you picture him ramming himself into you.

He spins your bodies and pins you against the wall, his thigh trapping you while slowly rising against your still sensitive lips. His mouth travels down to your nipple and begins teasing you while one of his hands slides down to your underwear and begins rubbing you over them, his free hand pulling your hips against him as he does.

“What about you,” he whispers. “You love the thought of making me jealous, don’t you?”

His thumb slowly rubs your clit, and you release a gasp as you grind yourself against him.

“Of course, I do…it’s just so easy...” you confess.

Your thumb slides over his tip, and you use your fingers to cover his length with his warm precum, your mouth watering as you imagine the taste of it on your tongue.

His nails dig into your thighs and you release a gasp as he pins you even harder against the wall, his hips thrusting forward into your hand as he lets out a moan.

His lips return to your neck, marking you, claiming you as his leg between your thighs rises higher and his hips continue to thrust into your hand and body.

You pull your body even closer against him as you increase the pace of your hips, begging for more friction as your nails dig into his shoulders. You feel yourself getting closer and closer to release.

Suddenly, Jungkook begins to lower his thigh, pulling you from your blissful state. You try to lower your body with him, but the harder you try to rub yourself against him the lower you feel his thigh move and the slower his thumb moves against your clit.

“Kookie...” you groan out, as your grip around his cock tightens and you begin pumping him faster. He sucks in a breath, and in one fluid motion, grabs your wrists and pins them above your head with his hands.

“What’s wrong baby?” He teases, his insufferable cockiness returning to his voice. If it weren’t for his thigh between your legs, you swear that you would drop down to your knees and make him beg.

His hands travel to your breasts and he smiles down at you as he confesses, “ I can’t tell you how many times I’ve imagined you like this… your body against mine...begging for release...”

“Sometimes it would be my mouth…” His head drops down to your chest, and you let out a whimper as you feel him take one of your nipples into his mouth. His tongue swirls around it and he grazes it with his teeth before switching to the other one.

His lips travel to your ear as he continues to tease you.

“Sometimes I would use my hands…” he says as you feel two fingers travel down into your underwear and tease your sensitive lips. You release a moan, and he brings his mouth to your ear and nips at it as he grinds his hips into you and asks, “you know what I always used though?”

You release a moan as you feel his hard length pressing into you. You know exactly what he used, but you decide against giving him the satisfaction of a response.

“Doesn’t feel so good does it, being teased...” he asks, as he slowly begins moving his thigh between your legs again, his pace excruciatingly slow. “Do you want me to let you cum?”

“Yes,” you moan out and you hear him release a chuckle before removing his body from yours completely.

He holds your gaze as he slowly drops down to his knees, making sure to leave small bite marks on your thighs that have you groaning as he goes. His tongue teases the lace of your underwear, and he looks up at you and slides his hands along your legs.

“You knew, didn't you,” he asks, looking up into your knowing and ever so tantalizing gaze.

“Bringing other guys home when you knew I was here, fucking them a few feet away from me, knowing all I would thinking about was your moans…”

You let out a sigh as his fingers tease at the fabric of your underwear and slide them to the side, softly teasing your folds.

“Of course,” you breathe out, your confession surprising you. Maybe he was right, maybe you did know how he felt about you before you heard him say it.

You lean back against the cold surface of the wall and let out a moan as you feel him bring his face to your wetness while placing his hands on your ass, his tongue tasting you through the fabric.

“I’ve been thinking about you for so long,” he says as he brings mouth to your underwear and teases you over the lace, his tongue and teeth merciless as they mark your thighs.

He teases your lips with his fingers, coming closer and closer to your inviting core as you moan.

“Look at you…” he remarks, satisfaction and smugness lacing his tone at your whines, “moaning for me…begging for my touch...”

You look down at his face and spot the familiar look of pettiness and irritation in his eyes that betrays the confident and cocky smile on his face.

He’s not just angry, you realize, he’s bitter because you made him wait. The idea that he feels entitled to you, that he somehow gets to claim you first sends a jolt of anger through your body, and you already feel yourself getting ready to punish him for it. ‘Later,’ you note to yourself, ‘let him have his fun for now.’

He brings his fingers to the waistband of your underwear and slowly peels it from your body, his nails lightly scratching your legs as he goes.

You know exactly what your teasing has done to him, and you inwardly smile to yourself as you prepare yourself for his retribution. After all, he’s never been one to forgive very easily.

His eyes are calculating as he takes in your full figure from his position below you. You watch him carefully, your fingers slowly running through his hair as he gives you a mischievous smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes and suddenly begins his assault on your body.

The first flick of his tongue almost causes your legs to give out, your sensitive bud crying out in pleasure. The second has you seeing stars. His hands continue to pull your wetness against his mouth while you release a moan and grab a fistful of his hair. His tongue is slow in its endeavor, as if savoring the taste of you as he explores your folds with his mouth.

You close your eyes and lean your head back against the wall behind you as you drape one of your legs over his shoulder and thrust yourself into his mouth.

You feel one of his hands leave your ass and he pulls his mouth away from your core and looks into your eyes as he places one of his long fingers in his mouth, swirls his tongue around it, and slowly slides it into you.

You release a gasp as you feel his finger curl into you and brush against your sweet spot.

“God you’re so tight, just for me...” he whispers, “do you want more?”

You open your eyes and glance at Taehyung as he watches you with his mouth open, pure lust filling his gaze on your body. You notice that he managed to remove his pants at some point while you were occupied. You narrow your eyes at him, and he stiffens underneath your gaze as he understands his mistake: didn’t give him permission to do that.

Looking down at Jungkook, you bring one of your hands to your nipple and tease yourself as you watch him.

“I want you,” you confess, “I want you inside of me.”

He smiles up at you, and without warning he slides a second finger inside of you and returns his mouth to your clit, sucking it between his lips and flicking it with his tongue.

With every pump of his hand you feel yourself getting closer and closer to another orgasm. He increases the pace of his fingers, and you look down and take in the sight of him. His curly dark hair is messy from your hands, and his eyes stare into you as he watches you falling apart against his mouth.

God, he looks so hot like this, on his knees in front of you watching how good he makes you feel. A small part of you wonders why you didn’t come on to one of them sooner.

He slides a third finger inside of you and you cry out as you feel his lips suck hard on your clit. Your body begins to tense up and you whimper out, “Kookie, I’m gonna cum…”

You feel a sense of relief at the thought of release, and you smile down at him as he continues to pleasure you. He makes a noise against you in confirmation and continues his assault.

You feel your body beginning to tense up, when suddenly you feel his hands and his mouth leave your body.

Your body cries out at the sudden loss of stimulation, and you release a sound of frustration as you look down at your roommate.

“What the fuck…” you gasp at him harshly as you pull him by his hair and force him to look up at you. This is the second orgasm he’s taken from you, and you’re not going to let him steal a third. You let him have his fun, but you’ll be damned if he thinks you’ll let him push you like this.

He rises to his feet, and your fingers release their hold on his curls and drop down to his neck as he wraps one of your legs around his waist and smirks down at you. He places a finger underneath your chin and peers down at you through his dark hair.

“Did you really think it was going to be that easy,” he whispers before planting his lips on your neck and making you. “Baby if you’re gonna cum, it’s gonna be on my cock…”

He spins your body around and you brace yourself against the wall as his hands drop down to your thighs.

You feel your irritation subside, and you let out a moan as you feel him grab his cock and begin teasing your lips. You wait for him to place himself inside of you, but he simply continues to tease you as mouth returns to your neck and breasts.

“Now that I think about it though,” he whispers into your ear, “I don’t know if you really deserve it just yet.”

“Kookie,” you warn, desperate to feel his hard length inside of you, “stop being such a tease.”

He removes his mouth from your nipple and tilts his head as he narrows his eyes at you.

“Look at you,” he says, smiling down at you, “so desperate for my cock…”

You lower one of your hands to his pants ready to take what you want, but he grabs your wrist and pins it above your body.

“You’re so impatient aren’t you,” he whispers, “so greedy…”

As he lines up his cock with your entrance, he smirks at you and teases, “baby if you wanted me, all you had to do was ask,” before finally sliding into you.

Your nails scratch at the wall, and you feel his grip on your thighs tighten as he settles into you. A quiet whimper leaves your mouth as he slowly thrusts himself into you, your body adjusting to his length. ‘God, he’s so big,’ you think to yourself as you feel him bottom out, his tip pressing firmly against your sweet spot. You close your eyes and release a moan as you feel him pull out all but the tip before ramming himself inside of you in one quick motion.

He continues his slow unrelenting pace, teasing you as your body clenches around him and begs him to stay.

“Fuck me harder...faster Kookie...” you beg

He slows his pace even more and growls into your ear, “you think you deserve that? After the fucking show you just put on?”

“Oh baby,” he whispers as you let out a whimper, “I’m just getting started.”

He reaches in front of you and squeezes your clit between his fingers, and your legs give out on you as you let out a cry of pleasure. He holds your body up and trails kisses from your neck to your shoulder as he begins moving his hips faster and harder.

“You gonna cum for me baby.” He asks.

You give him a moan and he quickly pulls out of you and spins you back around before lifting your body up and sliding back into you.

You feel your mind go blank at the force of his thrusts and you wrap your legs around his waist and use your feet to pull him in deeper.

“Fuck,” he groans as he burrows his head in your neck and continues pounding into you.

Your back slams into the wall with every one of his thrusts and you glance over his shoulder at your other roommate who is looking at you with a question in his eyes.

You give him a small nod of approval and watch as he slowly begins stroking himself to the sight of the two of you in front of him.

You feel yourself approaching the edge once more and one of your hands grabs Jungkook’s hair and guides his mouth down to yours, nails dragging across his back as you continue to moan.

Your legs tighten their grip around his waist, and you clench your walls around him as you suck in a breath and feel your orgasm crash through you. He continues ramming himself into as you ride your high and you feel him tense up as he reaches his peak as well.

“I want to cum inside of you,” he groans out as he tries to hold himself back.

You release a whimper as you feel his cock press into your spot once more and feel another orgasm approaching.

“Fucking do it then, I’m on the pill.”

Your confirmation is all he needs, and he increases his pace and pace and thrusts into you a few more times before tensing up and unloading himself inside of you. You feel a tiny spark of disappointment that you couldn’t cum a second time, but one look at Jungkook's still semi hard cock eases your worries.

He sets you down and your legs feel like jelly, but you walk over to Taehyung who has stopped touching himself and is now watching you with anticipation.

“You said you wanted my mouth, right,” you ask as you climb up onto the empty cushion in front of him and begin slowly rubbing his thighs.

He lets out a small gasp as he watches your fingers curl into the waistband of his underwear and slowly peel them from his legs. He raises his hips, and you pause for a moment and just take in the sight of him laid out in front of you.

You hear Jungkook behind you, and as you wrap your fingers around Taehyung’s thickness, you spread your knees and lift up your ass in invitation.

“You’ve been good for me, haven’t you?” You ask your roommate in front of you.

He bites down on his lip and holds back a groan as he nods down at you.

As you crawl just a bit closer, you look into his eyes and place your tongue at the base of his cock, slowly dragging it up the length of his shaft.

He releases a sharp hiss through his teeth, and you feel his fingers lightly grab your hair and pull it as you finally take him into your mouth.

Jungkook’s hands travel along the skin of your ass and thighs, and he places light kisses along your spine before spreading your legs wider and teasing your lips with his hardness. You lower your body as you brace yourself on your elbows and arch your back in anticipation at the pleasure behind you.

A moan vibrates around Taehyung’s cock as Jungkook slowly slides himself inside of you and lets out a groan of his own. He slides in deeper and deeper, and you can't hold back the whine that escapes your lips as he finally bottoms out.

While the wall felt good, this is on a whole new level of deep. Once he’s settled inside of you, you feel him slowly pull out and begin teasing your lips again.

You remove Tae from your mouth and let out a gasp as Jungkook places his hip inside of you and suddenly jewels your hips back into his.

The pace he sets for your bodies is merciless, and every thrust brings you closer and closer to cumming again.

A small part of you is honestly amazed that you’ve all lasted this long, but the fact that you have makes you happier than you know it should. You don’t know if something like this will ever happen between the three of you again, but the fact that it has sends waves of satisfaction through you.

You rotate one hand around Taehyung’s cock as you continue to taste him. Your other hand drops down to his balls and softly caresses them as you suck.

His hips jerk upwards in response and you admire the look of utter pleasure painted across his features as you take him deeper into your mouth.

“God, you feel so good” He moans as he runs his fingers through your hair. “Fuck, you feel good.”

You feel Jungkook’s grip on your thighs and you begin pushing yourself backwards and meeting him thrust for thrust.

He reaches a hand down to the front of your body and begins teasing your clit. You release a choked back sob at the stimulation and begin sucking on Taehyung a bit harder.

Taehyung looks down at you as his breathing quickens, and he whispers out “I’m...l need to cum.”

Slowing your hands and your mouth, you look him and the eyes and say, “not yet.”

“Please,” he begs, “I don’t know how much longer I can last.”

You give him a nod of understanding and remove your hands and mouth completely.

He lets out a small whine at tour denial as well as the loss of stimulation, but as you narrow your eyes at him he gives you a small nod and runs his hands on thighs while he waits, careful not to touch himself as he does.

Looking back at Jungkook you swear you could cum just from the sight of him alone. The sweat that glistens off of his body, the way that his arms look while they pull your hips back, and the way that his sweaty curls stick to his face as he looks down at you cause your walls to tighten around him.

“Kookie,” you say as you feel him slow his pace once more, “I want to taste you.”

