#Something about this reunion feels like a beautiful dream you are afraid of waking up from... | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

slightlymore · 4 years

Text

cute~

- a pride spin-off -

pairing: haechan x mark

other characters: doyoung, jaemin, jungwoo, onew (??? only bc I needed a name 😔)

genre: angst!! smut! fluff!!! one-shot, company!au (you can read this without reading "pride" first but make sure to read at least the little synopsis below, just to have some kind of context for the first part)

warnings: 18+, language, sexual activities, alcohol, drunk characters

words: 14K (oops)

for those who didn’t read pride and don't want to: doyoung and y/n are in love with each other but because of a series of unfortunate events (them being stupid) they can’t be together. doyoung leaves her after college and starts working at haechan’s company while being miserable; the two boys become enemies/friends. everything goes relatively well until one day y/n makes an appearance and starts working there as well. doyoung and y/n finally get (their shit) together and become a couple. haechan is the happy friend witnessing all of that and this is his story

(the photo was meant to be a shitpost but now I kinda like it lmaooo)

The phone rang for the millionth time that morning, a piercing and resounding noise, making Haechan unable to hear his own thoughts. The boy groaned. It was only 10 am yet everyone suddenly needed to speak with him. Haechan would have loved to spend his workday gossiping on the phone. Maybe chit-chatting about everyone. Listening to his colleagues talk about George's new too-expensive-for-his pockets-but-he's-an-idiot car, or the scandalous hairstyle Alex tried out to impress his already-married-and-twenty-years-older flame, or to hear how someone heard from someone else that somebody had sex with someone somewhere. But not that day. Haechan was exhausted, physically, and mentally, head buried between his arms, the white noises of the office almost putting him to sleep. The infernal device stopped ringing for a second and the young man sighed relieved before it rang again soon after. Haechan whined, almost sobbing, while lightly hitting his forehead on the desk. A soft 'what the fuck' made him raise his face with pained eyes squinting from the sudden too much light. "Are you alright?", the same voice asked, his desk neighbour inquiring. "Mind your own business, Owen", Haechan mumbled and finally put one hand on the phone while massaging the base of his nose with the other. "... my name is Onew", the dude whispered offended, but Haechan's little attention was already drifting away. A female voice said something that Haechan couldn't catch but to which he replied with a short "yeah, thanks", having figured out the words "intern" and "acceptance" through her quick mumbling. When he first heard the news during the beginning of the year reunion, Haechan was ecstatic, to say the least. They said he was responsible and could handle taking care of an intern making Haechan's shoulders widen at the compliments. Also, having an innocent soul to bother for a few months? It meant some company and less work for himself. Paradise. But Haechan had already forgotten about the joy he felt before. He had been feeling weird for a while now and he hated it. The previous night he didn't go home after Doyoung and Y/N left the company building. He listened to them talk for an excruciating period while pretending to sleep. It was beautiful, choked voices and raw confessions, and he felt like the third wheel in his own life. When Haechan walked out of his office one day, months before that, with the intention of "grabbing something important from somewhere" (or taking a break while making it pass as work) and heard the loud bang of the neighbour office door, he didn’t think that his life would go spiralling down from that moment on. It took him days. No, it took him weeks, maybe months, before the uncomfortable feeling creeping on him, making his spine shiver and palms sweat could be classified as something real by his brain. As a feeling. Sitting down on his chair, tired fingers tapping away at the keyboard for hours, he would suddenly feel this ungodly urge to get up and go to that office again as if an obscure force possessed him. To do what? To see a pair of angry eyes. Angry and full of pain. They were beautiful: round but also angled, dark but also light, absent as if looking at anything but their surroundings. Looking at something only they could see. That thing, sadly, was never Haechan. The boy tried everything to be seen by them. Being friendly, being funny, being helpful. Then he tried being rude. To his immense joy, the latter worked better, as if those eyes hatched such an enormous amount of anger that they had to spill some onto someone. And Haechan didn’t mind being that someone if it also meant being the object of those eyes’ attention at the same time. Then he realized that he didn’t want to see only the eyes. Something else was fighting for Haechan’s regard. Pink and soft looking, often stretched in a line, sometimes forming a pout. God, Haechan would have done everything to be able to touch those lips even once, even for a second. And he did it during his most feverish dreams. The first time, he woke up panting, ashamed, shaken to the core, the feeling of that soft skin still ghosting his own lips. The second time Haechan raised a trembling hand and touched the place where his subconsciousness created such a realistic scenario. He caressed it slowly, laying in that obscure slumber, silently, afraid to wake up his rational side. The third time he didn’t need to dream. He just imagined, shamelessly. His lips got kissed and his name was pronounced with such lust and desire to leave Haechan panting. So real, as if Doyoung whispered that while being beside Haechan in his room. It took Doyoung a few good weeks to call Haechan by his name in real life. When he finally did it, he wasn't even scolding him. No. From weird conjunction of stars, Haechan didn’t need to do something to gain Doyoung’s attention that day. He was in the photocopying room. One hand was mindlessly using the machines, the other was warmly hugging a mug of coffee. His slowly descending glasses were being pushed back by one of his fingers when a fluttering shadow appeared behind him. Haechan’s hands stopped as if his crawling skin could physically predict the future. “Haechan”, Doyoung said. Just like that, sweet and soft. And the boy with that name let his coffee mug fall to the ground. Oh. “Haechan!” Doyoung repeated. “What the hell?” Yes. Yes. Haechan. That’s me. That’s my name on your lips. Say it again. “Haechan! You’re doing this on purpose now”. Doyoung stood tall with hands on his hips, looking at the way Haechan was failing to grab his mug, letting it comically slip from his hands, again and again, new coffee stains covering the carpet. I just love how my name sounds in your mouth. I don't want you to stop. Please. “Oops”, Haechan chuckled, the mask he carefully crafted for Doyoung easily slipping on his face, and despite everything, Doyoung rolled his eyes with a little smile himself. “You’re such an idiot”. Oh fuck. That. Haechan almost forgot. The boy could drown in the light that Doyoung’s face emitted when he was smiling. It would dissipate for a split second the darkness lingering around him and it was Haechan’s doing. Haechan did that. It made his little heart buzz every time and soon enough he started to fantasize about a day in which Doyoung would not have that expression line between his eyebrows anymore. And it arrived eventually. Haechan realized everything would go downhill for himself when he got blinded by Doyoung’s soul. He could see it before as well but not this way. Not while the older man's cheeks got red and his pupils were trembling. And Haechan understood soon what that was because a sick person recognizes another sick person easily. Was Haechan like that as well? Were his cheeks flushed and eyes glossy every time he looked at Doyoung? Ah, Doyoung’s soul. He took it out so suddenly and poured it into that girl’s hands. Haechan felt like dying. No. No, wait. It's supposed to go like this. I should be there. I worked so hard. I endured so much. It can’t end like this. This is my story. Isn’t it? And it was, but not the type of story Haechan imagined. In this universe it ended in him being alone, bones cold and empty, looking at Doyoung’s back as he carried his love in his arms. Haechan stayed back there, motionless, no arms holding him. He bit his lips for a little while, looking around the office as if not knowing on which planet he was. Then he crouched down and cried. He was tired. Yeah, he was just tired. It has been a long week and a long day. He was exhausted. That was the reason. Haechan, you're good. Just get a good night sleep. You’ll be fine. Now get up and go home. And he did that. Like a robot. He was alone inside the 4 am metro, blinding, fluorescent lights burning his fatigued eyes. His feet dragged him towards his apartment although he found himself knocking on Jaemin's door instead. Jaemin was a weird guy and Haechan loved him dearly. He just never slept. Every time Haechan called him, he somehow was wide awake doing some random shit. Haechan hoped that he didn't suddenly change his habits because he desperately needed some arms to crash into. And Jaemin opened the door as expected, a popsicle between his lips, eyes wide and bright. Haechan stepped inside and took the snack away, putting his lips on Jaemin's instead, pushing him against the wall, letting the coldness of Jaemin's tongue numb his thoughts. And he let the popsicle fall from his fingers when Jaemin wrapped him between his arms, guiding him towards the bedroom, no questions asked, no romance. I need a distraction right now, Haechan's whole being was screaming and Jaemin was good at reading people. Quickly and effortless, clothes sliding down, Haechan's mind finally lingered in a grey bliss as the only thing he could think of was the way Jaemin rolled his hips into him, sending shots of pleasure through his whole body. But then Haechan's slipped. "Doyoung-", he whimpered then gasped, eyes wide with horror and cheeks reddening. Jaemin didn't care if Haechan called other guys’ names but when Haechan put his palms on his face, chest rising and falling quickly, sobbing desperately, Jaemin stopped and sighed. He let Haechan go and rolled over, wrapping his shaking frame with his arms. "Do you want to talk?" he asked softly. Haechan shook his head, burying it into the other's chest. Jaemin stayed quiet, the only sound in the dark room being Haechan's irregular breaths, his fingers delicately drawing patterns on the other’s skin. "It's going to get better", Jaemin whispered after a while. "You're going to be seen by someone one day, just like you see everyone else”. It was weird how Jaemin always had the perfect thing to say. Though Haechan didn’t believe that, he had no force to argue. He stayed like that for the next hour, in silence, until the sun came out. Then he got up and let Jaemin prepare his breakfast that he barely touched. Haechan then borrowed the other's clothes and said it was fine for him to go to work that morning. You have to be sick to be able to call in sick, Haechan said. Because you’re someone that follows rules and does an honest job, Jaemin commented sarcasting with a raise of the brow. I just need to be busy, Haechan added and left.

Now, heading towards the acceptance, he regretted not staying home, maybe sleeping the whole day. Sleeping would be good but dreaming? He was afraid of that. The squeaking sound of Haechan’s shoes on the main floor tiles was so distressing that Haechan felt like taking them off and throw a tantrum in the middle of all those white collars. Blinking fast he sighed when he saw the new guy, an anonymous-looking young man looking around as if uncomfortable and slightly afraid. Haechan introduced himself in a monotone voice, letting the intern shake his hand then he turned around with a short 'follow me', not giving the other time to do anything else besides tailing his supervisor. Haechan has been babbling about the company for a good five minutes now, walking quickly through the corridors, showing rooms and people. He wasn't doing a very good job because he didn't care. The new guy, weirdly enough, didn't seem disoriented at all and Haechan shrugged internally. "And this is the terrace", the boy finally finished his monologue as they both stepped outside. It was a sunny day but the wind was quite strong, making Haechan close his eyes as his fluffy hair danced around his forehead. "Cute," the guy commented with a soft chuckle. Haechan looked around. Cute? It was kinda cute, he guessed. Too many ugly buildings around though and it wasn't the best-kept terrace. He turned his head to face the intern. "What's cute?" Haechan asked. It was the first word that guy said and Haechan wanted to hear him speak. The intern was looking at him already instead of the surroundings and Haechan could have sworn that the dude's cheeks were flushed with a pink hue. "You are", he said shyly, eyes big and twinkling. Haechan could only blink back. Wait. What? Did this guy just call him cute? Cute? "Listen, thanks, but you have to pay me respect. I'm your supervisor", Haechan replied trying hard to keep his voice stable. He wasn't annoyed but he couldn't just giggle, could he? Also, who calls strangers cute? On the workplace? What a weirdo. The guy’s expression shifted at Haechan’s words as if in slow motion. "Oh God, sorry, I don't know what just happened. I apologize. It was inappropriate", the intern babbled and stuttered, cheeks going from pink to red, eyes darting around, not knowing where to look. Haechan has never seen someone that transparent with his feelings before and he could tell that he was very honest. Looking so naive, Haechan fought the urge to roll his eyes at him just to make him feel even more embarrassed. "I can't fire you personally or anything and I'm not your boss, but I can tell people to fire you", Haechan tried to sound cold even if the situation was rather funny. The look the guy gave to Haechan was of pure terror a for a split second Haechan felt almost sorry. But then the dude’s eyes darted to Haechan’s hair, still flying around his forehead. Haechan puffed annoyed and put one hand on top of his head as to stop the motion. The intern’s expression relaxed. "And what are you going to say? That it's because I called you cute?" he asked. His lips were back into a timid smile. Haechan was baffled. "What is so cute about me?", he sniffled, sure that he caught a cold already and switched the hand from his hair to his ear as the wind got even stronger. The intern took the question seriously. "You have curly purple hair-", he started then stopped as if that was enough to explain his comment, "-and well, your cheeks are full and now they're uhm red and it's... very cute. Also, your eyes are big and round and it's very cute-"

Haechan groaned incredulously.