You feel him twitch inside of you, and he pulls himself from your body and walks up beside you.

He looks down at you as he continues to run his cock, and you tilt your head as you crawl onto Taehyung’s lap and say, “stand behind the couch.”

Taehyung takes the closeness of your bodies as the perspective opportunity to return his mouth to your nipples, and you let out a groan as you feel his hands on your back lightly pull your body closer. You begin grinding your hips on top of Taehyung and reach down and tease him with your lips.

He looks up at you as you lean down and place a slow kiss on his lips before lowering yourself onto him. You let out a gasp at his thickness, and you let yourself stretch around him as you begin working your way around him.

Your head falls forward and your nails lightly dig into his shoulder at the way he’s stretching you out, and you his lips on your neck as you let out a whimper.

Your mouth opens up for Jungkook’s cock and you moan as Taehyung sharply thrusts himself into you and completely bottoms out.

Jungkook’s hands make their way to your head and one finds a place along the back while the other moves your hair out of your face so that you can see him properly.

You realize how much you like seeing him like this, looking down at you with lust and adoration in his eyes. It turns you on almost as much as seeing him on his knees for you.

You take him deeper into your mouth and slide your hand from his base to your mouth as you suck.

He leans his head back and groans before sucking in a breath and confessing, “fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

Taehyung’s lips pepper your neck with kisses, and you can tell from his strained breathing that he’s going to cum soon as well.

Removing your hand from his shaft, you take him into your mouth just a little bit deeper and reach down and caress his balls. His body tenses up, and you hear him suck in a breath before shooting his load down your throat while continuing to thrust his way through his orgasm.

You increase the pace of your hips and drag your tongue along Jungkook’s cock as you clean him up.

Taehyung’s hands grab onto your hips and he begins thrusting himself into you harder and faster.

“You gonna be a good boy and cum for me,” you ask him as your hand makes its way to his throat.

He looks up into your eyes and groans, his eyes full of desperation.

You bring a hand down to your clit and tease it while tightening your grip around his throat and whispering, “then cum for me Tae.”

You feel him twitch inside of you before raising his hips one last time and stiffening beneath you.

He releases a cry, and you ride him through his orgasm and chase it with your own.

Breathing heavily, you rest your head on his chest and collapse on top of him.

Slowly, you lift up your head and begin kissing him once more, the taste of Jungkook still fresh on your tongue as he caresses it with his own.

Jungkook walks around behind you, and you look up at him as he leans down and kisses you. Taehyung's hands slide along your breasts, lightly tracing the outline of your nipples and the marks that now surround them.

You let out a sigh as Jungkook raises your body from Taehyung’s and lifts you up into his arms. You wrap your legs around his torso and trail kisses up his neck as he brings you up the stairs.

Glancing over at Taehyung who you can tell is already feeling abandoned, you curl a finger at him and gesture for him to follow.

Once in your bedroom, Jungkook lays you down on your bed and begins kissing you as you both move further up on the mattress.

“Can I ask you something,” Jungkook whispers as he takes your hand and places your bodies under the covers, his body staying close to yours as he leans his head on his fist.

You look into his eyes as Taehyung enters the room and crawls on the bed as well.

“Anything,” you assure him as you feel your eyelids getting heavier and heavier.

You feel Taehyung climb into the bed beside you and rest head on your pillow as he places his chin on your shoulder. He entwines his legs with one of yours and wraps one of his arms around your waist as he looks up at you.

Jungkook traces a finger from your chest to your collarbones as he looks down at you and says, “do you actually have feelings for me, or were you just trying to prove a point?”

You slowly reach a hand up to his face and guide his lips down to yours. The kiss you give him is tender and slow.

“I would never do anything to hurt you Kookie. I would never do anything to hurt either of you. You mean so much to me.”

Taehyung snuggles in closer to you and rests his head on your chest as Jungkook gives you a small nod and slides his arm under your head.

As you look up at your ceiling you think about the pleasant soreness you’re going to wake up to tomorrow, and just how lucky you are to have friends like Jungkook and Taehyung in your life.

You hear Taehyung ‘s breathing slow because you and as you fall asleep, you hear Jungkook release a small chuckle and say into your neck, “I know that if it came down to it, you’d be all mine.”

As you drift off, you find yourself smiling at him as you realize that even after everything that’s happened, he’s still just as cocky as he was before, and if there’s one thing you love, it’s a challenge.

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

Tag list:

@ephemeralkookie

@ohhlalaniall

@bangtanology

@tangledsparkles

#jungkook x reader #taehyung x reader #possessive Jungkook #jungkook smut #taehyung smut #bts roommates au #s0seo oneshot #bts pwp #btswriterscollective

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wandaswifeyforlifey · 3 years

Note

okay so since florence is in NY rn with zach i had an idea

florence runs into the reader and it’s all kinda awkward/cute cause their relationship was never official or really got to anyone but they both knew that they were in love each other.

and they probably make plans to go out to dinner or for some coffee or just a walk and zach gets jealous about it. (ofc not making him a bad person, ik he’s a good guy, it would be just for the sake of the story)

p.s: sorry if this idea sucks 🥲

A/n: This idea is amazing! But I think my writing get pretty shit in this one so I'm really sorry 😬 but (maybe) enjoy!

Ship: Florence Pugh x Reader

Warnings: Noneeee

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You and Florence had always had this chemistry and charisma between the two of you. You had met on the set of a movie you were filming together and since then you’d been inseparable. You could bounce off of each other in interviews and your acting was perfect when in a scene together. It was as if you made each other a better person. It didn’t take long for you to move into a house together in London and those were some of the best years of your life. That chemistry soon turned to a romance between the two of you. Nothing was official or released to the press but rumours of a relationship began to spread like a wildfire through the public. There were fan accounts dedicated to you both, fanfiction about you, people editing secret glances and smirks between you.

You weren’t sure how but soon after, Florence moved out and to America. The texts became less frequent, calling went from once every other day to maybe every month until you lost all contact with one another. It didn’t particularly hurt you because you knew that it sometimes went like that but you wish it hadn’t gone like that between the two of you. It took you a while to process this too, once you realised it was happening of course, but afterwards you never really thought about it too much.

Until, as fate would have it, you were forced to think about it again when you saw that sweet, joyful face on the street in New York. Before you knew it, you had crossed the road and walked up to her, waving your hand high.

“Florence! How’ve you been?” you shouted. Her face seemed to light up when she saw you. Heat rose in her cheeks as you drew attention to yourselves.

“Hey, Y/n. Jeez, it’s been a while hasn’t it?” she smiled.

“It really has. I haven’t seen you since, well, since you moved out I guess…” you feared that the awkward silence would come along, so you quickly changed the subject, “So! How’ve you been doing?”

“I’ve been good, I’ve been good. Well, I can afford an apartment in New York so there’s a start!” she laughed before continuing, “I’ve got myself a boyfriend too, we live there together and my career seems to be going pretty well, to be honest. I’m feeling good. Really good.”

You felt guilty for feeling jealous but you still did anyway. You weren’t jealous of her success, no. You were jealous of her boyfriend. It pained you to see her so happy without you. And you wanted to be happy for her, you really did! But you couldn’t.

“It’s been so good seeing you again after so long but I need to dash off. I promised I’d be home before 6 for dinner but maybe you could join us? Of course, if you have plans then that’s fine I just-” Florence said before you interrupted.

“I’d love to!” you responded without hesitation.

On the way to the apartment, you decided to take the prettiest route you knew. You showed her the hidden gems of New York until you arrived at the building. It was much more elegant than you had expected, with gold coating the edges of the gate and the clean white marble accents on the main building. It was perfect.

Flo walked you up to her apartment and as you came in you smelt one of the warmest, tastiest smells you could remember. It brought you back to Sunday’s when you and Florence were living together and she would have her usual roast. The highlight of your week was the roast potatoes with carrots, peas, Yorkshire puddings and the crisp, brown chicken for the two of you.

But the sound of a male voice snapped you back to reality. Her boyfriend, of course. He must have been following the recipe she always did but you knew it wouldn’t taste the same. Luckily, you seemed to arrive just as he was setting the table.

“Hey, sweetie! And hey…?” he paused, waiting for you to tell him your name.

“Y/n. My name’s Y/n,” you finished his sentence.

“You know Y/n, I’ve talked about her tons,” Florence added. Heat rose in your cheeks as you realised she never forgot about you.

“Well, you’ve come at the perfect time. I was just finishing up so if you both take a seat I’ll bring through everything and we can start eating,” you nodded in agreement and sat down.

“So, what’ve you been up to, Y/n?” she asked while laying her napkin on her lap.

“Ooh, well, I’ve been in a few plays in The West End and recently started working on a movie which brought me over here. It’s been quite hectic but in a good way, I guess. I’ve seen that you’ve been busy! I loved Little Women and Midsommar but I haven’t watched Black Widow yet, I meant to back at home.” you said.

“Thank you so much, it really means a lot to me that you enjoyed them. Really,” she replied with complete sincerity. You looked in each other’s eyes and you admired the hazel colour, it always had a way of calming you down and giving you this feeling of euphoria.

Taglist for all fics: @alotofpockets @catasha @kiwiana145

@marie45019

#wandaswifeyforlifey #florence pugh #flo pugh #florence #florence pugh x reader #flo pugh x reader #yelena belova #yelena #amy march #marvel #mcu #avengers #marvel cast #new york #marvel cast x reader #marvel x reader #marvel cast fanfic #marvel cast fic

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andypantsx3 · 4 years

Text

if i could keep cool | 5

pairing: Todoroki Shouto / Reader

length: 20,322 words / 6 chapters

summary: A villain attacks Shouto Todoroki’s apartment and kidnaps what he apparently believes to be Todoroki’s secret lover. The bad news—for both you and the villain in question—is that you’re just there to clean the place. That’s how it starts.

tags: romance, reader-insert, accidental sugar daddy shouto, misunderstandings

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut

You spent the rest of the weekend freaking out about how handsy you had been with Shouto.

Not only had you stuffed him into the hat and the sunglasses, not only had you curled tightly into his politely offered warmth, but then you’d literally held his hand the entire way to your apartment. You’d been too drunk to be self-conscious about what you’d been doing at the time, but once sober, you were embarrassed to realize you’d been clinging to him like some kind of beer-and-yakitori-filled limpet.

You kept replaying the whole walk home in your head, reviewing the absent way you’d played with his fingers, how you’d mused on how warm and large his hands were. Then he’d very obviously tried to offload you as quickly as he could at your door, insisting that you go inside when you continued to hang around him, and he’d literally pushed you inside at the end of it.

God, you could just die.

Shouto, for his part, seemed pretty unbothered by the whole thing. He texted you a couple times over the weekend, as if things were completely normal, but you still dreaded the moment that Tuesday rolled around.

How were you supposed to look him in the face after making such an obvious fool of yourself? How was he being so chill about things? Maybe he was just used to everyone in a thousand mile radius making an immediate mess of themselves for him. But still, it was embarrassing that you were one of them.

Tuesday evening did roll around, however, and soon enough you found yourself tentatively cracking open the door to his apartment. You sent up a silent prayer for him to not be home, but your hopes were immediately dashed when you caught sight of his lean form stretched out on his couch, a book in hand. His head raised when he heard the door, and a small smile curled his mouth when he caught sight of you.

Your heart thumped very deliberately in your chest as if to call attention to the fact that you were even more of a lovestruck idiot than you’d been willing to admit.

You tried to ignore your entire body and the way it felt like every fiber was waking up and bending towards him like flowers in the sun, stepping carefully through the door and closing it behind you. As you did, an appealing but unusual scent met your nose, and you glanced around in confusion. What looked suspiciously like cookware and spices littered his heretofore completely untouched countertops, and you felt an eyebrow raise. Was he...cooking?

“Something’s wrong,” you blurted immediately.

Those heterochromatic eyes snapped to your face and he leaned forward in concern. “What?”

“You’re cooking,” you said. “You’ve never cooked one single time the entire time I’ve worked here. Your countertops told me so.”

He let out a soft laugh, relaxing back into his couch. “There’s a first time for everything.”

You eyed him suspiciously. Was he okay? Had he been attacked or something? Was there such a thing as a villain with a quirk that made people cook things?

“What’s the occasion?” you asked carefully, watching him for any sign of a quirk’s influence.

He gestured you over to his living room and you went to him slowly. “I thought we’d hang out again.” He still pronounced the phrase like it sat uneasily in his mouth.

You stared at him. He wanted to hang out? “Shouto...but...my shift.”

He directed you to a chair across the coffee table from him. “I have to leave on a mission for a week tomorrow morning. I...wanted to spend time with you before I left.”

A weird mixture of concern and warmth washed over you. Okay, that was super cute, but that didn’t explain the complete absurdity of him suddenly reneging on what you strongly suspected was an unbroken streak of over two decades not cooking a single thing. Was the mission he was going on super dangerous? Did he think he wouldn’t come back from it? Was he crossing experiences off his bucket list before he went?

Your concern must have read on your face because he leaned forward, one cool hand taking yours. You almost jumped out of your skin with surprise.

“It’s not any more dangerous than my everyday work,” he said in that deep tone.

You frowned. That honestly wasn’t saying much, all things considered. His job literally involved fighting super villains.

“I just...thought it would be nice,” he said, and you thought you read a note of self-consciousness in his tone. You frowned.

What the hell did he have to be self-conscious about? He wasn’t the one who’d made a complete and utter fool of himself Friday night. You were honestly surprised he’d let you into his apartment at all, after what had happened.

But maybe...this was his way of telling you it didn’t matter? He was clearly making an effort to be nice--maybe he wanted to try again? If he really did, if that’s what this was really all about, then you could do that. And this time, you would keep your hands to yourself.

“What are you making?” you asked, your curiosity getting the better of you.

Shouto leaned in conspiratorially. “Vegetables.”

You let out a shocked laugh. “No way.”

A small smirk pulled at his mouth. “I don’t know how you usually make yours, but a friend had some suggestions.”

You looked at him curiously and he pulled out his phone, clicking into a chat and sliding it across the coffee table to you.

You glanced down at the messages, one eyebrow lifting when you saw a series of really good-looking recipes featuring roasted fall vegetables, then choked on a laugh when you caught sight of the other messages interspersed between the recipe links.

Do you seriously not fucking know how to cook a vegetable, icy hot?

[Honey Roasted Carrots with Yogur…] > http://bit.ly/9iJZ5jt

Fucking useless.

[Grilled Zucchini and Feta Toasts w...] > http://bit.ly/8oKZ5jf

Here, dipshit: [Charred Vegetable Medley with Burrata…] > http://bit.ly/5oDF4fi

If you food poison her, I don’t give a shit.

Don’t text me again.

“These look really good, but, um,” you chuckled, “your secret lover seems a little displeased.”

Shouto’s mouth curled. “He’s the jealous type.”

You laughed. “And when he’s clearly the superior chef, with recipes like that. I talk a big vegetable game, but I can’t give you what he can.”

Shouto huffed a laugh. “Anger issues and insults?”

You grinned back at him, then jumped when a timer went off in the kitchen.

“Stay here,” Shouto commanded. A cool hand pressed you down into a chair, and then he was gone.

Your eyes followed him as he made his way to the kitchen, tracing over the lines of his broad shoulders. He’d chosen another soft sweater today and he looked so fucking good, so absurdly domestic as he pulled vegetables out of the oven and looked them over. It was clear he had no idea what he was doing, and that somehow made everything ten times cuter, the sight of him way too much for your poor heart to take.

He was too easy to picture as a boyfriend trying to do something sweet for his girlfriend, and your teeth ached with the thought of it. You wondered if this was how he was going to treat his lover, when he eventually got one for real. That girl was going to be so damn lucky, she had no idea.

Shouto wandered back over with plates loaded with vegetables, two wine glasses, and a bottle of something dark and red.

You eyed the bottle carefully. You’d promised yourself you wouldn’t get handsy this time, and it was hard enough to keep your cool around him when you were sober. You didn’t know if you trusted yourself with a glass or two of wine in you.

“Uh, this looks really good,” you said, examining your plate for a distraction. It looked like Shouto had made every single one of the recipes Bakugou had sent him, and they honestly didn’t look too bad.

Shouto adopted a carefully blank look, like he was trying not to look too pleased. “We’ll see if that impression lasts. This is the first time any of my kitchenware has seen action.”

You laughed. “I trust you. Besides, I’m not hard to impress. In freshman year I once ate nothing but instant ramen for six weeks straight.”

He smirked and moved to pour the wine. You opened your mouth to stop him, lest you drink too much and get a little too hands on again, but you froze when you caught sight of the flowers at the center of his coffee table. The bouquet from Friday stared back at you.

Heat flared in your cheeks when you realized he’d kept it. The flowers definitely were not nice enough to fit in with the rest of his modern apartment, and the edges of the petals were looking a little more obviously wilted now, but he’d kept them. He’d found a vase and put them in water and set them out on his coffee table, and that was so embarrassing and so, so cute.

Shouto caught you looking. “I really did mean that I liked them,” he said evenly.

“I’ll get you something nicer,” you suddenly blurted, eyes still locked on the bouquet. “When you come back from your mission. If you come back safe.”

He looked at you curiously, eyes fixing on you unblinkingly. “You sound concerned.”

You shifted uncomfortably. “Well, yeah. I--” have the world’s fattest crush on you “--care about you.”

Shouto’s eyes darkened and he considered you for a long moment. “I care about you, too,” he admitted quietly.

You put a hand to your face to make sure it wasn’t actually on fire, and you leaned forward to help yourself to the wine so you didn’t have to look at him. Fuck it. You would just have to watch your hands extra carefully.

“So, uh, where’s the mission?” you asked hurriedly, suddenly desperate to move the conversation along. You needed to put a ton of words in between Shouto and what you’d just admitted, give him as little opportunity as possible to think in any more depth about what you’d said. It was cute that he’d returned the sentiment, but he did not mean it in the same way you did.

Shouto gave a vague answer, looking apologetic that he couldn’t share more, and your gut twisted at the idea that he’d be somewhere far away for over a week while you had no idea where he was. He looked uncomfortable with the idea as well, and you immediately steered the conversation back to more positive waters, starting up a stream of compliments over the vegetables that had turned out actually pretty good, especially for his first time cooking anything.

You had to stifle a laugh at how hard Shouto tried not to look smug.

As they always did, the hours slipped away easily with hardly any sign of their passing, and before you realized, it was well past when your shift was supposed to have ended. You and Shouto had talked yourselves almost all the way to midnight.

“I’ll help clean up before I go,” you announced, standing up and bringing plates into Shouto’s kitchen. He followed you closely, warm at your back.

“Let me,” he said quietly and you looked up at him, smiling.

“I literally came here to clean and then didn’t do shit,” you informed him. “Besides, you can’t clean up. You have to supervise to ensure the safety of your countertops, remember?”

He smirked. “How could I forget?”

You grinned and turned back to the sink, powering through all the dishes and stowing the leftovers away in tupperware. Shouto watched you hawkishly as you wiped down the counters, and you laughed.

“You can’t protect them from me while you’re gone,” you intoned, turning to him. “You might as well say your farewells now.”

His eyes narrowed and he stepped closer to you. You took a step back in surprise, your hip bumping the counter.

“I seem to recall bribery works quite well,” he said, his voice dipping lower. Your skin prickled at the sound. “What would you have me offer this time?”

You stared up at him, fighting down a shiver. He must not have realized how close he’d stepped, but he was near enough that you could feel the heat of him and smell that cologne again, that clean scent that made your head spin. After a couple of glasses of wine, you were helpless to fight the way your eyes were drawn to his mouth. Every nerve ending in your body snapped to attention.

You leaned forward, feeling dazed. Then you froze when you realized what you were doing. Jesus Christ, you needed to be arrested.

“Uh, consider the vegetables payment enough,” you said quickly, gazing up at him with wide eyes.

Shouto watched you for a long moment with a strange little smile playing about his mouth, then stepped back, letting you go. You breathed a quiet sigh of relief while simultaneously mourning the loss of his proximity.

He turned and grabbed up the extra food to press into your hands, then called an agency car for you as he always did, and walked you down to the lobby of his building.

“Please stay safe,” you said to him as you lingered in the doorway, hating the way your voice sounded a little desperate.

He smiled, and before you knew what was happening, his arms went around you, pulling you into his chest. He was so warm and broad and hard with lean muscle, and he smelled so, so good. You couldn’t suppress your full body shiver.

“I’ll stay safe,” he said into your hair. “If you keep my countertops safe.”

You couldn’t help but laugh into his sweater. “It’s a deal.”

He kept you pressed to him for a few moments more, and you tried to be subtle about the lungfuls of air you were taking, the way you were memorizing the feel of him to replay over and over in your brain for the literal rest of your life. Eventually, one of the security officers coughed, and you jumped back, shame-faced.

“I’ll see you in a week,” Shouto promised.

You smiled. “See you in a week.”

Then you turned and walked to the car. You could feel a pair of eyes hot on your back, following you until the car pulled away and turned out into the night.

The rest of the week passed fairly uneventfully. You ate, slept, wrote a paper, and clocked in to your usual Thursday shift at Shouto’s apartment, trying not to feel too disappointed at how empty it felt without him there. He hadn’t told you much, but you had gathered that his assignment had taken him outside of the country, and this meant that you hadn’t received any texts from him in days.

You tried to keep yourself distracted all through the weekend, getting a leg up on all the finals work that was starting to pile up, putting in a ton of hours at the fancy coffee shop with your laptop and several americanos that were (to your fond exasperation) still completely paid for.

It was only when Monday rolled around that something went completely and utterly wrong, and not in any way that you would have ever expected.

When you walked into lecture that morning, you immediately felt like you were being watched. A quick check in your periphery confirmed that a couple groups of students were casting subtle glances in your direction, and excited whispers began to pick up around you. You quickly ran a hand over your face to see if you’d accidentally gotten toothpaste on yourself, and glanced down at your clothes to make sure no coffee had spilled.

Nothing came to your attention, so you settled into your seat, wondering.

Lecture passed slowly, and as the minutes ticked by, you felt more and more pairs of eyes fix themselves on you. When class ended, you watched in bemusement as everyone turned to watch you leave, and you launched yourself out of the room as fast as you could, heartbeat picking up.

What the hell was wrong with people?

Almost as soon as you’d managed to duck out of the building, your phone rang with an unknown number. You stared at it blankly, considering hanging up, but a feeling of foreboding pressed down on you with a sudden urgency. What if something had happened to Shouto?

“Y/N,” a woman on the other end of the line said briskly, as soon as you picked up. “This is Shouto’s manager.”

Your heart leapt into your throat, but before you could gasp out a question, she was talking to you urgently. “I need you to head home as quickly as possible, and don’t talk to anyone on your way.”

“What?” you asked wildly. “Is everything okay? Is Shouto hurt?”

“Shouto’s fine,” she said, then paused. “You haven’t seen the news, then.”

“No?” you frowned. A pair of passing girls stopped short when they caught sight of you, and your sense of confusion magnified twofold.

“You’ve been outed as Shouto’s secret lover,” his manager sighed.

Your heart stopped. What?

“Excuse me?” you asked.

“Someone got a couple shots of you on your date the other week, and a few more in the lobby of his building,” she explained. “That, and you match the description of the woman the villain took from his apartment when he’d claimed to take Shouto’s lover hostage. News outlets will be tracking you down any minute.”

You glanced up, only to find the entire walkway of students frozen, watching you. Your eyes widened and you quickly turned on your heel, picking up into a brisk jog towards your apartment.

“It wasn’t a date though!” you hissed into the phone, anxiety washing over you. “It’s not--they can’t think that Shouto would--with me--!”

Shouto’s manager made a clicking noise with her tongue. “Whether you are or aren’t, it certainly looks like you are,” she paused for a long time, then added somewhat hesitantly, “And as soon as you get home, I need you to delete your twitter account.”

Your limbs iced over. Oh fucking hell--she’d found your twitter account? You launched yourself into a faster run, tearing down the city blocks towards your apartment.

“Oh my god, how did you--? When did--? I am so dead if anyone finds that,” you puffed as you ran, “Has anyone else found it yet or just you?”

“Not yet. It will take the media a few hours to track down all of your information but, having reviewed the contents myself, I think it’s safe to say you’ll want it removed.”

You cringed. You didn’t know how she’d found it, but you hated to think of Shouto finding out exactly what was on there. You hoped she kept things to herself.

“I’ll delete it,” you promised as you rounded the corner into your neighborhood, ignoring the stitch that was making itself known in your side. You needed to hit the gym more. “But what do I do about the secret lover thing? They can’t think that Shouto would actually date me.”

“You do nothing,” she commanded, a pit formed in your gut. “We’ll ignore it, and eventually they will lose interest.”

Your stomach churned. It had already been months since the kidnapping and they clearly hadn’t lost interest yet. You hated to think of Shouto trapped in an even more vicious cycle of gossip all because you couldn’t keep your damn hands to yourself. God, what the hell had you gotten him into?

“That’s not fair to him,” you said, slowing to a walk when you saw a crowd of people lingering around your apartment. You picked up several cameras, and your insides twisted nervously when you realized what was going on. They’d already found your apartment.

“Shouto’s a big boy, he can handle himself,” his manager explained, but you heard her only dimly, as if through water. A plan was suddenly forming in the back of your mind as you considered the crowds milling outside of your apartment. “We’ll come up with a plan later, and--”

“No,” you said, biting your lip nervously. “I think I--I think I know what I can do. I’ll just tell everyone the truth and then they’ll leave him alone.”

"Absolutely not," Shouto's manager said, sounding weirdly like your mom just before she was about to ground you. "You have no experience with the media, they will eat you alive."

You considered this. "But what harm is there in just telling the truth? It's not like you have to have experience for that."

"No," she said, like that would settle things. But you just watched the swarm of people, the feeling getting stronger. You'd gotten kidnapped, you'd suggested the izakaya, you'd held his hand. Shouto was in this situation because of you, whether you were to blame or not. You had to fix things.

“Y/N,” his manager called from the other end of the line, but you weren’t listening. You quickly ended the call, then logged into twitter, clicking into settings and immediately hitting delete on your account. You would not survive if the entire world found out just how thirsty you were for the man you were about to set the record straight on. You ran a quick hand through your hair, making sure that you didn’t look completely embarrassing, and straightened out your clothes.

Then, squaring your shoulders, you walked up to your building.

Immediately, you were swarmed with cameras, all manner of microphones ramming you in the chin and elbows.

“Y/N,” a woman shouted, her eyes bright with excitement, “How does it feel to be Shouto Todoroki’s secret lover? Why did you hide your relationship for so long?”

You’d anticipated the question, but you still couldn’t help the way you stared at her. “Um, I’m not sure if I’m qualified to answer that. We’re not, um--it’s not like that.”

Wow it was hard to talk in front of a camera. Your face heated.

She seemed to ignore you. “Why have the two of you been spotted together on multiple occasions, holding hands and hugging? You seem fairly close to me.”