"Oh my God! Stop saying cute", he spoke up to make his voice heard over the loud rumble of the wind, before turning on his heels and walking towards the terrace door. The intern’s cheeks turned pink again as he tried hard to not add whatever he wanted to say.

_______

Mark was told that he was somewhat of a dense guy. He disapproved. He just paid attention to what he wanted and disregarded the rest. So, if you asked him to show off the company to you, what tasks he had to do or where the bathroom was, he wouldn't know where to start. But if you asked him to tell you how many moles Haechan Lee the Supervisor had, he could answer in a second. It was weird and Mark wasn't a romantic person at all. But when he saw the guy walking out the elevator, eyebrows furrowed and dark circles underneath a pair of tired and red eyes, Mark felt a tingle in his stomach that he could only describe as love at first sight. Okay. Maybe not love. Crush at first sight? Attraction? Mark didn't know what that was and it made him so confused that he could only look at the guy's back when walking around the company as if it could give him some answers. Haechan, he said while letting Mark shake his hand. Of course. It fit him perfectly. Mark could see it - the sun - underneath his skin. Their fingers parted ways too quickly after shaking hands and Mark felt so paralyzed by the sudden tingle on his skin that he couldn’t fully pay attention. Was he also warm to the touch? Mark desperately wanted to find out. Was it weird? He was being weird. But God, he was so cute. Cute. Very cute. Cute. Cute. So fucking cute.

This is all Mark’s mind was thinking about and when Mark thought about something he would just say it. Just like that. Cute. Don’t say it now though. Cute. I swear, Mark, shut up, for once. So cute. Please, not now. “Cute”, his tongue slipped.

Goddammit.

“What’s cute?” Haechan asked. The view. The view is cute. The view, Mark. Mark, say it. Mark, are you listening? The view. “You are”, Mark said instead and Haechan suddenly turned even cuter. Mark gasped, firstly because of the way Haechan’s cheeks turned red and his eyes round and big, then after a good full second that felt like an eternity, because of embarrassment. Oh shit. Fired. He was about to get fired. "God, sorry, I don't know what just happened. I apologize. It was inappropriate", Mark felt like running away. He woke up that morning with the intent of finally living the life he worked so hard for and there he was instead, calling strangers cute and making everyone uncomfortable for the sole reason of not being able to shut his mouth for once. Haechan looked embarrassed as he was though and that little detail made Mark hope that it wasn’t all over. Then Haechan shut some cold blinds on his own face and Mark knew that Haechan thought he was safe, that Mark wasn’t able to see his feelings underneath all that. It wasn’t an efficient job and Mark wondered if other people needed just that little act to not see Haechan anymore.

_______

"Good morning". Haechan saw the intern’s feet first before hearing his voice, but he didn't raise his face as suddenly something very important and urgent was being shown on the computer screen and he couldn't physically let his eyes fall on the way the guy wore his suit.

It was terrible. Long legs and strong thighs on display right in front of his desk? Terrible, and he didn’t need any more distractions in the workplace. After the intern left for the day with a soft “see you on Monday”, both tired having spent most of the time walking around the company and explaining boring paperwork, Haechan had not been able to stop thinking about him the whole weekend. No. No, it wasn’t a crush or anything. Haechan was just, what’s the word? baffled, s h o c k e d, appalled. Some random guy called him cute and Haechan acted that way? Blushing timidly? Was he feeling that bad? Was he that sick? Unacceptable. He was Haechan, for fuck’s sake. And Haechan didn’t just blush. He could not slip anymore. "Yeah, hi Mike", he replied lazily, fingers typing something he didn’t really need to write. "It's Mark", the intern replied in a neutral tone. Haechan knew it was Mark. In fact, he also knew his full name. Mark Lee. Born on August 2nd, 1999. Toronto. Moved to Vancouver. Graduated from university a few years ago. Great grades. Interested in music and sports. Plays the guitar. Good boy. Loves animals. Does charity work regularly. Has a normal amount of friends. Doesn't know how to take selfies. No, he was not being weird. He just read his CV.

Obviously.

He was his supervisor. He needed to read that. The other info? He Googled him only to make sure that he wasn't a criminal. And the social media research? It was just to check on his personality.

Obviously.

What if he posted about illegal shit? He had to check every photo and tagged person. It was part of his job. He was single, even if Haechan didn't search for that in particular. Haechan loved his work a lot and he didn't care that he worked on that until 3 am, scrolling through his phone, drifting to sleep with Mark's selfies impregnated on his lids. It's just that he took his job seriously.

Okay. Okay.

It wasn’t the whole truth. Haechan was curious. Who calls you cute all of a sudden? Haechan had to know more.

"Okay, Matt. What about you go and bring me a coff-", Haechan started but got interrupted by a hand, delicately placing a cup of steamy coffee in front of him. Haechan stared at it as if not understanding what that was then finally raised his eyes to meet Mark's gentle ones. He was smiling. "I stalked your Instagram. Full of food and coffee", Mark explained honestly with a shrug while walking around the desk and sitting down on his chair. They had to share a desk and Mark was as close as to touch elbows. Haechan hated having people so close to him when he didn't want them; especially at that moment, as Mark rested his head on his hand and just stared.

Yeah, he stared. His eyes were piercing, looking at Haechan as if that’s what normal people do. Scanning him from head to toe, then looking into his eyes as if able to see something there.

Haechan ignored him and looked away. "Stalking my social media is problematic, Mike". Mark chuckled lightly. "You did the same". Haechan's head snapped. "And why would I do that?”. Mark shrugged. "Close the tabs if you didn't want me to find out," he smiled staring at Haechan's laptop.

The younger’s eyes suddenly widened and with a quick hand, he closed it in a second, cheeks hot with shame. He opened his mouth to say something to get himself out of that embarrassing situation but Mark thankfully didn't give him any time.

"What are we doing today, sir?" he asked instead with a sly smile. "We write codes", Haechan replied quietly. "Fun", was Mark's comment.

And they did that the whole morning, ignoring each other's knees as they sometimes brushed against each other. And they ignored the way their knuckles touched when both reached for their own cup of coffee. And Haechan ignored Mark's cologne while Mark ignored the way the computer lights made Haechan's skin glow. Mark loved programming, he always did, but that morning he thought that it would be nice to not be a programmer, just for a minute, just to be in a well-lit office and see how different Haechan would look under the sun instead.

_______

Haechan stared down at his sandwich, sitting still wrapped and untouched in his lap. Then he looked up at the blue sky and let the white fluffy clouds calm him.

It happened close to the lunch break.

"Spaghetti", Mark said suddenly. Onew had left already and in front of their office, everyone was walking the corridor heading out. Haechan was finally getting into the flow of working when Mark's hoarse voice startled him. "It's your favourite food, isn't it?" Mark asked, explaining himself. "Soup. I don't put things I love on my Instagram", Haechan replied. Mark looked pensive. "This is why there's no girlfriend photo there?" he wondered with a timid smile. Huh? What was that? So this is what was happening? This is the reason for the cute?

Haechan had no force to being hit on, as much as Mark intrigued him. He had zero force and suddenly all the thoughts that Haechan buried away for a few days, came back like a bulldozer.

Haechan bit his tongue before talking too much. "Maybe the girlfriend doesn't exist", he mumbled before getting up and grabbing his wallet.

"Wait, are you going away?" Mark got up as well, surprised. "I thought we were going to eat together. I don't know other people-". "Well, I don't want to. Make some new friends", he replied and just walked away. No, he ran away and the first place he thought about was the terrace. It was the only uncontaminated place in the whole company. Doyoung has never been there before.

And Haechan loved the clouds. He loved the wind moving them around fast. It was mesmerizing and in moments like those, he was able to not think about anything, until he was not Haechan anymore, until he was a cloud himself, floating in the blue sky.

"Sorry, I didn't know this was your favourite place", a voice startled him for the second time that day.

Haechan looked at his right where Mark was standing with a plate of food in his hands. He looked like a scared deer, turning around to leave Haechan alone, probably wondering what he did wrong but too anxious to confront Haechan about it.

"It's alright. You can stay", Haechan spoke softly and resumed his cloud gazing.

Mark stopped uncertain, standing still for a little while but then he walked towards Haechan and slowly sat down, resting his back on the wall as Haechan did, raising his eyes to watch the sky.

"Pretty", Mark commented and this time he was actually talking about the view.

Haechan hummed, then after a moment of silence, he apologized.

Mark began eating his food. "For what?" he asked with his mouth full. They both knew the reason but Haechan still appreciated Mark’s effort to showcase that he wasn’t mad at him. "For telling you that I don't want to eat together. I was being an ass for no reason", Haechan explained. Mark shook his head. "It's alright. I'm sorry if I came off clingy". Haechan huffed. "Funny. Usually, I'm the clingy one".

Mark swallowed and Haechan looked at him. "I haven't been myself lately. But I promise I'm not an asshole". Mark smiled back kindly. "I know. I can see that".

Haechan's expression flattered.

Mark took another bite. "You look very warm. Your name is very appropriate for your personality. You're just… very cute", he added with a shy smile.

Haechan continued staring at the other, unable to make a single sound.

The other had a few other bites as if not noticing the way his words made Haechan feel then he finally raised his gaze.

"Why are you not eating? Are you sick?" Mark inquired eyeing Haechan's sandwich. The boy finally sighed and looked up at the sky again. "Maybe". "Well, you'll get worse if you don't eat", Mark commented and grabbed the sandwich, unwrapping it and putting it into Haechan's hand with force. "I can't believe you're treating your supervisor like this. Calling him cute and forcing him to eat", Haechan stared at the food in his hand before taking a small bite, mostly to make Mark happy. The other shrugged. "You act like no one calls you cute every minute. Also, I am older than you. I can do that”. Haechan rolled his eyes. "I'm still your senior. You don't want to see me get mad. I can guarantee you that". Mark opened his mouth to say something dangerously similar to “cute” but then smiled instead, shaking his head. Haechan forced himself to keep a straight face. "If you say it again…", he warned the other. Mark cleaned his already clean fingers on a napkin then suddenly grabbed Haechan's cheek with two fingers. The boy's eyes got wide and he almost dropped his food, his mouth open in a surprised o.

Mark smiled even more at his reaction, gulping his last piece of food while gently pinching Haechan's face as if he were a child. Then he let him go and got up, dusting his pants. "I didn't say anything this time", Mark explained innocently.

Haechan looked up at him, still shocked.

"I'll see you in the office. Finish your food", Mark told him and left. Haechan could distinctly hear Mark comment "so fucking cute" while he was descending the stairs.