You cringed. “T-that’s my fault. I drank a little too much and Shouto was helping me home. The hug was just between friends.”

“Todoroki took you home when you were drunk? Did anything happen?”

You gawped. “No, of course not! What are you--? Are you kidding me?”

“A man takes a woman home late at night, and you insist nothing happened?”

Your temper flared. You didn’t like the things she was insinuating about Shouto, and it was already embarrassing enough that nothing had actually happened. He all but thrown you inside to get away from you.

“No,” you said acidly, “It’s not like that for him. Shouto doesn’t feel that way about me.”

“And yet he was holding your hand?” the woman prompted.

Was this a fucking jury trial? Why the hell did she have so many questions? The words bubbled up out of your throat before you could stop them.

“No, I told you it’s not like that! Shouto has zero feelings for me and he was just being nice. If you want a story, you’re going to have to look elsewhere because there is no way on earth Shouto Todoroki would so much as glance in my direction, and he shouldn’t be put on trial for things that a drunk friend did. If Shouto has a secret lover, then that’s news to me too.”

The woman paused, then a grin spread across her face. “You say Todoroki has no feelings for you, but I notice you’ve not made the same claim. Could this instead be a case of unrequited love? Tell me, do you have feelings for a certain pro hero?”

It was a testament to how overwhelmed you were feeling, how much your brain was spinning, how unequipped you had come to lie, how completely and utterly stupid it was for you to have done this in the first place that the words that came out of your mouth next were not “no,” were not “are you kidding,” were not anything that gave you the safety of plausible deniability.

Instead, you opened your mouth, and in a move that would make you cringe until the literal day you died, you said: “Uh--wouldn’t you?”

#shouto todoroki x reader #bnha #todoroki x reader #fanfic #boku no hero academia #bnha x reader #shouto todoroki

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lifeofkaze · 3 years

Text

A Very Hexley Birthday

A/N: Seeing all those beautiful edits on my dash for the birthday of my favourite twins in the Potterverse (I said what I said), I knew I couldn't possibly do any better. So instead, let's have a look what Ethel and Jim are up to on their birthday, shall we?

This is for you, Bestie! @the-al-chemist

Happy Birthday, Jim and Ethel! 💛❤️

Naturally, Ethel and Jim Hexley and Héloïse Perrault belong to my favourite person in this world @the-al-chemist. The attending guests belong to @slytherindisaster (Lysander Mercury), @kc-and-oc (Siobhan Llewellyn, Bradford Pendleton, Oliver and Eliot Gerard, Ivy Anders), @hogwartsmysteryho (Vinny Raymond), @that-scouse-wizard (Cledwyn Ironwood), @cursebreakerfarrier (Galen Stagg), and @unfortunate-arrow (Anthony Rosen).

Even though the golden arrows of the September sun were showing themselves on the enchanted ceiling in the Great Hall of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Jeremiah Hexley was in a rather glum mood when he reached for the huge bowl of porridge at the Hufflepuff House table.

It was just out of his reach and his fingertips only grazed the rim; he simply would have needed to stand up to get it, but that would only draw attention to the tall, lankish boy, which was something he generally tried to avoid, but especially so today. So Jim sat straight again and reached for a slice of toast instead.

“I wish you the finest of mornings,” he heard a voice call out to him, “isn’t it a wonderful day outside? You should have seen the colours of the sunrise; no one can paint anything as beautiful as that.”

The voice belonged to Lysander Mercury, another Hufflepuff boy from his year, and undoubtedly Jim’s best friend. He had a spring in his step as he walked up to Jim, and his thumbs were hooked under the straps of his suspenders; he hadn’t bothered putting the black jumper of their school uniform over them yet.

He sat down opposite Jim with a graceful motion, grabbing the porridge bowl in the same instance and pushing it over to Jim. Giving Lysander a grateful look, Jim helped himself to a healthy portion and drizzled a teaspoon full of dark golden honey on top, just the way he liked it. But even the prospect of his favourite breakfast wasn’t enough to lighten Jim’s mood, and it wasn’t lost on Lysander.

“Why such a long face, old fellow?” he grinned, and his stress on the word ‘old’ wasn’t lost on Jim, quite the contrary. “It’s not a day to be brooding!”

Jim opened his mouth to explain himself, but was interrupted by the sound of quick footsteps approaching from behind him; a moment later two pairs of arms were flung around his neck and Jim almost knocked over his bowl of porridge in his attempt to not be thrown off the bench.

“Happy Birthday, Jim!” two girls shouted into his ears in perfect unison, of course they did. The sound of their excitement cut through Jim’s eardrums and he winced as he pushed them away.

“Uhm, thank you,” he muttered, “Happy Birthday to you as well,” he said in the direction of the smaller of the two.

Ethel Hexley, his twin sister and complete opposite and in every aspect imaginable, grinned and clapped Jim on his back so hard he almost lurched forward. “Thanks, kiddo. One more year of making sure my little brother has at least some fun in his life.”

“Like a proper big sister should,” her best friend Selene Fraser added with a knowing nod. Not even the Sorting Hat had been able to separate these two, and sometimes Jim wondered who out of them three actually were the twin siblings.

“But, er, you know Effy’s only older by a few minutes... so she isn’t really my big sister, if you want to put it that way…”

Jim trailed off when he saw something whisk past him into the direction of the porridge bowl. Before he had the chance to dive straight into it though, Lysander had already gotten hold of the brown and white ferret Ethel and Selene shared custody of; Alan’s nose twitched as Lysander held him out to Ethel.

“Take your ferret back, Hexley,” he said, “I’d say you two are looking like the actual twins here, but seeing as it’s unfortunately your birthday as well, I’ll let it pass. Consider this my present.”

“Seeing as Alan definitely is the best looking guy I’ve spoken to today, I’ll take that as a compliment, Mercury,” Ethel immediately shot back, with that unmistakable glint in her eyes that Jim knew promised nothing but bother, very wordy bother.

Lysander had already leaned slightly forward as well, his eyes fixed on Jim’s twin sister, ready for their morning round of bickering and Jim sighed.

“Could you two, uhm… maybe, just maybe… perhaps stop it? Just for today?”

“Leave him, Effy, he’s not worth it. Not a match for you anyway,” Selene muttered to her best friend; Jim gave her a grateful look.

“True, Sels, I won’t have my birthday spoiled by a wanna-be artist in suspenders,” Ethel said indignantly, and Lysander opened his mouth in protest. Selene elbowed Ethel into the side, before setting Alan onto her shoulder and linking arms with her, quickly pulling her away before things would escalate. Again.

Selene turned around after a few steps and called over her shoulder. “Come to the Quidditch pitch after classes, Jim, will you? We have a little surprise for you!”

Throughout the whole day, Jim wasn’t sure what made him more uncomfortable: all the attention he got because it was his birthday, or the prospect of a surprise set up for him by Ethel and Selene. The sheer idea of everything these two could have been planning was enough to upset Jim’s stomach and he couldn’t even enjoy his favourite roast beef for lunch.

When their last class of the day was over, Jim reluctantly made his may over to the Quidditch pitch, as he had been told to. He had wanted to ask Lysander to come, but then again, bringing Ethel and Lysander into the same space was too much for him today; or any day, to be precise.

As soon as he stepped through the opening in the wooden perimeter of the pitch, he raised his eyebrows in surprise. Ethel and Selene had laid out several red and white chequered picnic blankets in the middle of the immaculate green lawn, just like the ones their parents had at home. He could see baskets full of sandwiches, little cakes, fruit and cheese on every single one of them, alongside countless jugs of pumpkin juice.

Naturally, Ethel and Selene were standing in the midst of the people already gathered there, laughing and joking and having a wonderful time, and Jim’s heart sank a little. He saw many familiar faces; he saw Siobhan Llewellyn and her best friend Galen Stagg, who were feeding slices of roast beef to a very content looking Alan; he saw Oliver Gerard who was laughing with Ethel about a lively story she was telling; he had brought his brother, Eliot, a Ravenclaw boy Jim didn’t really know, and who was looking very comfortable talking to Selene, who was standing next to Ivy Anders and Vinny Raymond were sharing some cake; he could even spy the eternally grumpy Cledwyn Ironwood, who never got tired of proclaiming he wasn’t Ethel’s friend but, just like Jim, had obviously stood no chance in declining the invitation.

All of these people were there, but all of them were Ethel’s friends, not his. Jim sighed; he knew Ethel and Selene had meant well, but they just didn’t understand him, they never really did.

“I ‘ope we aren’t late, non?”

Upon hearing the familiar French accent, Jim’s heart skipped a beat before beating doubly as fast as before. He turned around and his eyes went wide when he saw the group of people who had quietly come up behind him.

“Bon anniversaire, Jim!” Héloïse swept in and quickly kissed him on both cheeks in close succession, before pushing an immaculately wrapped gift into his hands, the edges of the paper sharp and the bow perfectly tied. Jim tried to thank her but his words came out as a horrible stutter and he felt the heat rise to his face; it felt particularly warm where Héloïse had kissed him.

Next up came his dear friend Bradford, who shared his enthusiasm for painting; he extended his hand to Jim to wish him a happy birthday as well, and the gift he was handing over to him felt suspiciously like the elaborate sketchbook Jim had seen on his last trip to Hogsmeade.

His roommate Anthony was there, too, as always accompanied by his wolfhound Conall. Jim bent down to pet the animal and scratch his ears. He had to smile when he saw how enthusiastic Conall was at the prospect of all the attention; at least one of them was, then.

Even Lysander had been invited, or had in any case decided to show up; you never knew with Ethel and him. But whether he had actually been asked to be here or not, Jim was glad to see him.

By Brady’s side, more quiet than the rest, stood Brady’s friend - or at least that’s what they claimed to be - Carolyn Nyberg. Jim was surprised to see her here; he and Carolyn didn’t really have anything in common but Brady, but then again, they were seldomly seen without each other these days. She inclined her head and quietly congratulated him.

The question as to why Carolyn had come, though, was quickly answered when Ethel spotted the new arrivals and bounded over to them. “It’s so good you came! I’m so happy all of you could make it to our birthday picnic. Most of you, that is,” she said with a pointed look in Lysander’s direction, but before he could shoot back, her attention had already shifted to Carolyn.

“Did you manage to make what we talked about?”

Jim could see Carolyn was trying hard not to roll her eyes. “Please, who do you take me for? That was a child’s play.”

Brady gave her a pointed look. “Be nice, Caro, it’s their birthday.”

She sighed, but her face softened and she reached into the hidden pocket in her dress, producing a small, stoppered vial with purple liquid inside. She weighed it in her hands, looking at the mugs of pumpkin juice on the picnic blankets. “I’d say six drops per mug should be sufficient.” She moved the vial out of Ethel’s reach when she extended her hand towards it. “Not one drop more, you hear me?”

“Loud and clear.”

Jim’s apprehension about Ethel putting a potion into their drinks soon vanished when he saw what it was that Carolyn had brewed on his sister’s request. After drinking from the modified juice, everyone of their guests had a distinct spring to their step that made them jump a little every time they moved. He remembered how much fun Ethel and Selene had had when they had turned the floor of the courtyard elastic with the Spongify charm; it had gotten them three weeks worth of detention and a passion for jumping as high as they possibly could.

Not being particularly keen on moving around like a bouncing ball, Jim had only taken the tiniest sip of pumpkin juice when Ethel had offered it to him; it was enough to give his step a tolerable spring, but not enough to make him bounce like the others, and that was just the way Jim preferred it to be.

Jim usually didn’t feel comfortable among so many people, but he had to give Ethel that, even he was enjoying himself. He watched Héloïse and Selene sharing excited whispers about the latest story of the Muggle detective they were so keen about, while Brady was bickering with Siobhan over one thing or the other, and Lysander was busy trying to place Alan on top of Carolyn’s head, who told him very sternly to stop it if he didn’t want a swig of Veritaserum served with his next meal.

Happy that his and Ethel’s friends seemed to be having a good time, Jim sat down on one of the blankets, partly because he wanted to eat something, and partly because he needed a step back from the hustle and bustle.

It wasn’t long, however, before Ethel spotted him. She walked over to him, jumping into the air with each step, and slumped down onto the blanket beside him.

“Aren’t you enjoying yourself?” she wanted to know. For a very brief moment, concern flickered over her freckled face. “Because I did my very best to make this fun for both of us. Look, I even invited that horrible friend of yours,” she said and pulled a face in Lysander’s direction; he stuck his tongue out at her in response before turning away.

“No, uhm, I just needed a short break,” Jim answered and set down his plate. “You, er… you did a great job, Effy, you know? I’m having fun, I think… It’s a lovely birthday party, really… so thank you. I, uhm, I didn’t expect this, to be honest.”

“But why?” Ethel asked; she looked truly baffled at his words.

“We’re just so… uhm, how do I say it… we’re just so different, you and I. I’m quiet and, er, shy, I guess and you’re so… loud and popular and we’re just not much alike.”

Ethel dipped her head back and laughed loudly. “I’m not popular, Jim,” she sniggered, “I just don’t leave people alone. Tell them you’re friends often enough and they end up believing it,” she grinned and waved to Cledwyn, who rolled his eyes and looked away. “There’s nothing more to it than that. I bet you could do it, too.”

But Jim shook his head. “I’m not really so sure of that... I think.”

Ethel nudged him into the side with her shoulder. “Give yourself more credit. You’re my twin brother after all, that has to account for something. If this is any help, we may be polar opposites, but you’re still my favourite person in this world.”

“Uhm, what about Selene?”