_______

That night Haechan fell into his usual decadent slumber. He was almost fully unconscious, the twilight sleep making space for a depraved and troubled dream. Fingers twitching and muscles quivering, Haechan’s mind transformed his day yearning in darkness. Images of eyes and lips tormented him again. It has always been the same pattern, yet something new derailed the boy’s focus that night. Little details. The roundness of the eyes, the form of the lips, the touch of the fingers, the voice. That voice sounded different and it whispered something Haechan has never dreamt about before. A single word, soft but sensual, repeated again and again in Haechan’s ear.

That morning, after a very long time, the boy woke up with a new name on his lips.

_______

Mark sometimes thought that everyone was just stupid besides himself.

Not because of an unhealthy superiority complex or something, but because he couldn’t understand how everyone could be that blind.

“Oh, Lara, I love your new blazer”, Haechan would say while walking around the company with Mark following suit. Poor Lara would blush and be genuinely happy about the compliment. But Mark could see that Haechan thought it was atrocious. And Adam’s stuttering speech a well. Oh, and Joseph’s wrinkly newborn.

However, it wasn’t this fake persona Haechan had that made Mark uneasy. It was the one he would wear when talking about himself. Oh, I slept very well last night. No, I don’t need any help. Yes, everything is fine, what do you mean? Smiles and laughs and sarcastic comments.

Mark wanted to know. He wanted to get closer and dust off the misty layer on Haechan’s eyes.

Maybe Mark thought too highly of himself. Maybe it was his ego talking.

I’m going to be the one to help Haechan, that’s the only thing he could think about.

And lately, during sleepless nights, Mark would beat himself up about it.

It’s not your business, Mark. You want this to feel a good person.

Except, he would then frown and hug his pillow tighter, getting annoyed at himself.

No, I would want it even it wasn’t me to help Haechan out. I just want to see him happy.

Yeah. This sounds good.

So he would drift away to sleep, peaceful, knowing that he was selfless.

Alas, it took very little to Mark to realize that he wasn’t that selfless as he thought.

Mark raised his eyes when Haechan’s abrupt manners opened the office door with a kick. “Haechan, you look good today”. The other smirked. “I always look good. What do you mean?” As if the literal sun entered the room. Mark was blinded. “Did something good happen?”, he watched Haechan’s hair bounce at his every step, like a little seedling gently moved by the breeze. Haechan’s smile widened as he sat down, rolling around in his seat, pure energy sprinkling from every pore. “So I guess the answer is yes,” Mark found himself smiling as well, although a bitter taste pasted his tongue on the palate as he spoke. “I just remembered how much serotonin a good fuck gives you,” Haechan opened his computer and started working on his tasks, not paying attention to Mark’s face.

Oh.

Mark hated it. Oh, he hated it so much. God, he hated it.

The boy tried hard to not think about Haechan that day, resulting in him thinking about Haechan all day. Don't think about Haechan. Don't think about Haechan. Don't think about his body touched by somebody else.

It was almost lunchtime when Mark finally broke the silence. “So, now you’re dating someone?” Haechan raised an eyebrow, eyes still too focused on his computer to give his full attention to Mark. “What? No. Why?”, he mumbled distractedly. Mark blinked for a few seconds. Haechan finally processed and laughed. “You’re kinda sweet Mark. I just got dicked down, that’s all”, he got up and stretched his arms up with a whiny yawn. “Come on,” he lightly hit the other’s shoulder, “I think today’s menu is soup”.

______

Mark Mark Mark Mark Mark.

It was as if Haechan was going crazy.

It was just a dream. A single dream.

When did this happen? How was it possible?

“Fuck, Haechan, you’re-”, Jaemin gulped, his adam apple going up and down inside his stretched out throat just like Haechan’s body moved on top of him. “Yeah?” the directly concerned boy smiled. “-crazy today”, Jaemin concluded. “Who made you this horny?” Haechan bit his lower lip, hating his mind for not leaving that thought out, even if for a single second. “Call me--”, he ignore the other’s question, cheeks violently turning red. Jaemin groaned at the way Haechan sunk deeper on him in the process. “Call you what?”, he asked breathless, fingers tightening around Haechan’s painfully hard length. “Cute”, the boy finally whispered. And Jaemin said it, again and again until that word replaced Mark’s name from Haechan’s head.

_______

That day’s menu was indeed soup which only added to Haechan’s general euphoria. Mark walked one step behind him, troubled by the double sword his feelings formed inside his heart. His eyes were only on the younger’s face and Mark could only sigh every few seconds.

Oh, I’m falling in love. I’m falling in love.

Lost in his melodramatic thoughts, Mark didn’t notice when Haechan suddenly stopped. “Hey, boys. Haechan,” a dude greeted generally before locking eyes with the younger one. Haechan rolled his eyes and made a step back from where that guy was. The dude’s smile flattered as if annoyed at that obvious showcase of hatred towards him but kept his fake expression on as he looked at Mark instead. “So, I’m organizing this party downtown at the Garages. Do you want to come?”, he asked.

Mark furrowed his eyebrows and eyed Haechan to see what the deal was about.

Haechan huffed. “Mark doesn’t like parties and neither do I, Jungwoo. Thank you”, he replied snarkily while making a step to continue walking.

Jungwoo smirked. “Says the party animal. You never mentioned it to me while I had you on my-”, but Haechan interrupted him, hitting his chest with the back of his hand.

Jungwoo chuckled with satisfaction.

“Oh, so the boy doesn’t have to know?” he asked indicating to Mark, faking innocence.”

Mark felt his jaw muscle flinch and a sudden urge to punch that dude in the face made his fists almost tremble.

“The boy doesn’t like the way you’re making his friend uncomfortable right now”, he spoke with a cold voice not breaking eye contact. “Whatever happened between you before, now Haechan doesn’t want to see you again and certainly he doesn’t want to come to your party”.

Haechan opened his mouth to say something but Jungwoo's laugh interrupted him.

“Oh, but he does want to see me again and come to my party. Don’t you, Haechan?” the dude asked.

“Of course I don’t, Jungwoo. Get fucked”, Haechan replied quickly, eyes rolling in their sockets, feet turning direction and walking away.

“I bet I will”, Jungwoo shrugged with a little smile, throwing one finger gun at Mark. “By Haechan”, he whispered with a wink while leaving him alone in the corridor.

To Mark’s horror, despite those two’s abrasive conversation, he could definitely see that as a silent promise.

So Mark went there as well.

Why? He didn’t know. He liked to think that he was concerned about Haechan’s safety.

That Jungwoo guy had some rancid vibes and Mark hated the idea of the two together. Because he was concerned for his safety.

Not because he was jealous or anything.

Haechan could do whatever he wanted and sleep with whoever he wanted to, but what if, just what if, Haechan changed his mind and chose Mark over the Jungwoo dude?

Mark could do that.

Mark wasn’t self-centred but he still realized that Haechan deserved better and he could provide that.

If that was Haechan needed to soothe the darkness in his eyes, Mark could do that.

But Haechan wasn’t there and neither was Jungwoo and the thought of that man’s hands on Haechan’s skin made Mark’s guts twirl on themselves.

He looked around, frantically, breathing the sweat-impregnated air, trying to avoid being hit by people’s sticky shoulders. Until he started to feel sick, not only because of the loud music and blinding lights but also for some obscure reason, grabbing his throat and choking him.

He had to drown that down.

_______

When Haechan arrived Mark was surrounded by people, eyes closed, face up exposing his neck, laughing and screaming, jumping and moving his body as Haechan has never seen someone do before.

His legs were nicely on display in a pair of severely ripped black jeans that Haechan had no idea Mark liked to wear.

The younger boy was so concentrated on the way a plain white T-shirt could look so good on a person that he noticed too late the way Mark directed his eyes towards him.

He was far away and Haechan couldn’t decipher the other's expression but it didn’t matter as Mark quickly made his way to where the younger boy nervously stood.

Mark was drunk. A lot.

But he still somewhat fluidly avoided the crowd as if dancing until getting as close as hovering above Haechan. The boy had never noticed that Mark was taller until he had to raise his face to look up, his back and palms pressed against the wall. He didn’t notice when he walked backwards either.

“Haechan”, Mark said his name with such worry to make the other’s heart beat like crazy. “Are you okay? Where have you been?”, or that's what Haechan deciphered from his lips since the music was so loud that his ribcage felt about to be ripped apart. “Home. I’ve just arrived”, Haechan yelled and Mark got even closer, giving his ear to the boy’s lips to hear better.

Haechan couldn’t do anything else besides inhaling his odour. Mark was a little sweaty and his breath smelled of alcohol, but Haechan has never found someone sexier than him at that moment.

His eyes were dark under his black curls and his lips looked swollen as if someone sucked on them. Haechan felt like prey and unconsciously pressed his body against the wall even harder.

“And where’s Jungwoo?”, Mark’s voice tingled Haechan’s earbuds. “I have no idea. Why would I know?”, Haechan replied, acting as if he didn’t realize why Mark was behaving like that.

It made Haechan’s palms sweat.

He thought about that a lot, at the way Mark got defensive of him in front of Jungwoo, at the way Mark’s expression darkened even after Haechan told them that he had no intention to go to the party, at the way Mark has been looking at Haechan a lot, at the way Haechan couldn’t just stop thinking about Mark for a single second either.

He came to the party because of that. Haechan’s mind was running again and he wanted to stop it. And also because he played with his phone all day, looking at Mark’s number for a long time.

Mark would have replied but did Haechan really want it? He was such a sweet person and Haechan didn’t dare to contaminate him with his presence. Mark didn’t deserve to be used as Haechan needed.

So he went to the party, ready to contaminate somebody else instead. Who knew that Mark was there waiting for him?

“I’ve been thinking about you the whole night”, Mark talked again after staring at Haechan as if trying to understand the younger one’s thoughts. Just like he has been for the past few months, making Haechan feel small and naked. "Yeah, I bet. While letting those people grind on you?" Haechan replied sarcastic trying hard to conceal his shaking voice.

Mark got closer, bold and cocky, putting his hands on the wall, caging Haechan between his arms, leaning in and whispering into his ear. "Yeah, I was imagining you grinding on me", his confession tickled Haechan’s ear and the boy tried to move his head away on the side, afraid to do something he would regret, but Mark's hand was there and his head had nowhere to go. It wasn't right.

Haechan was sober while Mark was drunk and had no idea what he was talking about. He had to go away, push him back, but his limbs weren't cooperating. Mark's hand though was working just fine and it gently grabbed Haechan's face, turning it into his direction.

"Haechan, please, let me kiss you", he begged, his breath caressing Haechan’s lips.

The boy gulped down surprised, shivering with desire, fighting with himself. He put his hands on Mark's chest, with the intent of lightly pushing him away, but he was made of iron. No, Mark, no, please. You’re too precious to me for this.

"You don't know what you're talking about", Haechan mumbled.

Mark breathed heavily. His jaw muscles tightened. Then he put his head down as if trying to gain forces.

"Yeah, sorry, okay okay, I'm leaving", he retrieved his arms and let them fall to his sides like dead flesh.

Haechan looked at them with some relief, suddenly feeling exposed and cold, even if the club's air was so hot that it was hard to breathe. Or maybe it was just him having breathing difficulties. Haechan had no idea.

"No, wait", his lips betrayed him. "Just-", Haechan interrupted himself, eyes squeezed together as if already regretting what he was about to say, unsure, holding Mark's wrist with both hands. Then he opened his eyes again.

Mark was looking at him his heavy lids. His gaze wandered from his face to his exposed neck, then to his collarbones and chest. Mark was undressing him without touching anything and Haechan felt like going crazy.

"-just a kiss. Okay? It's going to be a short kiss", Haechan continued, unable to believe he was actually saying that.

But there was no harm in that. A little kiss. Just a harmless little kiss. Like the ones you'd have in college during stupid games. No one thought about those in the mornings.

But when Mark's lips curved in a little smirk and his body got as close as to press on Haechan's one again, the younger boy knew that it wasn't going to be just a kiss. Not for him at least. And not only he would think about it in the morning. He probably would think about it for a long time. And he was right. It was indeed memorable. Slow and careful but not timid. Mark cupped the other’s face, palm pressed on his jaw, fingers as far as touching his neck and ear, the other grabbing his hips, pulling them against his. Haechan’s head felt light and he couldn't fathom how Mark managed to have so much control when he was about to lose it all. And then it became even worse as Mark slipped his tongue inside of Haechan’s mouth and the younger boy had to tighten his grip around Mark’s torso. He whined into Mark's mouth, making the other hum back, picking up the pace, biting his lower lip and sucking on it, letting his hand fall from Haechan's face to his neck, then chest, then to his stomach, grazing the skin separated by Mark's fingers only by his thin button-down.

Haechan had to stop him. It was going too far. That was a mistake. They still had to work together. There’s a reason why Haechan avoided talking to the coworkers he fucked before. Mark wasn't realizing that but Haechan did. He had to be responsible.

Stop him, Haechan. Stop him.

"Mark, wait", he broke off the kiss when Mark's hands reached his jeans button. The boy looked down at him, panting, eyes half-closed: he was begging Haechan to let him continue.

Haechan grabbed his shirt and dragged him around the corner, into the shadows.

"Tomorrow we forget about this, okay?", he warned him, shutting his brain off. "Okay", Mark replied quickly putting his mouth on Haechan's again as if unable to be away from it for too long. And he put his hands on Haechan's jeans again as well, opening the button, letting the zip fall slowly, tucking his hand underneath Haechan's boxers, feeling his soft and hot skin, wrapping his fingers around him tightly, not letting the struggling Haechan to break off the kiss to moan. And he didn't even last too long. The boy came shuddering all over Mark's fist after a few good strokes and the older finally let him press his face into his chest.

Shit, he had never lasted this little. What the hell.

Haechan was fucking embarrassed and if Mark wouldn't have been too drunk to remember anyway, he would have just run away to hide in that exact moment.

"Fuck", Mark cursed under his breath, feeling Haechan’s hot release on his skin, nudging at Haechan's temple with his lips while the other came down from his high. "Oh, fuck, you're so hot like this, Haechan. And cute. Shit, you're so cute, I'm going crazy", he babbled before letting Haechan's cock go and trying to bring his fingers to his lips. "Oh no", Haechan gulped trying to stop him. "Mark, don't. You touched all sort of things in the club with that hand", and Mark stopped for a second as if processing the information before dropping to his knees and tasting Haechan directly.

The boy opened his mouth in a silent gasp and he was still so aroused that feeling Mark's tongue made him hard again in a second.

"Fuck", Haechan swore loudly, pressing his fingers into the wall behind him, letting his head fall back, feeling himself grow harder inside Mark's mouth.

He didn't expect it. He didn't expect any of this. Innocent and soft Mark Lee sucking him off like no one has done before in the dark corner of a club? Haechan the slut coming in two seconds and getting hard again soon after? Past Haechan would have laughed, yet there he was, moaning Mark's name like a mantra, coming for the second time in minutes like a little virgin.

It was no dream. It was a reality.

Mark didn't let him go and Haechan felt like flying as his cum descended inside Mark's throat. And then he looked down right in time to catch a glimpse of Mark's eyes, looking up at him, letting his cock out with a lewd plop. "Mark, where did you learn that?", Haechan asked suddenly exhausted. The boy licked his lips and held onto Haechan to get up, shakily. "Was that good? It was my first time doing it", he mumbled with a smile before resting his head on Haechan's shoulder, the cocktail he had right before adding to his brain fog.

_______

Mark woke up to the sound of a heartbeat. It was a comforting sound. Deep and regular.

He groaned softly as his lids realized they were getting hit by bright and irritating sunlight. Then he opened his eyes slowly, focusing on the windows first, vision blurry, then on the plant underneath it, then on the young man underneath him.

Mark's muscles got a spasm and woke up completely as his brain finally made sense of what was going on. Meaning that his face was resting on Haechan's chest. Bare chest. And his own torso, bare torso, was wrapped by the boy's arms.

Oh fuck, he thought. Oh shit.

"It's too late in the morning to run away", Haechan mumbled, waking up softly as well.

Mark froze as he was trying to get up. He was propped up on an elbow when Haechan opened his eyes and Mark felt his breath hitch.

Haechan was there, pillow adorned with his luscious locks lying all around his head like a halo, chocolate eyes warmed by the sun shining through the windows and his skin, God, he looked like an angel.

"I'm not going away", Mark lied, surprising himself by how deep and hoarse his voice sounded like. "Fuck, you're so cute right now", he whispered soon after, unable to control himself.

Haechan's eyes got wider at Mark's words. He expected Mark to freak out, and Mark was freaking out inside a lot, but having Haechan like that, underneath him, vulnerable and beautiful as never before, made Mark feel peaceful at the same time.

This is all he wanted in life.

The older managed to keep it together for a few other seconds, trying to look confident, but when Haechan's cheeks reddened with blush, Mark lost it and blushed as well, rolling away, grabbing a pillow to hide his face in with a scream.

"I can't believe it", his voice came out muffled. "Oh my God", he yelled quietly.

Haechan started to chuckle embarrassed. "What an idiot".

"How-", Mark removed the pillow enough for one eye to poke out. "How far-", he stuttered.

Haechan rolled his eyes, faking nonchalance.

"Just oral", he whispered while getting up and putting his feet on the ground, turning his back to Mark, unable to look at him in the face either.

"Oh", the other sounded weirdly disappointed. Haechan pinched the base of his nose. That man was sending such mixed messages. "You did dry hump my ass if that makes things better", Haechan spoke through his teeth, embarrassed out of his mind, grabbing the bottle of water he kept on his nightstand. "I'm sorry. You deserve to get fucked properly", Mark replied quietly as if thinking at loud, making Haechan choke on his water and spit it all around the room.

Mark sat up quickly and placed a hand on Haechan's shoulder. "Are you okay?"

The choking boy turned around to face him.

"I thought you'd be all embarrassed about this", he commented while drying his wet lips with the back of his hand.

"I am!" Mark's eyes got wide and his red ears confirmed it, but it was still not what Haechan expected.

"I mean", Haechan hesitated, unsure of what words to use, "I thought you'd regret it in the morning. You were really drunk last night and you had no idea what you were doing”.

Mark's face visibly darkened.

"Do you regret it?", he asked.

Haechan went on with his phrase ignoring Mark’s question. "-like I was sober and I was worried that maybe I should have-".

"Haechan".

Mark's voice was so deep and serious that Haechan's heart started to beat faster upon hearing him calling his name like that. "Answer me. Do you regret it? Did I- fuck - did I do something wrong?", Mark asked ruffling his hair with one hand. He looked so worried and distressed that Haechan for a second didn't know what to say.

"No", the younger finally shook his head. "No", he repeated. "I was aware of everything and I made my choice consciously but you-", Haechan hesitated again. "Me too", Mark spoke up, nodding. "I remember everything until you helped me to get out of the club. After I sucked y-".

"Don't say it", Haechan stopped him with a raised palm.

Mark chuckled embarrassedly.

If only Haechan knew how cute he was being in that moment, faking his serious face and steading his voice. Mark would have wanted to see Haechan confess just how weak he was.

"So you, like, you wanted it? Not because you were just drunk and I happened to be there?", Haechan asked timidly. Haechan couldn't believe he was so shy to talk about sex with someone. It has never happened before. Nothing he did with Mark happened before.

Mark gulped down. "I wanted it, yeah. I didn't do it because I was drunk. I did it thanks to that. I don't think I would have had the courage otherwise", he explained. "But I'm also sorry. It mustn't be nice to- like--uh, you know, with a drunk person", he stuttered, eyes closing and opening as he thought about the words to use.

Haechan looked down, shyly. "You were very hot actually", he whispered back, scratching the back of his head.

"Haechan," Mark finally found his voice after a moment of shocked silence. "I swear to God, I would take you-", but interrupted himself abruptly.

Haechan looked at him flustered.

Mark cleared his voice.

Then he shook his head.

"No", he chuckled at himself. "Nothing, never mind", he added suddenly getting up, the covers sliding down his naked body.

Haechan looked at it. He had looked at it the whole night. That night he kissed every inch of that skin and listened to Mark's soft moans. And Haechan realized that it wasn't a hookup. At all. Not for him. But Mark didn't remember that part and Haechan didn't want to tell him. If Haechan had to think about it for the next month, so be it. It was all on him. He let himself go too far and he wasn't talking about the physical aspect. It was all his fault if his heart was aching to see Mark get dressed instead of lying beside him, cuddling, or better, doing what Mark didn't dare to tell him.

_______

"Tomorrow we forget about this, okay?".

Forgetting.

Mark wanted to forget but he couldn't do it. Not the day after and not on Monday morning, seeing Haechan's pretty lips so close to him and not being able to kiss them.

Mark lied when Haechan asked him what he remembered.

Well, not entirely, because he did forget some parts.

But he was definitely lucid when Haechan went down on him, slowly, after kissing his lips, then his neck, sucking on his skin, then his chest and stomach as Mark wrapped Haechan's hair around his fingers. The boy asked multiple times if Mark was okay with that until Mark had to basically beg to just suck him off already. And God, he was so cute doing it. He would never forget how that felt. Divine. His head was so light as if zero oxygen got to it, every drop of blood concentrated inside of Haechan's warm and wet mouth instead.

And he was staring at that mouth now, as Haechan explained the work to do for the day. Mark wasn't even that horny. No. He just wanted to hold him again and softly press his lips on Haechan's plump ones.

"Tomorrow we forget about this".

Haechan was sober when he said that. He meant it. He wouldn't have said that if he didn't mean it. Right? Should he ask? Haechan, did you forget? Do you want to forget? Because I don't.

And I can't.

"Mark", Haechan snapped his fingers in front of him making the boy jolt. "Focus", he ordered. "What are you thinking about?".

You. I'm thinking about you. You. You. I've been thinking about you for days, Haechan.

"Lunch", Mark shrugged. Haechan rolled his eyes. "What an idiot".

_______

That afternoon Haechan was in a relatively good mood.

He should have known that the most peaceful days could bring the most terrible storms though.

So he jolted at the sound of a voice he almost forgot how it sounded like.

"Haechan, I thought you died or something".

The boy in question looked up from his computer to see a pair of feline eyes.

They were bright and amused. Then he saw the lips. Soft and pink stretched in a sweet smile.

Doyoung was still like a house with all the lights on, but now it wasn’t empty anymore. Now everyone was home. This house was full of people, all happy and content.

Haechan was so glad. He truly was. This is what he has always wanted to see since first locking eyes with that man. But he also felt suddenly miserable. Miserable and confused.

His heart shouldn't have skipped a beat like that. Not anymore.

"I did die and I just got back from hell", he replied, trying to sound as snarky as possible. It wasn't entirely a lie.

"What about you? You also went missing". Doyoung blushed subtly at the innuendo and Haechan felt the urge to punch the table. Or himself. "I've been busy", Doyoung replied softly. "So you went to paradise instead, I see", Haechan commented with a smile hoping that no one noticed how fake it was.