Ethel pursed her lips. “Okay, maybe it’s a tie.”

Jim had to smile at that. Remembering something, he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a piece of parchment, tied to a scroll with a crimson piece of ribbon.

“Happy Birthday, Effy,” he said, for once without a stutter.

Ethel’s eyes went wide when she saw the picture Jim had drawn for her. It showed the two of them, laughing with each other. Ethel, despite being smaller than Jim, had his head in a headlock and was ruffling his hair while he was trying to escape, but he was laughing just as much as she was. The drawn versions of themselves were moving over the parchment in fluent motions. Jim had asked for Héloïse’s help with enchanting it; with his French still being awful, it had been one of the most awkward and complicated conversations in his entire life.

“It’s beautiful, Jim, thank you,” she said and flung her arms around his neck. When she let go, she looked a little sheepish. “Now I feel stupid for what I got you, although I’m pretty sure you can need it.”

With a wink, she produced her own gift. Jim could see she had wrapped it in her typical Ethel-style, with way too much wrapping paper and loads of colourful ribbons; one of them looking suspiciously like the hair tie their grandmother had gotten Ethel for Christmas. He blushed deeply when he read the cover of the small red book the parcel contained:

101 Foolproof Ways to a French Witch’s Heart - A Guide for Modern Gentlemen

“Effy… that… um… you… why…” Jim stuttered, his face a deeper shade of red than the Gryffindor banners hanging from the wooden tower behind Ethel.

His twin sister only sniggered. “Read it and thank me later.”

She got to her feet and pulled Jim along, motioning to the entrance of the pitch, where Selene was in the process of levitating a giant birthday cake onto the field. It had enchanted lion and badger figurines on top; the lion was throwing tiny pieces of cake after the badger, who caught it with its mouth.

“Come on now, dear brother,” she said as she linked arms with him and half marched, half dragged him across the lawn towards their friends. “We have a cake to cut.”

#ethel hexley #jim hexley #selene fraser #lysander mercury #heloise perrault #cledwyn ironwood #oliver gerard #eliot gerard #anthony rosen #bradford pendleton iv #carolyn nyberg #hphl #hogwarts legacy #oc birthday #writer besties

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docholligay · 4 years

Text

An Overwatch Christmas Carol: Stave III---The Second of the Spirits

Hello there! The third part of this is up up up, and at 11,000 words I know it’s long, so if you wanted to read it in parts that’s great and okay! I worked hard on this and I hope you like it!

Her alarm struck, though she had not set it, and she felt at her own body as she awoke from the horrible nightmare.

Ana, like most people of her ilk, believed herself ready in any moment for any sort of thing that came her way, that she could master it, and tolerate it, and come out victorious. So have all of us, in a moment where we are very courageous in our own homes and beds, said that same. And so despite the harrowing nature of what she had just experienced, it seemed to Ana Amari that anything between a children’s choir and an army might have been just as expected.

But what Ana was most unnerved by, and utterly unprepared for, was nothing. The alarm sounded, and still it stayed dark, a cold, and quiet, just as her room had always been, and no matter how many times she looked over to the clock, at five, ten, or twenty minutes, still the same nothing answered her back. This was enough to make her brave, as it might us all, and so she spat her words into the darkness.

“Ridiculous.”

There was a light from the other room, at that, peeking and shining under the door with a brilliance Ana did not know.. The apartment in Brixton was tiny and dark, and would never have been accused of any manner of warmth by anyone, and yet now the light coming from the living room was golden and warm, dancing light firelight on the walls despite there being no fireplace anywhere near the building.

“Right then!” There was a chipper, high voice from the other room, “Come on! Christmas is ‘alf over already!”

Ana stepped out of bed, creeping toward the door. There had been Jack, and there had been Reinhardt, and despite herself, it was getting harder and harder to pretend that it was all something in her mind. And she knew that voice, had known it for more years than semed reasonable, when she reflected upon it.

She turned the corner into the living room. There was a tree brightly festooned with ornaments and tinsel, and while it might not have been the finest tree in the world it had clearly been dressed with great enthusiasm. There were stockings hung from the edge of the window, carefully nailed in, mismatched and well-loved. The room rang with an echo of laughter, almost as a chorus, but one voice above them all.

And, on what had been her coffee table, now grown long and covered with a white cloth, a grand feast, ham with a rich, shiny, glaze, turkey overflowing with stuffing, rich turnip and parsnip gratin, dripping with sauce, bowls full of roasted potatoes and mashed potatoes, pigs in blankets, Yorkshire puddings, and mince pies with brandy butter.

Tracer sat cross-legged on the end of it, in a bright green sweater, which looked thick and soft even from this distance, a crown of red and green gold star tinsel, mixed here and there with jingle bells, on her head. There was a Christmas pudding in front of her, and she popped a bit into her mouth before she looked up and saw Ana. She swallowed, licked the fork, and grinned.

“Right then.” She set down the plate, and leapt to her feet, “Come on! Christmas is ‘alf over already!”

Ana opened her mouth to protest, but if she had to hear another lecture about narrative structure and known mythologies, she was going to lose whatever was left of her mind. Besides, she had little belief that Tracer would care much about her own feelings on Christmas, and even smaller still was that small pang of regret, the part from last Christmas still dancing in her mind.

“You already said that.” She allowed.

Tracer stood up straight for a moment, and considered, hand at her chin. “I did, didn’t I?” she laughed. “Was right both times!”

Lena Oxton had died. Ana knew this. She knew it in the same way that she knew Jack had died, and Reinhardt had died, and she had attended their funerals, and she had seem them burned or buried. But Tracer’s death was newer to her, having been an interruption to the month of November, the dirt on her grave not quite settled.

It was as, well, unsettling, as her encounter with Reinhardt had been. The room seemed to respond to her, the lights twinkling when she laughed, the smell of the Christmas feast following her about the room like a cologne. The flames seemed to dance and she bopped about the place, and it was only in that moment, Tracer’s eyes glittering brightly, that Ana noticed something.

She wore no chronal accelerator. Ana never would have remembered her without it.

Too much. Draw back.

“You look fairly good, for someone who has been dead for six weeks.” Ana snorted.

Tracer’s eyes narrowed, and the cheer left her face.

“Don’t get smart with me Ana, not in the mood.” She scowled, “Doing this for Jack, because I said I would, so I did, and I’m a woman of me word. But don’t think I particularly feel any sorrow over the idea of you spending the rest of your life alone. I don’t, not a drop.”

Ana opened her mouth for a moment, and then reconsidered. The image of Jack in her mind, of him somehow gathering this group of people beyond the grave to help her, the constant reiteration that this was her last chance, somehow for once in her life, Ana Amari could not come up with some sharp rebuke.

She looked straight ahead, and frowned, adjusting her scarf. “The night will be over before you know it, so, let’s go.”

Tracer nodded. “Right then.” She snapped her fingers, and the two them exploded into sparks against the night, rushing off into the present.

They were outside as the morning sun shone brightly through the streets of London, even the fog feeling it must cast away into the night and not disturb the sacred joy of that beautiful and crisp day. There was the smallest dust of snow on the ground, though you would have been forgiven for thinking it was so much more for the delight in children’s eyes as they gazed out of their windows.

Tracer ran down the sidewalk, jumped, grabbed onto a pole and swung back toward Ana, all in one swift motion, landing right in front of her, eyes glittering.

“Christmas morning!” She gestured grandly, London caught in a sort of pause, the hurry Ana was used to at seven am only a distant memory. “‘appy Christmas, London!”

Tracer rushed over to where a bunch of pigeons were cuddled on the eave of a window, and pulled two large handfuls of birdseed out of her pockets, tossing it all in front of them.

“‘Appy Christmas, little ones!”

“Did you just have that--”

But Tracer was already off, running through the sidewalks and stopping wherever she found someone to greet. A happy Christmas to the little dog with a biscuit, a happy Christmas to his owner with a box of tea, pulled from that same pocket. A happy Christmas to the nurse just walking to home, hoping her husband could distract the kids long enough so she could see them open presents, a gift card to the Pret by the hospital pressed into her hand even as she looked confused. A happy Christmas to the bus driver with a bottle of scotch, rested by his side with bow. .

Eventually, Tracer seemed to realize herself, and broke into a laugh that seemed to ripple through the street, the lights glowing a touch brighter as she did it, even the icy lace on the windows seeming to glitter just a little more brightly as she dashed back toward Ana.

“Right, right, I,” She dramatically paused in front of Ana, “Love Christmas. But you don’t ‘ave to!” She interrupted Ana’s protest, “For that isn’t the real point, not ‘ere, is it?”

“Giving people all these things, but,” Ana shook her head. “Is the point that people will be driven into debt over it? That it’s an excuse to press honest people into working more and harder, and later? The Christmas spirit, for sale at Mark and Spencer’s.”

“Marks and Spencer, but I’ll allow it.” She rocked back on her heels. “There are plenty of people who don’t understand the meaning of what Christmas is, and often they’re the ones with the biggest trees, and that’s the God’s honest truth. What I show you ‘ere? Ought to be in every day. Every where. Because it isn’t about any ‘oliday, or turkey, or nothing. Is it, Ana Amari?”

She drew something out of her pocket, a small gold book,, maybe the size of a credit card, and she flipped it open before pressing it into Ana’s hand. A picture of her and Pharah, Pharah only a baby, long ago and oh so far away. They both looked so different. So full of promise.

“Come on, Ana, there is just so much to see.”

She looked up from it only to realize that they were inside someone’s living room, parents looking at each other with tired eyes as a little girl ran happily around a dollhouse, placing the furniture in this room or that.

“Up all night constructing it, they was,” She shook her head, the bells tinkling, “but it ‘ardly matters. Was all she wanted, right?”

Tracer drew something out of her pocket, and knelt down next to the girl’s dollhouse, nearly nose to nose with her. Ana, whatever Reinhardt might think, had listened to him, and assumed the same was true here, that they could neither see nor hear the two of them, but the girl paused and looked in Tracer’s direction with such intensity that Ana wondered for a moment. Tracer put something in her palm, and closed her hand around it, smiling.

Tracer jumped back up next to Ana and threw an arm around her, Ana shrugging it off just as quickly as the little girl opened her hand.

“Look! Mummy! Daddy! It’s a kitty just like Patch! I didn’t seen it before oh it’s just like her!”

Her parents looked confused, each looking at the other, but the little girl was radiant in that moment of joy, and though Ana refused to look over at Tracer, she could feel the happiness pouring off her.

“I don’t know what you--”

“Next!”

But Tracer’s fingers snapped again, and they found themselves back in Brixton, outside of Ana’s apartment building with the falling, tattered awnings over crumbling bricks at windows. It was nothing to look at, but at least it was a place to sleep, and that was all the more Ana thought of it. It looked particularly dreary, if she were being honest, today, where she could see the scraps of Christmas trees in windows, and plenty without, people like her who didn’t participate in the nonsense of Christmas, who were fully cognizant that nothing changed on one day, no matter when that day was.

“Up she goes!”

Tracer grinned brightly, jumped on top of a dumpster out back, and grabbed onto the drainpipe, the tinsel in her hair shimmering in the dim morning light, throwing off stars into the daytime. She quickly began to shimmy up, humming “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” as she did so.

“Tracer,” She crossed her arms and stared up at her, “I have a key.”

“...You better not pout, I’m telling you why,” Another pull up the pipe, “Lena Claus is coming, to town,” she looked back down at Ana and shook her head merrily, “No you don’t! Left it in your room, then, didn’t you?”

She did not wait for an answer, simply started back up the pipe, as Ana felt for a pocket that she realized wasn’t there.

“Tracer.”

“What?” She turned around, swinging out with one arm, “Bit too old for this, Amari? I could do it all day.”

Ana huffed, but scrambled up onto the top of the dumpster and grabbed the pipe.

“Death has done wonders for you health, but not your attitude, Oxton!”

Tracer nodded. “That IS true.”

Ana began to climb behind her, grumbling as her hands tried to gain purchase on the cold drainpipe, her hands aching with the swell in her knuckles. Feeling her age, a bit, but also feeling a bit of something else, something she could not quite place. She looked up at Tracer above her, still climbing, toward the third floor, occasionally giving a bit of a bounce, or a swing.

Perhaps it was a bit....bad. It was true, that Tracer was well in a way Ana had not seen her in more than a year, and that was all she had said. But there was a sudden realization that Tracer so loved this moment, with a glowing smile and a song on her lips, because she was still basking in the joy of what it was to have her body obey her again, just as it had for years. It felt unkind, even if it wasn’t unfair, to criticize her for it, and she could not remember having had the feeling much before, least of all with Tracer.

“....Just you wait, poppet, got all her gifts ‘ere in her back trouser pocket, Lena Claus is coming to town…”

Ana struggled to pull herself up, slipping a bit on the iciness of the pipe.

Maybe not that bad.

“That doesn’t rhyme!” Another small slip, and a scowl as one of her slippers dangled off her foot.

“Slant rhyme, innit?” Tracer looked in a window, “Good enough for Shakespeare, good enough for me. ‘Ere we are!” She cocked her head and laughed down to Ana, her nose wrinkling, with its spray of freckles gathering like bunches of holly, those lights in all the windows bouncing again, along with her.

Ana slipped again, and felt her foot give way, but with a snap of Tracer’s fingers, they were inside a beige-walled apartment much like Ana’s, same layout, same unloveable carpet, same cheap seaming at the windows, but oh, so much more crowded. Not that it was particularly hard to do, but Ana looked at a man and a woman, sitting on their small threadbare couch together, a toddler sitting on the woman’s lap as the two of them directed the three other little children around the tiny apartment, with only a small smattering of toys to distract them.