_______

"A man can't have his alone time in peace. What do you want?", Haechan rolled his eyes while Mark sat down beside him, resting his back on the rooftop wall, looking in front of him at the blue sky.

It was a sunny day with a slight breeze, enough for Haechan's fringe to wave gently.

Mark loved it when the wind ruffled Haechan's hair but he couldn't bring himself to look at the younger boy. Not at that moment.

"I didn't know", Mark whispered. "What?", Haechan's voice came out irritated but he didn't care.

"That you were in love", Mark added.

Haechan choked on his breath.

"I'm not", he crossed his arms on his chest and closed his eyes as if sunbathing. Conversation over, it meant. An angry bronzing session.

Mark finally looked at him then, feeling safe as he wasn't seen back. He watched the way Haechan’s skin glowed under the warm rays. Mark thought about how it would feel under his fingertips but he wasn’t sure. He touched it before but now he couldn’t remember it. Mark wanted to raise one hand and touch his cheek again, this time fully concentrating on the feeling. He wanted to let it slide down the boy’s jawline, feeling the sharp bone, then on his neck where the angry pulsating artery pumped blood at a crazy speed. Then he wanted to hear Haechan’s soft breath as his hand unbuttoned his shirt, this time feeling his heartbeat. Mark wanted it to be fast and only for him. For Mark.

It all made sense now. But why does it have to be like that? What should Mark do? What do people do in this scenario?

Was he thinking about this Doyoung guy? Has Haechan been thinking about other men? The whole time? While Mark was thinking about him?

Was he imagining kissing that man's lips while Mark's mind was full of Haechan and Haechan only?

Of course, he would.

What was Mark thinking? Isn’t this what he accepted? Isn’t this what he decided to adventure in? Why was Mark suddenly so hurt about Haechan behaving as he anticipated him to do?

We forget about this in the morning and Mark was certain now that Haechan actually did forget.

"Does he know?", Mark asked after a while. Haechan snorted. "Of course he doesn't". "He doesn't know what?".

The other boy sighed at the trap.

"Just leave me alone", he ordered. And Mark actually got up and left.

Haechan's cheeks got wet right when it started to rain.

_______

"Mark, if you have something to say, just say it".

It's been a few days of Mark not talking but still looking at Haechan as if about to burst in a monologue anytime soon.

Haechan had been brusque with him before, but it never came to Mark not talking to him.

The younger boy wasn’t stupid. It was obvious what was going on with Mark but Haechan didn’t have the force to deal with it sooner.

"I don't have anything to say", Mark replied. "Do you have anything to say?".

Haechan rested his back on the chair and looked at Mark, irritated.

"Okay, we need to sort this thing out. We can't work like this". "Like this how? We're working just fine", Mark didn't raise his eyes from the computer. "Mark, you've been writing and deleting the same line for a while now", Haechan indicated the screen with his chin. "Well, maybe something is going on with me but it doesn't have anything to do with you, so we don't need to talk about anything", Mark replied finally starting a new line.

So Mark was able to lie as well, huh?

"Mark", Haechan lowered his voice. "Do you perhaps have feelings for me?", he whispered.

"What?!" Mark yelled.

Onew jolted on his seat.

"Keep your voice down, you dumbass", Haechan put one hand on his thigh. Mark looked down at it then at Haechan's face.

Haechan retrieved his hand back.

Mark breathed heavily before talking.

"It's just--”, he rested his back on the chair as well, “I've never been with someone like that before and I'm so confused right now, like, I don't know if I have feelings for you or just--like, I need closure?", he questioned as if talking to himself.

Haechan was surprised that Mark told him all that.

"You mean that you're a virgin?", the younger asked incredulously. "Uhm, I can hear you", Onew said. "Then get your ass up and take a stroll, Owen", Haechan spoke up.

Mark flinched at his sudden and loud voice.

Their colleague shook his head as if not believing he was dealing with some weirdos and got out of the office mumbling something about gen z people.

"I am not a virgin. I meant hookups", Mark explained after a little pause while his cheeks acted like a virgin's. "You said you've never sucked someone before", Haechan raised one eyebrow. "It's alright if you're a virgin, Mark. You just have to tell me and-”, he interrupted himself as if realizing what they actually did, “-fuck, you had to tell me before as well. God, I acted recklessly, I should hav-".

"I am not a virgin! Stop saying that. I've never sucked before because I've been eating pussy, okay?", Mark raised his voice.

Haechan blinked at him. "So you're confused about your sexuality?"

Mark rolled his eyes defeated. "I know what I like! I'm not confused. Just hear me out!" "You said you were confused just a minute ago", Haechan said. "But not about my sexuality. Because of the hookup!" "Why are you yelling?", Haechan yelled. "I'm not yelling!", Mark yelled back. "You're arguing with me right now". "Because you're not listening! I don't know how I'm feeling about you because I've never slept around before. I-- just--don't like it", Mark stuttered. "Then why did you sleep with me?", Haechan was exasperated. Mark whined. "Because I liked you already”. "So you do like me. You have feelings for me", Haechan raised his hands as if talking with a fool.

The other shifted in his seat as if uncomfortable.

"Don't all people like their hookup partners though? Like, would you sleep with someone if they were ugly as fuck? I don't think so. You still need to be attracted to them a little".

Haechan sighed while massaging his temples. "I can't believe I'm having this conversation. Didn't you have crushes before? Don't you know what it feels like to be in love?".

Mark groaned tiredly. "I did. And I know. But this is different", he spoke with a softer tone.

Haechan sighed. "So what? Am I supposed to help you figure that out? If you like me or not?".

Mark straightened his tie and focused on his computer again as if the conversation was over.

"Listen, you wanted to hear me talk, so I did".

The younger boy stared at the other’s fingers as they started to type something, probably useless.

"Do you even want to like me? Like what's your expectation?".

Mark’s fingers stopped and he remained silent for a little while. "Well, you like somebody else, so it wouldn't be nice if I had feelings for you, would it?".

Haechan prolonged the silence a bit. "I'm getting out of it".

Mark turned his head to him.

That was a lie, Mark could see it. A blatant lie.

"Do you want me to like you?", he asked. His voice was soft and low.

Haechan thought about it for a second. He didn’t know what to say.

Mark sighed, unable to wait like that, and closed his eyes, reclining back on his seat again.

"I like you, Haechan. Okay? I like you, fuck. I don't care if you like somebody else".

Haechan’s heart started to beat even faster than before.

“Was this the problem, then? You were jealous?”, Haechan’s voice came out quieter than he intended.

Mark opened his eyes and looked down at his hands clasped together.

He shrugged.

“You don’t have to worry about me. I just needed to say it. I’m not asking for anything from you”, Mark directed his gaze towards Haechan.

He looked so serious that it made Haechan’s cheeks get pink again.

Mark’s eyes trembled imperceptibly at that reaction but he didn’t dare to say anything about it.

He cleared his voice as Haechan couldn’t bring himself to add anything either and got back to work.

_______

It was very late at night.

Haechan had no idea what time it was but it was not a time normal people would be awake at.

He fidgeted under the covers, restless and irritated. He felt hot and his mind wouldn’t let him sleep.

His hands found his phone after a while, ready to click on Jaemin’s name. But then his thumb slid down and it stopped over Mark instead.

Haechan stared at the bright screen until he felt his eyes tear up from lack of blinking then just pressed it with a huff.

Bad person Haechan. You’re a bad person. You’re such a bad person. A mistake. You did a mistake a now you were about to make another one.

“Yes”, Mark’s rough voice interrupted Haechan’s train of thoughts.

The younger boy opened his mouth to breathe better and he let that monosyllable caress his ears even after the sound already died.

“Hey”, Haechan whispered, closing his eyes, helping his other senses to get sharper.

Mark groaned softly and shifted in his bed, probably turning in a more comfortable position. “Haechan”, he said in the same sleepy and deep voice and Haechan had to make an effort to not whimper into the phone.

Why was Haechan so affected by this boy but at the same time so afraid of him? He shouldn’t have let Mark get so involved. Haechan should have put a wall between them the first time his lips said that first “cute”, then another one when he blatantly saw the way Mark’s eyes couldn’t leave him, then another one that night in the club, and another one when Mark asked him if Haechan wanted to be liked. And now as well. Just end the call.

But he couldn’t.

His walls were not strong enough for Mark and Haechan was a bad person.

He liked it. He liked a lot. Haechan wanted more and more even if he could give back only darkness.

“I’m sorry I woke you up”, Haechan said after waiting a few seconds to recollect himself.

Mark hummed as if telling him that it was alright. “Is everything okay?” he asked and Haechan noticed the way Mark was slowly waking up by the growing concern in his voice. “Yeah, yeah, everything is good. I just…”, Haechan hesitated.

Why did he even call Mark in the first place? Did he need company? Rude. Did he miss him? Gross. He was a bad person, using people when he needed, disregarding their feelings? Yeah.

“I wanted to speak to someone”, he decided to be honest.

Mark’s breath got louder for a second as if he laughed lightly. “I’m glad you thought of me, then. Unless you called other people first and no one replied”.

Haechan smiled, feeling like a teenager talking to his first crush, then stopped, starting to hate himself. “No. You’re the only one I called”, he confessed.

What was he doing? Bad. Bad Haechan. Bad.

Mark went silent and Haechan listened to his breath for a while.

“You confuse me so much, Haechan”, Mark’s voice was a whisper and Haechan swallowed nothing, feeling his throat suddenly dry.

Yeah. It was not fair. Not when Mark told him how he was feeling and Haechan couldn’t do the same.

“But I’m not complaining”, Mark added before Haechan could apologize and end the call, finally getting to his senses. “I don’t care, Haechan. I like you so much. You can do whatever you want to me”.

Haechan bit his lower lip. God, he hated himself.

“Mark-”. “Would you do something for me?”, the boy interrupted him. “Mm? What?”. “Would you-”, Mark stopped, breath suddenly quicker, “-would you-uhm-- shit”, he repeated softly before chuckling, slightly embarrassed.

Haechan’s skin got goosebumps, wondering if he understood what Mark wanted. His heartbeat started to pump blood at a crazy speed at it all went in a single place.

So he did what Mark asked, even if he would end up being wrong, only because he wanted it too. He slid a hand under his t-shirt, slowly, until reaching his nipples, and whined into the phone.

Mark went completely silent for a second.

Haechan whined again a little louder.

“Fuck, Haechan”, Mark’s voice trembled. "Are you-- are you touching yourself?”.

Haechan hummed. “My nipples”, he simply replied as he pinched them, playing with himself, feeling his boxers get tighter at every stroke. “Oh fuck”, Mark’s rough voice made Haechan squeeze his eyes together and open his mouth in a silent moan.

They were both panting. Haechan couldn’t tell if Mark was just lying there and imagining or if he started to shyly let his hand slide south as well.

“How does it feel?”, Mark inquired with a shaken voice and Haechan realized he still had too much control to be rubbing one out as well. “It feels so good, Mark”, the younger one replied, adding soft swears as his fingers got under the fabric of his boxers, letting the elastic hit his abdomen once, loudly, making sure Mark heard it as well. “Hmm -a-ah”, he wrapped his cock with his hand, pumping it slowly a few times, pressing his thumb on the slit.

He didn’t need to exaggerate any sound. Knowing that Mark was listening could make Haechan go over the edge alone.

“Haechan, you make me go so fucking crazy”, Mark’s shaking voice made Haechan bite his lower lip. “You too, Mark”, he confessed in the cloud of sensations.