Despite this, the apartment felt warmer than Ana’s own ever had, more filled with light despite the bareness of the walls, and maybe it was only the smile between the parents and their children, or maybe it was the chatter in a language Ana did not know, but knew the feeling of without having to understand the meaning, but somehow she felt a certain twinge of what she had felt all those years ago in that miserable military camp, all those Christmases ago.

She resented it.

“I suppose I’m supposed to be amazed it’s Christmas here, too?” She glanced sidelong at Tracer.

Tracer jumped up onto the back of the couch and sat there, cross-legged, shaking her head. “Ana, s’not Christmas here, they’re Muslim, don’t you notice anything? Thought you was,” she made her hands into claws, “the Shrike!”

Ana glowered, unable to decide if she were more annoyed at herself or at Tracer, and glanced around. Of course she would have noticed, if she had a moment, if she hadn’t been waiting for whatever lesson Tracer meant to lay upon her.

“Our point in being here, isn’t Christmas at all, as I said.” Tracer pointed to the both of them. “Inconvenienced by Christmas more than anything, they are. All the schools closed, all the meal programs off or offering a bit of ‘am, nothing really to make them keep the slightest bit merry in all the world. But...look at them. ‘Appy to spend the day with their little family. New to London, right, and filled with something like the Christmas spirit. And that, Ana, is ‘ope. That, Ana, is universal.”

Ana huffed. “They have nothing.” she pointed her chin to the kitchen, where daal and rice cooked, spiced carefully and beautifully, “Such a meager feast.”

“But very appreciated!” Tracer jumped off the back of the couch and shuffled toward the tiny corner of the apartment that served for a kitchen. “She’s been working plenty ‘ard, for the meal they ‘ave here. Everyone knows it.”

The family chattered happily, even as the father had to rise and place a sweater in the sill of the window to keep out the chill from the cold wind that dared to slip inside, and even as the mother smiled sadly toward the large pan on the stove, her eyes full of wishing for something else. But neither of those small, tiny regrets seemed to be able to steal the joy they had at simply being with their children, despite missing a day’s work, despite missing out on the childcare, despite all the things Ana might have laid, not unfairly, at Christmas’ feet, a sense of pleasantness seemed to endure, like cider hanging in the air long after the drink is gone.

“I--” Ana began to say something, something in the back of her mind, and then shook it away.

Tracer nodded, as if knowing that the bounds of this room had been reached in their capacity to teach her student.

“Need to see something a bit more familiar, don’t you? Come on then!” Tracer walked over to the door, and opened it, ushering Ana through, who came along, though grumbling.

Tracer reached into her pocket and materialized a large cardboard tray, laden so heavily with delicacies that Tracer had to catch it with her other hand. Biryani chock full of meat, paratha so decadent that it looked as if it might melt under the simple wave of Tracer’s hand, sweet rice smelling richly of cinnamon and raisins, and things Ana did not even know, but made her feel a pang of jealousy and hunger all the same.

Tracer went to knock on the door, thought a moment, and as a sparkle fell from her fingertips, she drew a Christmas pudding out of her pocket, sauce dripping over the sides, nuts and fruits bright on the top.

“Just so as to welcome them to the neighborhood, try something new, as well.”

She set it down with the rest of the food, and then knocked. There was a call from inside and the swiftest patter of feet as a little boy rushed and opened it, even as his father rose from the couch to call after him. At seeing Tracer, his eyes grew wide, but Tracer smiled as she put a finger to her lips, and with one last slip into that pocket, took out a 100 pound note and tucked it next to the pudding.

She turned and quickly went down the hallway, giggling as the father looked all about the place, unable to see anything at all, while the little boy broke into a bright smile himself, and waved.

Ana found herself waving back, and then stopped herself when she saw Tracer, hands in her pockets, grinning with such a luminosity that Ana would have sworn the hallway was brighter than it had ever dared to be.

“So you are what, Noel Baba now? Must be nice, to be so easily loved.”

“Oh!” She slid down the bannister, and at the end, let herself fall into a somersault and popped back up to her feet in one smooth motion. “I’d love to be Father Christmas, really! But of course, no, there’s no real Father Christmas, so near as I know, but, we all sort of are, right? Father Christmas, and all of us spirits, can only come once a year, and so how lucky and powerful can we be? You, on the other ‘and, ‘ave seen that family at the little mail cubbies for six months now, innit?”

And did not reply, but it was certainly true, that she had seen her. That she had noticed the mother trying to wrangle to children, and the father’s long hours, and the mother has once admired, in halting English, Ana’s scarf, seeming slightly shy of the ragged edge of her own. She had told Ana her name.

Ana could not remember it.

“Always ‘ad the power to do what I did, on any given day, right? Could ‘ave given them all that, but didn’t. Could ‘ave given the bus driver what takes you every day a gift, as well. You’ve ‘ad enough chance to be that bearer, Ana. You waste it, and you can’t pin that on me, not rightly.”

Ana walked down the stairs after her. “I live on the next floor, you have taught me enough--”

But as she stepped down another stair, her foot plunged into the snow on the sidewalk, and she looked up. On a simple street, still being rebuilt after the Battle, but about half redone with a grocery store and several apartment building patched back together. But even the ruins were decked with lights here and there, a bit of English humor at the edges of a healing misery.

“Things like that,” she felt compelled to defend herself, “are only patches on, on a bigger problem.”

Tracer stopped her walking and turned around. “Right then, so you go about with an ‘ole in your trousers til you can buy new? Mustn’t bother with a patch, of course not.”

She looked over Ana as they stood, nearly nose to nose. Tracer’s eyes did not linger, and never had so long as Ana had known her. They flitted, instead, like a hummingbird, from moment to moment and bit to bit, but somehow you got the sense that she was taking in all of you, whether you particularly wanted her to or not. In her eyes, Ana saw reflected bright lights of gold and white and green, though she did not recall there being lights so near.

She was still smiling, had never stopped, and this perhaps annoyed Ana worst of all.

Tracer cocked her head, and she took a step back, looking up and down at Ana.

“Like there’s no point in apologizing, right?”

“I tried--”

Tracer burst out laughing. “Oh, right, right! When you told ‘er that it wasn’t as if your mum were there for you, and so she might as well get over it and see a therapist? Some apology, I’ll say.” Tracer spun around in a pirouette, but than turned back. “And still--”

“Fareeha is a military woman. More even than me. To the good. She works things out in probability, in risk, in order. What would be the benefit of sentimentality, for all that? She does not do things that don’t benefit her. She hasn’t since she was a child. She had a plan, even then. She does what needs doing and I--there’s no reason I would fit into that.”

Tracer looked at her moment, and gave a confused shake of the head. “You really don’t know her at all, do you? No more, at least, than any clerk in the new office, and that’s the truth.” She did not give Ana a chance to respond, to argue. “Come on, then! Let me introduce you to your daughter.”

Tracer threw her arm around Ana’s shoulder, and though she took a deep breath and tried very calmly not to sock her right in the jaw, she had to admit that the warmth she had felt in those other rooms, she wanted to feel in Pharah’s home. She wanted to know what it might feel like to have the warmth of Pharah’s love, something that had been lost to her for so long.

Ana had never been to see the apartment they moved into after the Battle for London, and nearly paused for a moment as Tracer let go of her and jumped on the railing and then through the window, but the snap of her fingers gave no moment to think more of it. Their old place, she knew, had been destroyed, parts of it simply cratered in, Pharah rifling through what they had to try and reconstruct their belongings. Mercy, of course, had gone to pieces, by Ana’s measure, some memory of childhood bothering her enough that she kept her distance. The new place had been built of an old shell, like so many things in London, and Pharah had taken pains with the layout. It was a lovely place, bright and welcoming without being devoid of a certain peculiar charm, seeming less like a new-constructed box and more like it might have been in London all this time, even from the inside.

The furniture was new, and tidy, and Ana nearly laughed to see what she assumed could only be her daughter’s way of making sure everything had its place, and was put into it. Little cubbyholes built in by the door for shoes, books organized by subject and alphabetized, a few lying on the dark coffee table near where Mercy sat, reading one of them. But it was not without its hominiess, the smell of Mercy’s coffee in the air, and even Ana was not immune to it, walking to the mantle over a small fireplace, where a few framed pictures nestled among bright silver and blue garlands.

“A bit personal innit?” Tracer looked at the mantle herself, ‘Not quite the barracks you imagined.”

Ana let her fingers rest on a picture of Pharah and Mercy at their wedding, smiling under the chuppah, the pink roses and daisies in Mercy’s hands blooming brightly. Pharah’s hair was in a low ponytail, tightly held and shining, but she wore still the small gold charm in her hair, as she had for so many years. No longer, of course, not after everything that had happened between them.

Ana gave a mirthless chuckle, “All Angela’s, even before she was punishing me.”

Tracer grabbed at the picture. “She built that chuppah herself, you know. So it’d be a piece of her that was also Ang’s dream. Didn’t put it that way, of course, Fareeha, but that’s what it was.”

There were other pictures, crowded family tables and smiling faces in different locations--bright beaches and a ski chalet, even one at Disneyland Paris all of them squeezed into the frame together. There were, of course, none of Ana.

Tracer pointed to one at the edge of the mantle, Pharah and Tracer side by side as comrades they could not have imagined becoming, everything bright and green around them, both smiling, Tracer holding onto an iron gate, but her other arm firmly around Pharah. Pharah wore her usual deep blue, and Ana found herself jealous at the tightness of her grip on Tracer, the way they grinned at each other, Pharah’s other hand at her shoulder.

“She cared for me, you know.” Tracer said, tapping at the edge of the picture.

“Yes,” Ana rolled her eyes and turned away from the mantle, her voice brisker and more cold than even that wind outside “I know, she preferred you to me, because she preferred anyone to me, if this is your point I can just go home, because--”

“Bloody ‘ell, Ana, it’s not what I said!” Tracer scowled, the lights in her eyes near to bursting with the heat of lost patience. “You are so bloody lucky I owe both Rein and Jack a bloody fucking SCORE of favors--”

“--Well, you don’t owe me any, so you can just--”

“God no, you’d ‘ad to ‘ave done something kind for me even once for me to owe you--”

“--Oh, poor pitiful Lena, as if you don’t have enough adoration, you attention hou--”

“--You meanspirited little desert rat, ought to let you rot, I ought--”

“--You don’t know the first thing about--”

“SHE’S ‘OLDING ME UP IN THIS PICTURE!” Tracer had taken it, and held it in front of Ana’s face. Angela looked up from her book, around the room for a moment, confused, and both Ana and Tracer fell quiet. “Didn’t notice, did you? When you looked? But she is. Was just after me last birthday. Couldn’t really stand on me own much.”

Ana took the picture from her and looked down at it. Of course it was clear, looking at it now. Pharah's arm was at her waist, and her thumb was looped into Tracer’s belt loop, holding her close to Pharah’s solidness. Her other hand was at Tracer’s shoulder, steadying her, as Tracer did her best to hold herself up. She should have seen it.

Tracer took it back from her and placed it back on the mantle. “Not many people see that, when they look, because that’s way with Fareeha, right? I meant--and you never knew this--she literally helped take care of me.”

“No benefit to ‘er, mostly a drain on ‘er already limited time, being as she was running all of Overwatch herself. But from the time I started to need a bit of ‘elp, now and again,” she passed a hand across the pictures, and small whirls opened, showing she and Pharah together, in a park, in Tracer’s bedroom, out on Winston’s patio, poring over paperwork, simply sharing a lunch together, “Every Thursday, eight to eight, she did. Earlier, it was Overwatch paperwork,” she touched the edge of that whirl in its frame, and it came alive, she and Pharah arguing playfully over a stack of papers, “Pretending it was on business. Got to be more and more, of course. Took the pressure off Em and Win, when I couldn’t ‘ardly do nothing for meself. Cooked, did the washing,” she touched the edge of another photo, and the two of them were in a dark pub, Tracer in a corner chair with the table tucked up close to her, “Got me out the ‘ouse, when she could. When I could, honestly. And,” her voice got soft, “at the fag end of it all…”

She touched the edge of a silver frame, the whorl opening just a little more to show Pharah feeding Tracer, Tracer’s body trembling.

Ana looked at the photos, and then over toward the window, where a soft morning snow was falling, so heavy in the drifts that it was easy to forget that it was built of delicate individual lace. Had she been gone from her daughter’s life for so much of that year? She had known that Pharah had assumed the duties of Overwatch, that she was often too busy to be seen, but she had pictured something so much different. So much more in the ways that Ana had isolated herself.

“You know,” Tracer passed a hand over all the frames, bringing the photos back to themselves, and put her hands on her hips, “I ‘ave had a bit more fun in me life, than that particular bit of it, that much I’ll say. Don’t much like to think about it, though really, you get so much of life, and only, what, two percent of it, maybe three or four at the outside, is all that bad, than what is there to fuss about? But,” She pointed to Ana, “Much as I ‘ate it, you need to know it. You ‘ave to learn to ‘ear Fareeha, love. You must, if there’s any ‘ope at all.”

Tracer walked away from the mantle, and away from Mercy, and hustled toward the kitchen, small but well-appointed, and laid out in a certain unmistakeable logic that could only have come from Pharah’s own mind. She had put so much of herself, Ana thought, in this home, even as soft as all the furnishings were, and even with the Shabbat candlesticks and kiddush cup tucked into the corner of the kitchen. It was as if Mercy was the rose and Pharah the trellis, growing around the things that Pharah had made.