Then listened to the way the other boy’s bed sheets irrefutably shifted and the bed creaked and his breath hitched as he started to pleasure himself to the sound of Haechan’s whimpers and the image he had of him.

They didn’t talk anymore. There was no need to and they weren’t able to either. Not having Mark near him, made Haechan last longer but it was still too quickly than usual so he stopped right before cumming, edging himself until the other whined into his pillow, cursing and calling Haechan’s name.

_______

Haechan avoided Mark the whole day. He told Mark that he had some other work and barely came into the office.

The older boy would sigh every five minutes, mind racing, making the poor Onew groan.

“He’s feeling awkward. You guys fucked, it’s normal”.

Mark turned his head towards him as if awoken from a dream, cheeks blushing violently as soon as he made sense of the other’s words.

“Also, you’re in love with him. I would avoid someone in love with me as well if I only wanted to fuck them,” Onew added as if talking about the weather. Mark was unable to speak. “He’s afraid to hurt you now”.

“I told him it was alright, though”, Mark finally whispered, trying hard to suppress the hysterical little chuckle he would get when nervous or talking about embarrassing stuff.

Onew got up with his empty coffee mug in his hand.

“Show it. Do something that can make him realize that it’s okay for you to be in this type of relationship”, he added before walking out whistling with not one single worry in the world.

Mark would have wanted to whistle as well but couldn’t.

That advice was breaking his heart.

It was true. Mark said that he was okay, but he was lying.

Of course, he was not alright.

He wanted to, oh he wanted so bad to be alright but it was so late. It was already late from the beginning. Mark didn’t want that kind of relationship. He wanted more.

But Onew was also right. Mark had to do something. If being able to have Haechan like that meant breaking his own heart, Mark was ready to do it.

And when that night he went to Jungwoo’s monthly party again, he forced his beating heart to stop upon seeing Haechan’s back.

The young men’s slender figure was curved in a laugh, the pretty sound almost audible to Mark’s far away ears. Then Haechan sipped from the drink in front of him, still amused by the handsome bartender’s joke, and spun around in his chair right in time to see Mark being hit on by a woman.

Haechan’s lips stopped on the edge of the glass, eyes unable to blink, staring emotionless at the way Mark’s lips curved in a timid smile while his hands weren’t timid at all, firmly grabbing that girl’s hips as she wiggled her ass against Mark’s crotch.

Haechan turned around, placing the drink on the counter with a slightly shaking hand.

“Everything alright?”, the bartender asked.

Haechan didn’t reply and threw his head back, finished his cocktail in one gulp.

_______

It was quite early when the boy left the party. Haechan felt like suffocating in the middle of all those people breathing heavily, clouding his mind.

Waiting for his taxi outside, ignoring the stares of horny people smoking and grinding against each other by the entrance of the Garages, he got reasonable startled when two hands suddenly wrapped his torso.

But those were some delicate fingers and Haechan could recognize that cologne in a thousand others.

Mark rested his face on Haechan’s shoulder and no one said anything for a little while, listening to the deep bass coming out of the club, the yelling and the traffic on the main road just a few blocks away.

“Sorry if I startled you”, Mark mumbled.

Haechan bit his lower lip and turned around, expecting a drunk and horny Mark yet again. But the boy’s eyes were wide and awake, his usual staring-as-if-reading-your-soul eyes met Haechan’s ones.

The younger looked at them for a second then he eyed the bright red hickeys on the other’s neck as well as the slightly unbuttoned shirt.

“I see you’ve had some fun tonight”, Haechan commented unable to hide his bitter tone. Not that Mark wouldn’t have been able to see through his fake face anyway.

Mark licked his lips and tugged Haechan’s hips towards him.

"Is this alright?", his voice was low and sultry, ignoring Haechan’s little jab, caressing his lower back instead.

Haechan started to pant softly, unsuccessfully trying to take a step back then he gulped down staring at the other’s lips getting each second closer.

"We can pretend it didn't happen", Mark went on, "just like we've always done, isn’t that right?", and Haechan could have sworn that Mark was a little pissed off. “Fucking at night then pretending we don’t know each other during the day, huh? Isn’t this what you want? I can do that”.

Mark's fingers reached the hem of Haechan's t-shirt by now, hiking it up slowly, dragging his fingertips on his skin. It was warm, just like Mark had always imagined. A loud cheer mixed with glass shattering made Haechan flinch but Mark shushed him, every second closer until they were breathing each other's air.

"I really want to take you right now, just like this".

Mark's whisper made both of their hearts beat like crazy. The first, not believing he was talking like that, the second, not believing that Mark was telling him that.

And when Haechan finally closed his eyes, ready to melt into the kiss, Mark's lips ghosted his cheek and neck instead, fingers still drawing little circles on the younger's chest, resting his palm on the beating heart. Then he pulled away.

“It’s a shame that you’re pushing me away like this”, Mark straightened his back and walked away.

_______

Mark was a weird guy.

And when Haechan bumped into him inside the local supermarket near his apartment, a large sweatshirt on his frame, boyfriend jeans, ruffled hair, a little stubble, concerned expression behind his golden round glasses, the tip of his tongue out, licking his lips mindlessly, deciding what brand of cereal he wanted, Haechan felt the urge to go there and yell at him that he's in love.

Haechan never liked the "what are we" question.

Everyone around him asked that. What are we? Friends. Friends with benefits. Nothing, we're just fucking. Haechan has never adventured there. But now, looking at Mark's profile, his hand finally picking up the cereal pack, Haechan wanted to ask him that question.

What are we, Mark?

Because I want us to be something.

I want to claim you in ways that give other people no place to do the same.

Not a friend, not a colleague, not a friend with benefits.

An etiquette that only Haechan could claim.

Even if Haechan didn’t deserve that.

Mine. My boyfriend. Mine. Mine. All mine.

Was that wrong? Probably.

But Haechan felt no remorse.

Was that love? Haechan was unsure but he wanted to find out.

So he walked over. Was Mark there because he hoped to see Haechan? "Oh, Haechan", Mark seemed genuinely surprised when the younger called his name. "What are you doing here?", the boy asked.

Mark looked around briefly as if suddenly not knowing where he was. "The meat here is higher quality than the supermarket near my apartment", he explained and Haechan could see the way Mark's expression screamed honesty.

He wasn’t there because of Haechan. Mark might have had a crush on the other but he was slipping away now.

Come back, Mark. Come back to me. Call me cute again. Touch my skin. Don’t do this. Don’t play with me like this.

"Haechan", Mark's voice wavered as the boy got suddenly closer. "We're in public".

Haechan didn’t look away. “You didn’t care about the public last night. You let that slut fuck you in front of everyone then you dared to flirt with me and leave me on the edge like that?”, he confronted him.

Mark’s little stunt made the younger so mad the day before that he felt like bursting in his pants during the drive home. Cheeks flushed and trembling hand, he didn’t even bother to walk to the bedroom. He closed his eyes and threw his head back to rest against the entrance door as soon as he stepped into his empty apartment. He came and came, again and again, until he felt too sensitive to touch himself anymore. God, he was so mad.

“Haechan, are you jealous?”, Mark’s eyes relaxed, the cereal pack still between them, the gaze of some elderly ladies not leaving their backs.

Haechan’s jaw muscles flexed. “Yeah. I am. I am jealous. I am fucking jealous. Okay? I hate it. I hate that you sleep with other people. You’re mine and mine only”, Haechan spat out quickly before he could regret saying it.

He was panting and he didn’t even have to look at himself to know that he was all red.

Mark’s breath hitched in a startled laugh.

“And I hate that you have all of this control over me. I was done, okay? I was done with feelings and here you are, doing all of this bullshit to me. Your little game worked. Are you happy?”.

Getting out of the apartment that late morning, Mark didn’t anticipate getting a confession from Haechan in the cereal aisle while said person looked up at him with furrowed eyebrows, doe eyes and a trembling lower lip.

God, he was so cute, Mark wanted to grab his face and kiss him.

“You saw my game and played by my rules?”, Mark asked impressed.

“You didn’t even give me time to play at all! I got defeated before starting”, the other admitted frustrated.

Mark chuckled. “Why are you getting mad at me, Haechan? You ignored me in the first place, sleeping with other people.”

The boy huffed exasperated and walked away, bumping Mark in the shoulder, making the other pirouette and grab him by the forearm.

“I was joking. Come on”, he cooed. “This is what I’ve always wanted”.

Haechan put his tongue inside his cheek, annoyed. “What? Me making a fool out of myself?”

“Showing yourself to me”, Mark replied kindly.

Haechan rolled his eyes, still using his faking-nonchalance-to-not-show-his-feelings technique, but Mark was already immune to that. In fact, he has been immune to that from the start.

Haechan loved it.

Haechan loved it so much that he got scared. It was too good to be true.

________

It was pouring heavily when they got out of the supermarket. Haechan had his apartment windows open and they could smell the scent of rain, clean and refreshing.

It was cold but Mark's body heated the boy in a second, groceries fallen on the floor, wrapping his arms around the other’s frame.

They did not kiss and Haechan was quite surprised but he didn't say anything, hiding his face the crook of Mark's neck instead, inhaling all of his favourite scents at the same time.

"I called you upstairs for a different reason," Haechan mumbled, surprised at the sudden softness, the sound of his voice muffled by the other's slightly damp sweatshirt.

"I know," Mark whispered against his temple.

He placed a delicate kiss there, then another one slightly below, then another one, drawing a line until reaching the jaw. Haechan raised his face and Mark kissed the corner of his lips, then the other cheek, and jaw again, and the other temple.

Haechan closed his eyes with a little smile as if giving up.

Mark, what are you doing?".

"I want you to think", the other replied, lips still busy. Haechan scoffed. "I want to stop thinking". "I want you to think about me".

His lips reached Haechan's forehead and stayed there for a little.

The only sound was the rain and Haechan's quick heart.

"I already think about you a lot", Haechan confessed, face close to Mark's collarbones.

"And why do you want to stop?" the other murmured.

His voice was so relaxing and calming that Haechan for a second forgot why was he trying to not think about Mark in the first place. Why was he pushing him away? Why has he been pushing him away all of that time?

Then he remembered when Mark's hands slid down Haechan's back.

"Because I'm a bad person". Mark sighed as if he expected that but still wanted to hear the other say it. "You're not a good judge". Haechan tsk-ed. "Well, thanks, I guess." "I am the one who has to decide if you're a bad person or not, and I say that you're not." "You're blinded by love”.

Mark hugged Haechan even tighter.

"Yeah, I am, so Haechan, please, let me love you", his tone darkened suddenly. "Stop pushing me away. I can handle anything".

"I'm going to fuck up", Haechan shook his head.

"You won't and if you do, I still want to take my chances. What if I fuck up before you do?"

Haechan laughed, resting his chin on Mark's chest, rising his face to look at the boy in the eyes. "Mark, you're a saint".

The saint’s eyes were those of a sinner though when he pressed his thumb on Haechan’s plump, lower lip.

"Have you ever made love to someone before?", he asked with a deep voice.

Haechan's eyes widened with amusement. "Are you joking? I’m a hoe.”

Mark hummed. "No. I said, love. Have you? Because I haven't either and I desperately want to make love to you right now".

And Mark was right.

Haechan had never made love with someone before and he realized it as soon as the other's hands cupped his cheeks, kissing his lips softly, pushing him back towards the bed, making him sit on it, letting Haechan watch as Mark elegantly took away his sweatshirt first then the shirt underneath it.

Haechan blinked, emotions he has never felt before invading his whole body as Mark pushed him down with a gentle touch, kissing his stomach and going up, taking Haechan's top with him, letting the cold air caress his skin making it all shiver. It would have shivered anyways, goosebumps forming at every feathery touch of Mark's lips. They took away all of the remaining clothes, touching each other slowly, curiously, exploring everything, with fingertips and lips and tongues. Attentive, remembering which stroke made the other whine louder, what kind of whisper pleased the ears more, what pet name made the other blush.

It was still raining hard, but they weren't cold, tightly wrapped in each other arms, the heavy covers to hide their secret whispers from the world. They were hidden in giggles and heavy breaths, "here?", "yeah", "like this?", "hmm", and Haechan felt so present. He was there, at that moment and he was seen. Mark was looking at him, really looking and Haechan didn't have to do anything to make it happen. There was no reason to put on an act. He just had to be himself. Vulnerable and- "cute," Mark whispered, chests rising, short breaths, his thumb caressing Haechan's red cheeks.

"Say it again", Haechan smiled.

Mark imitated him, his lips murmuring the word until they didn't have to, the feeling of it lingering in the air by itself.

#here she is #mark smut #haechan smut #mark angst #haechan angst #markhyuk smut #markhyuk angst #nct smut #nct angst #markhyuk fluff #nct fluff #jaemin smut #jungwoo #jaemin

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clan-sayeed-fic · 4 years

Text

Peaceful (Kamilah Sayeed & MC)

Book: Bloodbound (property of Pixelberry Studios)

Pairing: Kamilah Sayeed & MC: Amy (I do not own those characters, they’re the property of Pixelberry Studios as well.)

Warnings: let me think...

fluff- mhm, I think it might seem like that

smut- maybe some hints

angst- oh yeah

Rating: Mature

Based on the one word anon request: peaceful

Author’s note: I’m not a native English speaker, I’m sorry for any mistakes (feel free to correct me).

Huge thanks to the person who requested this fic 💕 I really hope I didn't make any stupid mistakes. These days were a little bit crazy for me, and my ability to focus is... well, it doesn't exist 😂😂

Also, I'm sorry if you expected a different type of story. I tried to write something less obvious. You know, trying to be original hahaha 😂

~ 1500 words

----------------------

Peaceful

Pair of eyes opened lazily in the middle of the night, revealing a light shade of green. Both irises were glowing in the darkness as if they were never supposed to belong on the human's face.

Though, the human, is for sure, not the best word to describe Amy Sayeed.

The young, blonde woman lifted herself slowly on elbows as her muscles were waking up little by little after a deep sleep. It was still dark outside at this late hour, so she blinked a few times, trying to focus her vision on the surroundings.

"What woke me up?" crossed her mind silently as if her thoughts were afraid to disturb the night.

But the question was meant to fade away soon enough.

Because at that moment, Amy's attention was drawn to the person lying beside her on the bed. Her sleepy stare moved on the brown hair resting on the mattress, following the path of single strands spread on the woman's bare shoulders brightened by the intense light of the moon.

Amy couldn't take her eyes away from this shiny skin, knowing too well the feeling of touching it. The sensation of being able to kiss this trail down the muscular arm, straight to the wrist. And from there, slowly move to her palm. To finally reach this one finger on which she was wearing her ring during the day.

The ring that stands for their life being tied up with vows. Letting everyone else know that these two belong to each other.

Amy's mind worked faster as she followed the trace of faint marks on Kamilah's arm. A reminder of how their last night ended. Of how her own nails were holding onto brunette's skin, digging deep, holding tight. Just to scratch painfully on their journey to the edge.

It's been so long since she felt exhaustion.

So long since she knew what it meant to lose all the strength.

The same strength that received an entirely new meaning since the day she was turned. That day everything changed irreversibly.

With this thought, Amy lifted herself from the bed, making sure to not cause any unnecessary noise. She moved like a predator during the hunt, carefully choosing steps, aware of weak points of her surroundings.

She has been the predator ever since she could remember.

Finally, Amy approached the window without waking up her wife, which was, by itself, an impressive achievement. She was a good student from the start, with great potential, naturally gifted. But she knew too well that it took much more than that to outsmart Kamilah Sayeed.

The young woman stood there, staring at the smooth surface of the glass, meeting with her own reflection. Her hair was messy, pointing in all directions, so she reached there with her hands, trying to smooth it a little bit. As her fingers were brushing her hair, she smiled at the flashback of how stylized it was last evening.

It was the day of their wedding anniversary, one of many that they had the opportunity to experience throughout the years.

So there they were every single year, trying to make this day perfect, even after long decades of celebration. In an attempt to repeat the atmosphere of their wedding, they would not see each other until the hour of walking down the aisle.

This time, they met by one of the fanciest restaurants in New York.

Just to... spend there barely a minute.

Amy's eyes met with her reflection once again. She moved her hand to her mouth to finally wipe away the red stain. Even though it was so tempting to just lick it, to give it a taste this one more time.

Because no matter how many times she had the opportunity to do that, it seemed like never enough. The metallic flavor of blood became addictive after years of feeding. It affected her mind like a drug, stimulating her body more than anything else discovered on the Earth.

Amy moved both hands on the glass, cooling down her already icy skin. And as she did that, her mind took her on the journey back to the last evening.

***

She just moved her hands away from the window as the limousine stopped right by the previously arranged place. The chauffeur helped her get out of the car only to step aside right after to let Amy meet her date for the night.

Her date, for all nights for eternity.

"Perfect timing," a husky, feminine voice warmed Amy's heart, making her eyes search for the source.

To find this deep, chestnut stare, intensively keeping her own.

Amy's mouth slightly opened as she admired the view before her, taking these well-known for her features without blinking. Watching her wife wearing a new elegant suit, previously bought just for the occasion. Her necklace was glowing so brightly on top of it, outshining stars on the sky.

"Kamilah," Amy worshipped the sound of this name even after so many years spent together.

A smile appeared on their faces as they fell in each other's embrace, hugging tightly. Even if it was just half a day, once in a year keeping them apart like this, the reunion always felt special.

Kamilah pulled back after a moment, getting the full picture of her wife. Her eyes were shining more with every second as she did so, daring to flash with red. Finally, they looked at each other directly as a small smirk danced in the corner of the brunette's mouth.

"You look absolutely ravishing," Kamilah spoke aloud, not caring about people passing by. "And I really love this," her hand moved up with those words.

She wrapped a single curly strand that managed to escape from the rest of Amy's stylized hair. Kamilah played with it for a second just to move her hand back soon after, accidentally touching the sensitive skin on her wife's neck.

Touching it enough to send shivers down her spine.

To make her cheeks blush under her gaze, receiving the reaction that she waited for.

"Lily did her best to make it the same way," Amy smiled, trying to deflect the conversation from her. "And you look so beautiful, as always."

***

So beautiful.

Amy turned around, pressing her back against the window. Green eyes wandered on the body of her loved one, studying shapes she had known for so long, but they never ceased to amaze her.

The woman moved her gaze down the mattress all the way to the floor, looking through the clothes they wore that night. Amy's dress was now ripped apart in pieces, the black material threatened to disappear into the darkness.

Her body shivered uncontrollably at the flashback of how it felt when the fabric was torn apart on her body. How its last strings tried to stand in the way but eventually let go under the force of strong hands attempting to untie them.

She remembered the rush they were in. That excitement followed by adrenaline in their veins.

The intense taste of fresh blood still perceptible in their throats as they kissed passionately.

"Are we monsters?"

It has been so long since she asked this question aloud. So long since she tried to fool herself with excuses.

So unbelievably long since she finally realized that the answer was right there all along.

***

"Reservation for Sayeed, please."

They were standing side by side, ready for the waiter to show them their table. The restaurant they chose had the best reviews of all in the entire city. It was filled with famous figures, influential people, just like them.

Women planned to start their celebration by the bottle of wine and exquisite food, but something else got their attention.

Because at that moment, a strong scent hit them both, too strong to ignore. It caused Amy to dig nails in her wife's skin, scratching it under the suit as if making sure that she didn't miss it.

But her chestnut eyes were already filled with a spark of crimson.

"Actually," Kamilah spoke with a new tone, pulling her date closer to show affection. "I think we will change our plans for tonight," she smirked at the waiter, who nodded meaningfully without a word.

Soon enough, they found themselves outside, hit by the cold stroke of the night, both staring in the same direction.

Both tempted by sweetness carried by the wind.

They walked together casually, hand by hand, just to stop right in front of their destination. But even then, Kamilah took her time to gently touch Amy's cheek with one hand, leaning down to place the softest of kisses on her lips.

Only to pull back a moment after with the smirk.

"Happy anniversary, my love."

***

A subtle smile appeared on Amy's face after she joined her wife in bed.

She crawled silently behind Kamilah's body, breathing in the intoxicating scent of lavender. That's when it hit her.

Silence.

After those long decades of immortal life, filled with screams and begging for mercy, it was finally silent.

Silent to the point, it interrupted her dream.

But Amy already closed her eyes again, not able to think about it more as her mind drifted away slowly.

Falling right into the trap of the peaceful night.

#choices fanfiction #choices fic #kamilah sayeed #kamilah sayeed fic #kamilah x mc #bloodbound fic #bb fanfiction #f|f fic #w|w fic #w|w writing #vampires #angst #one-shot fic #anon request

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mysingularitybts · 4 years

Text

Bubble Bath confessions with Jungkook

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader

Genre: fluff, angst, romance

Disclaimers: None

You were in your apartment watching TV in the living room. You were excited because after two long weeks you were finally going to spend some time with your boyfriend, Jungkook. He had been busy preparing for the new comeback and in between rehearsing, filming, and recording you hadn’t been able to see each other. He was so busy he didn’t even sneak out of the dorms to see you for a few hours. The TV was playing a random show, but you couldn’t concentrate. Your leg shook and your eyes always managed to wander towards your phone imagining it had vibrated. After a long wait, your doorbell rang, quickly, you sprang up the sofa, and jogged to the door. Opening it you saw your boyfriend and jumped into his arms in excitement. He pulled you close to him in a way there was no telling where he began and you ended. You knew you missed him, but being in his arms you realized it was more than you thought. Pulling back he gave you a searing kiss. It wasn’t the most passionate, it was slow and soft, yet you felt him pour all his love into it. After the quick reunion, you went into the apartment and sat on the couch. It was there where you saw how tired he looked. He appeared drained, he had bags under his eyes, he looked pale, and there was a certain mischievousness missing from his smile. Jungkook tried to hide it from you, but you saw through him, you always did.

“I missed you, y/n,” he said looking at you with tired eyes. “I missed you too Kook,” you gave him a small smile, “you look tired, are you okay?” You asked with a bit of worry seeping through your voice. Jungkook being Jungkook tried to deny it, “I’m fine. I'm just happy to see you,” yet his body betrayed him as he yawned at the end of the sentence. “Sure,” you said chuckling. “It’s been a long day, but I finally have a chance to see you,” he confessed. “I didn’t want to see it go to waste.” “I’m not going to say I’m not happy you are here, but I don’t want you to drain yourself,” you replied while taking his hands into yours. “Being with you is good for me, trust me,” he said squeezing my hands in return, “it allows me to get away from the boys for a little bit and to get my mind off of work.” Don’t get Jungkook’s words twisted, he loved the boys they were his brothers, but being with them 24/7 was a lot and a few hours away from them was good. It didn’t allow for any tension between them to grow. Same with his job and his dream, he loved it, but it didn’t mean it was any less stressful. “Well let’s compromise,” you began saying. “What’s that?” Jungkook asked curiously. “Why don’t you take a bath and, then, go up to my room, cuddle up, and watch TV,” you suggested letting his hands go and standing up from the couch. “As long as you join me,” he said, showing you his bunny smile. “If that’s what you want, then, of course,” you agreed, pulling him up from the couch.