Pharah was studying a cookbook carefully in the kitchen, her eyes narrowed as she read the same recipe over and over again, flipping back and forth. She had, on her kitchen island, a very large ham, and several ingredients in front of her, everything examined and re-examined as she quietly mouthed the words of the cookbook to herself. It was silly, to see it as another rejection of Ana herself, and yet she felt herself bristle at it. It was one thing, that Ana knew she kept no particular part of her Muslim heritage particularly close, but it was another to see something so plainly in front of her.

Ana watched her with such rapt attention that she did not even notice Mercy come up behind the two of them.

“Is that a ham?”

“Yes.” She did not look up from the cookbook, but looked back to the ham, and then at her book, flipping through to another part, scowling at it all the while. “I understand how to make the bacon my father sends. I have learned how to make a fry-up. This seems like it should not be that difficult, but...it’s entirely new to me.”

Mercy stood silently for a moment. It had never been stated, but she thought that somehow it had been agreed by them that though she understood Pharah was not religious in the slightest, and sometimes a bit aggressively areligious, depending on her mood, Mercy herself was, and the idea of using her cookware to make pork turned her stomach, just a touch. Was she being unreasonable? Pharah did all of the cooking and never asked anything of her, and--

Pharah’s head snapped up, as if she could read the thread running through Mercy’s mind. “This is disposable.” She touched her hand to the aluminium roaster the ham sat in. “For Christmas.”

Ana turned to Tracer. “You came to show me what, that without my guidance, my daughter is going to forget herself entirely? Become some soft Londoner full of pig fat? I should expect a Christmas tree next? I know that, that is why--”

“Ana,” Tracer looked over at her, “You ever just think of...shutting up, every now and again? Watch. Learn something. God’s sake.”

Mercy thoughtfully touched at the edge of the counter.

“Fareeha. I am Jewish, you are Muslim.” She looked at her wife. “We don’t celebrate Christmas.”

“Oh!” Pharah laughed, the fierce concentration of her dissipating immediately as she looked to Mercy, “Yes! No, no, Angela this is not for us. I was--” She closed the cookbook. “Tracer loved Christmas, very much. I thought that Emily and Winston, that they probably wouldn’t--Emily loves the ham, especially--that it would be hard for them. I thought I would bring Christmas to them, in some small way. I can’t--” she looked back down at her glistening pink ham, “I can’t give them, what it is they want, of course. But a ham, I can give. After what happened,” her face grew dark, and serious, “after what was done to her…”

Mercy looked at her with great love, gave an adoring huff of a sigh, and smiled. “What a beautiful idea.”

Pharah pulled herself from her red cloud, and nodded happily.

Ana stared at the couple, both chatting now about the ham, side by side, neither of them having any particular clue what they were doing, but the room was filled with their love of their friends, and for each other, and their child, so much so that Ana could almost smell the dinner they planned to cook. They glowed completely in the light not of what they were given, but what they were giving, Mercy inelegantly pointing out side dishes, Pharah noting what might be in the well-stocked and organized fridge.

“My father!” Pharah exploded in the thought, an excited light in her eyes Ana had not seen for many years. Had she missed all the times it had flashed? Had she only seen her daughter’s cool, collected gaze? Pharah looked at the aviator’s watch on her wrist, and then up at a small clock on the side of the cabinet. “He should be awake by now. He would know how to make this, though I think Rebecca prefers a turkey for Christmas.”

Ana could say nothing, merely took a step toward them, mouth agape.

“That’s right, Ana,” Tracer got up from leaning against the wall, “Despite your very best efforts, she grew up ‘uman. Despite your very best efforts to make ‘er something like you, she ‘as a bloody ‘eart after all, and friends, and a family, and she takes care of them, when they need it. Must ‘ave been Sam’s influence, I think.”

Ana felt a flash of guilt, and pain, and then anger, and she whirled around to punch Tracer, who jumped to the side as Ana’s fist plunged through the wall but did not stop her pursuit. Tracer dodged again as she came, Ana frustrated by her age, and Tracer’s grin, humbled by the fact that it had never only been her ability to blink that made her a terrifying opponent, angrier yet still. Until Tracer stopped in front of her, and let her hit. Ana put her full force behind it, wanting to take away everything this smug little Englishwoman was saying, because if she could simply hit Tracer, make her stop, it would not be true.

She hit.

The fist went right through her.

“I’m a GHOST, ANA.” Tracer erupted into a fit of laughter so hard it took her a minute to recover, which was not nearly long enough for Ana’s taste, and put her hands on her hips, affecting an exaggerated accent, ‘You look fairly good for someone who has been dead six months, forgot that awful quick, didn’t you then!?”

Ana let her fists fall to the side, though she did not unclench them. “Take me home.”

“Cut a bit close, that did?” Tracer peered into her face. “You know why I put up with you”

“Jack--”

“No, though you do owe ‘im a bit of kindness, for ‘is work in the ‘ereafter for you. But that isn’t it, Ana.” She looked over to where Mercy tenderly touched her belly as Pharah talked on the phone, wishing her father a Merry Christmas, beginning to measure out something for a glaze. “Jack believed in you, and I owe him my field career, and that’s the truth. Reinhardt believed in you, and he was always kind to me. But none of that is why. I’m ‘ere because Angela Zeigler did everything she could for me, from the day she met me, even to the end, and so if I have to spend one day in your miserable company, I will do that for her. Because she is a woman what believes in mercy above all else, and still thinks you deserve it, no matter me own leanings. Think on that, Ana Amari. You’ve done nothing but spit in ‘er face, going on years, and she still ‘olds out ‘er ‘hand so you can do it all over again.”

Ana crossed her arms, but did not take her eyes off the couple. “And you want me to admire this?”

“No, don’t expect that much from you, but I do want you to be cognizant of it, at the least.” She nodded back to Pharah and Mercy. “Some people don’t count the cost.”

Mercy smiled as she backed away from Pharah for a moment. “I am having a wonderful idea. Just wait.”

Before Pharah could say anything, Mercy had her coat on and was running out of the house, and before Ana could even think to protest, Tracer had the two of them zipping after her. The door to the neighbors was right across from theirs, and Mercy knocked on it aggressively, and then looked at her watch, and then knocked again, perhaps deciding it was a perfectly acceptable hour.

A man, in a warm Christmas sweater, his slippers still firmly on his feet, answered.

“Angela? Is everything all right?”

“I’m so sorry to bother you,” she grasped his hand in both of hers, “But I am wondering, if you have any Christmas decorations you aren’t needing? You see, we have friends, and it has been a very lonely holiday for them, and Fareeha and I have nothing to give.”

“So she’s going to bother this man and his family on Christmas Day.” Ana laughed, “The Christmas spirit. Togetherness. Poor planning. If family love can be made by cheap tinsel, than what is it anyway?”

“Shut up, you, and watch.”

The man startled for a minute, but then nodded his head, “Of course, of course, I know you had some unpleasantness this year, and, I’ll never forget that night you came over, when Camilla was sick.”

Mercy shook her head, as if it had been nothing, and walked in the door, following him as he looked in closets and pulled out garlands and took some ornaments off his tree, and put them all in a box. He bent down to explain to the children what they were doing, and a little girl ran off to the fridge and brought back a fat santa made of paper plates, a little boy with a stuffed dormouse with antlers.

They chatted happily to Mercy, and she thanked them profusely, dropped the box right inside her door, and continued onto another house, where there was a tangle of lights given and a bag of tinsel, and then the next, where Mercy was given a large plateful of cookies and other sweets from a little old woman, on and on until Mercy could hardly carry any of it, stacked up as it was. Some of them took it oof their own trees, out of their own kitchens, a spare stocking was taken off the mantle here and there. None of it matched, and all of it was secondhand at best, but it seemed to glisten and gleam with joy.

As Mercy went to round a last corner, Tracer pulled the two of them into small street that would have been called an alleyway in any civilized city, and pulled out of her pocket a tiny tree. She set it on the ground, and blew on it, and it grew to a fine height, not too large, nothing like the giant affair Winston had set up every year in his home since he’d been in London for Christmas, but smelling freshly of pine. She regarded it, and then threw a strand of tinsel here or there on it, so it would look properly discarded.

Mercy saw it out of the corner of her eye, backed up, and her eyes grew wide as she took it all in, something she never could have imagined. She clung the little box she had closer, running best as she could toward the house, calling Pharah’s name.

Ana stood for a moment, the snow falling softly still around her. It was snowing quite a bit, for London, off and on, or maybe it was only Tracer’s wish that this represent Christmas as best it could that made it so. She went to open her mouth, once, twice, but could not bring herself to say what she meant to, what she wanted to.

“She’s done nothing but help the people around her, be kind to them,” Tracer supplied, “So why wouldn’t they, the one time they get the chance, return it? Come on,” She took Ana by the elbow, “night’s coming on fast.”

Tracer pulled the two of them down the alleyway, and they turned the corner into what might have been a wall but instead was just another street, in a different part of the city, the darkness having fallen in the moment it took them to slide between the bricks.

Around them, the warehouse and odd converted apartment buildings rose, lights in this window or that, a tiny balcony with a number of rowdy revelers on it, drinking some hot rum thing that Ana could smell even from the street. Tracer bopped down the sidewalk with her, drawing this thing or that out of her pocket for a stray cat, smiling as she looked into the windows, and then they turned the corner, and her smile faded, just a bit.

It was the same street she had seen with Reinhardt, and yet it lay so still as the last of the light faded from the city that it hardly seemed that it could have been that same place that had been so fresh and alive, every building like tombstones in a row.

The house was quiet outside, and so grey. Where before, Ana could have ignored that it had once been a simple shipping warehouse, there was no mistaking it now, the cool metal of it tinny and burnished as the streetlights began to fly on. There were no bright sounds of cheer, or games being played. No lights trimmed the bannisters, no garlands played in the windows, and even the small dashing of snow seemed greyer than Ana had remembered when she had visited with Reinhardt. There was no doubt about the quietness settled over this house, and the darkness of it, just one lone lamp lit, the window before it dimming and greying even that.

She should have expected it, and yet, somehow, it came as a surprise to her.

“No point in the, ‘narrative structure’, if Tiny Tim is already dead. As I already told Reinhardt.” She looked over at Tracer. “Aren’t I supposed to turn over a new leaf, and prevent your death?”

Tracer shook her head. “No one could do that, love. If love could have saved me, I’d ‘ave lived forever, and it wouldn’t ‘ave been you that did. Just ‘ow life is sometimes. Sometimes, in life, you lose, love, and that’s the bitter truth of it.”

“So what’s the point? Exactly.”

Tracer bucked up her chin and smiled. ‘Come on then! And I will show you, what it is you’re meant to see.”

They slid through the doorway, Tracer not even attempting any manner of gymnastic endeavor to do so. The smells of fresh baking and cinnamon and apples no longer permeated through the house, and Ana looked about for the giant tree with its bright lights and collection of ornaments, the tinsel hung in garlands around the windows and down the stairway, the music playing, and yet there was nothing, just one lone lamp where Emily sat, even the brightness of her red hair dull in the shadowed light.

She was reading a book, curled up in the corner of the couch by herself, her hair hanging over the side where the light might have touched her face, and Ana noticed that her eyes ran over and over the same page, as if simply playacting at reading while the whole of her mind was somewhere else.

The door opened, and a cool deep wind flushed in as Winston came in the door, removing his fogged glasses and wiping them on his sweater.

“Emily.” He gave her a weak smile.

“Oh,” she set down her book, page still unread, “I wondered when it was you’d be coming home.”

She rose to her feet, slowly and quietly, and started toward Winston, who just as quietly took off his shoes and put on his slippers. There was none of the laughter or raucousness that Ana had felt in this room, before, and suddenly, not crowded with a group full of Oxtons, it felt so large. So empty. So silent.

“I’m sorry, I--”

“Oh no,” she tightened her sweater around her, “no, don’t be.”

“I went to--” He hung up his coat, and stared at the wall a moment, “I went to take a wreath, to where she was--well--where she is.” He tried to smile. “One of the silver tinsel ones, with all the rainbow colors and bells? She always--” He took a breath.

“Oh aye, she loved those. Would like that, that you did that, I think.”

“There are some lovely trees, there, I think in summer it’ll be---she loved green--” Emily touched his arm gently, “--it’s a nice place-- brushed off the stone a little bit. For the wreath.”

Emily nodded. “Was good of you. I have, well, there’s a ready meal in the oven.”

They stood there, simply looking at each other, until Winston nodded sadly and slowly worked his way over to the kitchen, opening the oven and taking out the meals inside on their little cookie sheet. Emily had bought several, for him, and he took a large bowl out of the cupboard and dumped them joylessly inside, mixing the mash and what passed for a steak braise all together. He poured himself a large glass of wine, and passed the bottle to Emily, and they sat across from each other at the small table, saying nothing as they quietly ate their food, or picked at it, rather, only a few errant bites here and there.

“It’s the job.” Ana said, barely convincing herself, the Christmas of the past in this same house still dancing in her head. “We lose people. Good people.”

“Didn’t bring you ‘ere because I thought you’d care about Em and Win.” Her arms were crossed, and she leaned against the wall, looking at the two of them, her eyes glistening. Then she shook off her sadness, the jingle bells in her hair ringing as she did it, and smiled again. “Ana, did you just call me a good person?”

Ana chuckled. “Don’t get a big head.”

There was a knock at the door, and a robotic voice rang out over the house, echoing in the emptiness of it.

“Angela is at the door.”

Winston looked puzzled, but rose up to meet it, trying to pick his feet up a little and put on a brave face, giving an unconvincing smile as he opened the door. Mercy’s cheeks were rosy as she bore the ham in her arms, covered with foil but smelling like a dream, salty and sweet and rich, garlands wrapped around her as she struggled to carry them, her eyes bright with the joy that she was determined to bring with her.

“Happy Christmas, Winston!” She came in the door without even being asked, “I was wondering, if maybe Fareeha and I could join you? For the cheer?”

Pharah came up behind her, lugging in the tree and hardly swearing at the pine branches in her face, that same snowflake sweater on in that same bright blue, a red bow jokingly tied in her hair from the decorations they had brought. She looked to Winston, and then took a tattered but convincingly repaired wreath off her arm and stuck it to the door with an adhesive hook, and nodded.

Winston moved to the side as Emily rose to meet them, Mercy embracing them both and hurrying to the kitchen as Pharah rushed back out to the taxi, bringing in boxes and quickly trimming up the home as neatly as she could with the materials she had been provided, doing an impressive job with the few boxes of scattershot decor.

And as she worked, the room began to change, even so slightly. Emily began to put ornaments on the tree, and WInston asked Athena to play some Christmas music, and in a few moments the room was not as it had been on that night, but it began to take on the glow of a surviving candle, one that might light others, one that might let this place know warmth again.

“Fareeha worked--” Ana sighed and walked to where she was decorating the mantle seriously, adjusted each bow, “She worked very hard.”

“Right, she did. Fareeha is like that, as I’ve said. She took care of me, with not a word. Wouldn’t let me protest it, neither. She’s here for Win, and Em, in their time of need, because Fareeha is nothing if not a rock, right?”

“She is very practical.” Ana continued to say these things, but they felt further disconnected form her, as if she was a ghost herself, simply saying the things that she had said before, over and over again, in a loop, ever so softly. “No,” she chuckled, just as softly, “Zeina. Not me. Sam. But not me.”

Tracer faced her, arms crossed, but the look on her face was no longer angry, or cruel, but simply searching.

“You talk and talk over ‘ow an Amari shouldn’t ‘ave to say nothing, and Fareeha never does, but with her actions. But you still never could speak ‘er language, could you? That all being true, what do you think she’s saying? And what did you say to ‘er, running off all the time, never telling ‘er when you’d be ‘ome, or if, wondering if you’d died until one day, it was true? Or, you let it be true. Even to ‘er. No Ana, you say Fareeha should speak your language, but she always ‘as. You spoke perfectly bloody clear, to ‘er.

“L--”

The thought was interrupted by another knock at the door, a door that did not wait to be answered, but simply opened, and a flood of people came in, all bearing various small things; a Christmas pudding here, a roast there, some garland, gallons of drink. The Oxtons came in, chattering and laughing, and kissed Winston and Emily on the cheeks, and told Mercy how she was glowing, and Mark clapped Pharah’s shoulder and told her what a wonderful job she’d done, and sorry that they had taken a bit of time, but the family was a bit like herding cats, wasn’t it.

Dva and Brigitte walked through the door to calls of ‘hallo’ and ‘happy Christmas’ and an older woman spotted at Brigitte’s hand as she went toward the kitchen with a large bag of rum and brandy and sweetness.

“That a ring, Miss Lindholm? Thought we might miss it?”

Brigitte laughed like a little girl, a blush rising to her cheeks, and flashed its brightness. “I never think you miss anything. She asked me today.”

Dva shrugged, but in that way that indicated she was quite pleased with herself. “Lena’d give me a hard time for doing it on Christmas.”

“Oh she would! She was wicked!” an aunt laughed, “But I think it’s beautiful. We would ‘ave invited you personally, but expected you back in the Nordics, we did.”

“We would have,” Dva nodded, “but we thought…”

“Of course, of course, love, say no more, it was right kind of you to think of it, and we’re delighted to ‘ave you! Oi!” She called back to the room, “Guess who’s getting married!”

There were cheers and jokes and a dozen questions thrown at the happy couple, as cookies and plates of food were passed around. Pharah was complimented on the quality of her ham, Mercy was told how beautifully she glowed, a few children hung off of Winston and asked him to tell the story of how he beat Doomfist again, though he always looked a little sheepish when he told it. Emily was rapidly pulled into an animated conversation over the best of the Christmas puddings, and the tree was lit, twinkling brightly if a bit patchwork.

Ana would have been lying to say that the room took on the same festivity of the year prior, as there was still the sense of something missing, like an empty spot on a curio shelf, where all the dust and all the space let you know something belonged there, but it was warmer than it had been, and it took on that same glow, even if slightly smaller than the years prior. There was laughter, even if there were a few tears wiped away, a few reassurances that the first year is always the hardest, and didn’t Lena do us all such a favor by bowing out so close to Christmas that the sadnesses seemed to roll together? But still the laughter, the warm, the closeness pervaded, and the rum punch was poured, and they banded together, the lights seeming to grow brighter as they did so.

Parvati jumped up on the back of the couch, and went to hit the side of her glass before thinking better of it and simply whistling loudly, the room turning to her, and, after a bit, deciding to quiet down to a few muttersw, and listen what she had to say.

“Happy Christmas, everyone. Know that we all ‘ave a bit on our minds, this year. Not the first time we’ve ‘ad it. Won’t be the last.”

It sounded so much like Ana’s practicality, and so little, and she felt something inside of her pull, some realized notion that to know the facts of the situation and to wield them cruelly were two different swords, than there had been so many people around her that had always known this, and it hd been Ana alone who refused to see.

“Life’s made up of meetings, and partings, and that’s the way of it, innit?. We’ll carry Lena with us, always.” Parvati raised her glass, “To Lena. I’d say may she rest in peace, but, think we all know that’s the last thing she’d want.”

Everyone took a drink of whatever they had in their hand, the moment not dark at all, but not because everyone in the room was looking away from the shadow. No, they all clearly knew that shadow, and had sat with it, but they brought their own candle into it, burnishing the pain of the loss with the memory of what had been.

Despite herself, she was taken by the notion. Despite herself, she smiled.

Tracer leaned in close to her. “You miss the love of it, Ana, and that’s your tragedy. You don’t see how love can make something beautiful. You see the reality of it, but you don’t see how love can make a hard reality somehow bearable.”

In the back of her mind, London stood, bombed out once again and rebuilding, the patchwork of it stronger and better than what had came before. Hadn’t Egypt done the same? And wasn’t she a daughter of Egypt? How horrible, to know that Tracer was right.

A man began to sing, not a Christmas carol at all, for Ana was beginning to allow the holiday to melt away and see the truth behind it, the core that came together in a million different worlds, some of which had never seen a Christmas at all, and as his voice raised above the din, they began to join him.

“...pretty bubbles in the air, they fly so high, nearly reach the sky….”

Sniffles and tears mixed in, wiped away with a joyful punctuation.

“...Then like my dreams, they fade and die!”

Arms were drawn close around each other, the entire room a tight knot of human light against the darkness, as their voices rose even higher.

“FOOOOOOORTune’s always hiding! I’ve looked everywhere, I’m forever blowing bubbles, pretty bubbles in the air.”

There was a collapse of laughter, admissions that Lena would have considered it the fittest hymn and carol and battle song of all, and another round of spiced drinks passed around in pitchers.

“No matter what, nothing sinks them.” There was admiration in her voice, now.

Tracer’s voice lowered. “Soft Londoners, full of pork fat.”

She whipped around to look at Tracer. “Don’t MOCK me.”

“You mock yourself, “ Tracer snorted, “acting as if it’s some manner of courage to push away every kind thing what comes your way the whole of your life.”

“I--” Ana stopped herself.

If she valued honesty, what was the lie in what Tracer was telling her? The whole of her life, she had believed that sentiment came to nothing, and it was only encouraging weakness to pad things for herself, for others. How could she ever have thought it would be so simple? She looked at Pharah, sitting alone at the edge of the room, smiling as she drank at her mug, but still somehow disconnected from it all, rubbing at the edge of her watch with a distant look in her eye.

“Fareeha,” Ana watched her, “Tracer, tell me she will be happy. Tell me I haven’t ruined her the way I ruined myself.”

“I live only in the moment, Ana. Future’s not me domain,” She gazed over at Pharah and considered a moment. “But I see something...Fareeha, if you look carefully, you can see a red light about her. You can see a shadow on her face. I see an anger, a rage, deep within her, and if these shadows do not change, I fear for what I see in her. I’m only the ghost of the present, and can’t tell you rightly, of course. But you must remember her getting arrested in Dublin, after I died.” Tracer shook her head. “You turned cold, but Fareeha? Puts lines around everything because she knows what’ll ‘appen if she doesn’t. Fire in her may burn down every good thing in her.”

Ana could not draw her eyes away from Pharah, could not stop seeing the reflection of red light about her, kept telling herself over and over again that it was just from the tree so near, that there was nothing mysterious about it at all, and that every way she had taught Pharah to make an island of herself had not ruined everything.

The party continued, Pharah eventually being drawn from her chair and brought into the games, Ana convincing herself that her eye was old, and failing her. The warmth of the party continued, drawn close and near with laughter and joy, kisses on the cheek and close hugs, questions about Dva and Brigitte’s plans, stories about Tracer, all coming together into a mulled wine all its own.

“Right, then.” Tracer said softly.

Ana looked back to her, a spirit with sharp words and sharper powers, but very much again a woman Ana had simply known, looking at her family with a sorrowful gaze, wishing she could touch them, sing with them, love them. Tracer was like Ana, in that way, she supposed.

No. Because her family would delight to hold and kiss her again, to hear her voice ring over the room, to see her smile. Ana’s family would not. Pharah barely looked at her. Mercy hated her, after her actions this morning. Her grandchild would not know her. She felt that same pang of jealousy and hunger that she had in the tiny Brixton apartment, deeper now, and more keen.

Worst of all was the realization that she had chosen this for herself, over and over again, in every word and action. That she had built the walls so high and so well that no one could hope to scale them, that she had laid the broken glass of her own personal miseries across the top and never for one moment realized that her daughter had the strength to not attempt to climb it any longer. That she would urge others never to try, and show them the scars on her palm from her own failures.

“Can’t stay much longer.”

Ana noticed the party beginning to get quieter, the lights in Tracer’s eyes beginning to fade, and a sudden panic began to grip her, the sense that she might lose everything she felt she had only begun to grasp, that she was on the verge of something great, slipping through her fingers.

“You can’t already go. There’s so much more to teach me.”

Tracer shook her head, somehow growing thinner, and smaller. “I was never meant to be long in this world, Ana. It was always meant to be brief.”

“I have,” Ana began, and then cleared her throat, and looked to Tracer, “I, I was wrong, not to come to your Christmas party. To your birthday.”

Tracer leaned against the wall, and the party faded from view, the golds and reds and greens fading into the greys and blue of the city, Tracer now leaning against the wall of an underground station, cap on her head, leather jacket pulled in close.

“If I could do it over again, I would not have missed your last year.” She paused, “If I could do it over again, I would not have been myself.”

“Why didn’t you, Ana?”

There was no anger in it, not this time, just a hanging sadness as she shook her head and leaned against the wall, some annoucement Ana could not quite make out coming over the station. A chill ran through her, in that moment, only the two of them standing there, the hazy glow of fluorescent lights overhead dimming the world in a way Ana could not quite understand, but knew intrinsically.

“We wasn’t friends, not really, but…I was dying.”

Ana opened her mouth to protest that this was in the past, that it was not Tracer’s realm. That there was nothing to explain, because it was past now, and so what did it matter, she could not go back and have attended either. She opened her mouth to say that no one would have wanted her there anyway. She opened her mouth to say that she was jealous Tracer had so much of love. She opened her mouth to say, that she had been too proud to admit she was lonely.

There was a rumble, down the tracks, the train speeding its way toward the station. She could feel the rush of air coming from the tunnel, the lights in darkness, coming.

“Was dying, Fareeha was trying to bear up under it for everyone, and you couldn’t even--not for neither one of us--not for anyone.”

The train began to screech into the station, and Ana had the horrifying realization, all in one moment, that it was here for Tracer, and surely enough, as she glanced up to the clock, that horrible long shadow of a hand was drawing toward midnight.

“I should have gone,” she barked out as quickly as she could, but that terrible, terrible screeching echoed all through the station, shrieking high and loud as she tried to take Tracer’s hand, only to find that it was fading away, “I never hated you, I only, you were allowed to be light-hearted, and I wasn’t, and I was so--”

Tracer shook her head, her eyes dull with exhaustion, “Can’t ‘ear you, love. ‘Ave to go now.”

“I can do it different!” She reached out again, “I can learn to be different! I should have been, and I wasn’t, but, Tracer--”

The doors to the train opened, and Tracer looked at them with a smile, even as her hand shook. “That’ll be me train. I trust you to the spirit what’s coming round next. You must see that spirit, love, no way round it.”

“What was the point of Jack sending you if I can’t undo any of this!?” She stood in front of Tracer. “I have learned, now, and so you need to send me back, and I’ll do it better,” Tracer’s body passed through her, and she stepped into the car and grabbed onto a pole, glancing back, “LENA!!!”

The doors slammed shut, and Ana pulled and pulled, but she could not stop the horrible droning of the announcement declaring that they were pulling away from the station, and however she screamed and pounded, Tracer could not hear her, but simply looked up at the advertisements on the side of the car, lost in her own world. The train pulled away as quickly as it had come, speeding into the darkness, the only sound in Ana’s ears her own throbbing heartbeat.

The photo of she and Pharah was cool in her hand.

#apologies to other versions of CC I have straight up stolen lines from ahhah

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