You went to the bathroom and started filling up the tub adding the bubbles and soap at the same time. Jungkook walked into the bathroom and sat at the edge of the bathtub watching you. Deciding to give him all your attention and treat him a bit you walked up to him and took off his shirt. He looked at you in confusion, since you had never done something like that before. “I’m giving you all my attention tonight. You deserve it, you look exhausted,” you confessed with a blush. With a nod of his head, you finished undressing him. He got into the bathtub and after taking off your clothes you also got in the tub choosing to sit behind him. He laid his head on your chest as you wrapped your arms around him, and he let out a sigh. After sitting there for a few minutes, you grabbed some soap and nudged him, so he’d sit. You started massaging his shoulders, you could feel how tense he was, and you worried it was weighing him down. “What’s got you so stressed kook?” you asked worriedly, “I’ve seen you during come back time and it’s never been this bad,” you recalled loosening the knots on his shoulders. “Nothing changed much after the last come back,” he said biting back a moan from the massage. “Then what is it?” you asked once again. “I just feel more pressure,” he began saying. “Not from management or the boys just from myself,” he finally admitted. “I don’t want to let the fans down. They always expect so much from us and I want to give it to them,” Jungkook sighed. “I understand,” you simply said, letting him get this out of his chest. “They are the reason we have been successful I want to make it worth their while,” he continued, “a part of me worries they might become bored and leave us one day.” “I can tell you one thing is for sure and that is they will never become bored of you,” you reassured him, “ARMY loves BTS.” “Yes, they love your music and your shows, but they also love the people behind the band, and they worry about them, about you.” You softly said massaging his back. “They know you all try your hardest and they also want to see you well and happy.” “But I’m afraid if you keep pushing yourself to exhaustion you will end up ill, or hurt,” you tried to reason with him, “Remember when you hurt your foot?” you asked. “They were so worried,” he said with a frown remembering that day. “Exactly and it’s the same now. ARMY will always worry and even though they are grateful for everything you give them I’m sure they will be glad that you take breaks or a vacation,” you finished saying. “You’re right,” Jungkook agreed with you. The bath served two purposes. To wash your bodies and to wash away Jungkook's worries. It made him realize that what he was doing was not the healthiest. After dressing yourselves, you went to your room to watch some TV, but mostly to cuddle after being apart for so long. You laid your head in Jungkook’s chest and he wrapped his arms around you. It felt amazing to be back in his arms and you were glad you could help him in some way. “y/n?” he whispered in case you were asleep. “hm,” you murmured half asleep. “Thank you,” he said, delicately brushing his hand against your arm lulling you into sleep. “For what?” you asked, sleep clouding your mind. “For being there and making me feel better,” Jungkook answered with a soft smile. “Anytime kook,” you responded looking up at him and smiling at him. “I love you,” he whispered. “I love you too,” you whispered back, giving him a small kiss goodnight.

As soon as you said those beautiful words, he closed his eyes and fell into a deep sleep. Waking up the next day he felt rested. Being with you always made it possible no matter how many hours of sleep he got. After having breakfast, he went back to Bighit ready to work, but this time around with your wise words in his mind.

A/N: If you guys liked it or loved it please like and/or reblog it really helps motivate me and to see some feedback. <3

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tomsrebeleyebrow · 4 years

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heavenly yours (part 3/3) | th x fem!reader

Heavenly Yours – a chaotic series

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | epilogue

Summary: (Y/N) followed Harrison and arrived in the Underworld of Hell. Everything was so much different from Heaven but instead of feeling uneasy by this new surrounding, (Y/N) sensed an appeasing presence she never dared to forget. After being reunited with her love one, the long forgotten angel and now King of Hell, he promised her nothing will tear them apart never again.

Pairing: KOH!Tom x Angel!Fem!Reader

Warnings: fluff because happy reunion, swearing, PDA, SMUT (first time of my life writing smut so please be nice!) including first time + unprotected sex (use condoms kids), body exploration, slight handjob and oral (f receiving)

Words count: 9258

A/N: okay. SO. here is the last part of this mini series!! 🔥 man, what a ride... not meaning to brag or anything, but I loved this idea so much and had tones of fun writing it! ☺️ well I MAY be thinking about writing an epilogue to end it for good, who knows... 👀 and as you saw in the warnings, this is a sinful chapter so beware your innocent eyes 😏😂 I really hope you will like this new chapter, and as always, I’m open to constructive critics and opinions 💕 Enjoy beauts 🔥

masterlist | series masterlist

“Tom…”

❞ Welcome back, my love. Welcome in Hell. And welcome home. ❞

As (Y/N) still processes what is happening she doesn’t notice Tom walking towards her, slowly walking down each dark step of the entrance. His pace full of confidence but still majestic like he owns the place... which he actually does. His aura gives such power off that as he continues making his way to her, more demons passing by start to notice their King’s presence and all of them stop to bow deeply for him.

Harrison and Jacob are still kneeling down next to (Y/N), not saying a single word. And she is the only one frozen in place, captivated by this man she once used to know as the most beautiful and caring angel of Heaven. But her angel transformed into an imposing and powerful demon, now well known as the King of Hell himself.

Tom keeps advancing, not too fast but not too slow either. Finally. The day he dreamed of for so long and wished to happen is finally today. The day both he and the person he never stopped loving so much would be reunited for good. His dear angel is as he remembered: gorgeous from head to toes, divine features that could make anyone jealous - damn those curves are to die for -, with perfect immaculate wings to compliment her all. Pure and innocent. The way he always adored her. Desired her. Tom couldn’t hide the smile growing on his face. He wants to be close to his precious (Y/N) again. Now.

And (Y/N), on the other hand, could observe the new appearance of Tom and see how much he has changed. He is in fact all dressed in black clothes, the style similar to Harrison’s but with a closed shirt and neat tie. And the pants look more... shinny? Like leather maybe? Oh, the sinful way these pants hugged his hips only make the angel blush and avert her eyes from that part, hoping nothing caught her. And what surprised her the most is his new hairstyle. His once wild brown curls she loved to caress are no more, but replaced with a neat and clear buzz cut that surely emphasised a sharp jawline. Severe features that does something to (Y/N), bringing shivers along her spine. And the angel also notices his wingspan, wider and more impressive compared to hers. They could easily wrap around her fragile body whenever he wants. But what calms her down is seeing his smile, the same and usual one she knows by heart, his signature smile that brings a warm feeling into her heart.

It’s him. It’s still him.

This is it. The two beings stand in front each other. An angel and a demon, face to face, right at the entrance of the burning Hell’s castle. And the silence. A long but peaceful silence. Everything stops in Hell, first to bow down to the King’s presence and then because of this unexpected show.

It is as if they are alone. Nothing around but them. Alone. (Y/N) can now clearly recognise and sink into Tom’s big brown eyes like she used to up in Heaven. Warm and soothing. Was his jawline this sharp before? It sure accentuates his features very well. And the angel does also notice he developed some muscles just by looking at his torso. But he is as magnificent as she remembers him.

She feels no fear or disgust. No. Why would she? Because (Y/N) actually discovers that all she read about Hell in Heaven is false. Where is the ground burning with constant fire? Where are the ferocious chimeras and Cerberus? Where is the smell of blood that makes you nauseous? Nowhere.

❞ You are still gorgeous, dove. ❞

Oh his voice...

Hearing it again after so long and this close almost brings tears to the angel’s eyes. It gives (Y/N) goose bumps, her mind fuzzy as she keeps staring into his coffee coloured eyes. Tired eyes actually. The tender look she knows is still here, but now it is mixed with fatigue. His whole face screams exhaustion. But it doesn’t matter. This magnetic attraction that always existed between them, that didn’t stop burning, slowly, and that helped both of them to keep going, is here. And it never stopped existing.

❞ Are you... afraid of me, (Y/N)? Please, don’t be... ❞

His almost pleading voice pulls (Y/N) out of her thoughts as she blinks a few times, regaining some composure. And the most oblivious thing she finds doing is reaching to gently cup his face in her hands, as to make sure everything is real. To make sure it is really him.

And Tom couldn’t help but relax in her grasp. Oh her soft and delicate hands that he missed so much, still with a faint smell of flowers and immaculately fresh. He feels all the stress he accumulated leaves his body as (Y/N) continues caressing his cheekbones, applying a sweet pressure on them. He exhales at this feeling. The constant warmth emanating from not only his face but entire body in general appeases the angel too, maybe it is intentional or not but it works.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Tom dares to brings his hands on top of (Y/N) ones and delicately putting them on hers. That is when (Y/N) can finally see but mostly feel them. Hurt. His hands are covered by multiples cuts, from top to palm as his fingers, making the skin rough. His poor hands show what her lover endured all these years before becoming who he is now. Pure pain. But his touch stays soft when his hands makes contact with hers. What a bizarre but calming sensation...

“I’m not afraid of you, Tom, and never would I be” finally answers (Y/N) in a whisper, her voice as sweet as honey.

Without breaking contact, the young woman stands on her tiptoes and puts her forehead against her lover’s, noses now touching, and shuts her eyes. Her wings that she kept closed on her back until now slightly unfold. And as if Tom senses it he starts extending his toward hers, creating their own little fortress.

She missed this closeness. They both did.

After this showoff of affection, Tom decides to pull back still too early for (Y/N)’s liking, but not without leaving a tender kiss on the palm of her hand. Then his eyes divert from the beautiful creature in front of him to gaze at his two friends, Harrison and Jacob, still kneeling on the ground. The same harsh expression as when she arrived makes its way back on his face.

❞ Harrison, thank you again for your help, my friend. I couldn’t make it without you. ❞

‘ Anything for you, Tom ‘ directly replies Harrison while standing again.

The young demon takes a look at his friend - and King - and at his lover finally reunited, next to each other as if they have never been apart. Seeing the now appeasing expression on both their faces gives him pure satisfaction. Besides he doesn’t hesitate to shoot a few threatening looks at the other demons, further down, who try to look at the scene even though they didn’t have the right to.

❞ And you Jacob, thank you for all your researches. Leave the files in my office before you leave. ❞

’ Your welcome Tom, anytime ’ declares Jacob, standing himself.

❞ Oh and I’m done for the day. So you two deal with whatever happens. I don’t want anything to disturb us ❞ adds Tom, finally looking at (Y/N) again. They both nod before taking their leave.

Tom sends (Y/N) a smile and as she does the same, he delicately takes her hand. ❞ Come on, love, I want to show you the castle and around. ❞

And as being told, the angel follows Tom while climbing the stairs next to him. (Y/N) still feels overwhelmed by all this but she knows that she has yet to see what the Kingdom of her lover, the King of Hell, looks like.

As the two opposite but perfect beings leave, the other demons go back to their routine.

* * * *

Indeed it took an entire day for them to discover the Hell’s Castle. Understated and black. Basically. And a lot of rooms, like A LOT. Tom showed the principal rooms such as the dining room, the library - which the angel already planned to visit often -, the kitchen, the varied lounge rooms, his office, the throne room - Tom made the visit there quite quick -, the gardens and... His bedroom. As innocent as she could be, (Y/N) didn’t catch the innuendo behind this at first, just asking the demon “... and where is my bedroom?” straight away. Because to her, Tom is still the same Tom she knows since her arrival in Heaven. So Tom just laughed at her question and proceeded to show her another bedroom, one just next to his, like it was nothing.

But little did she knows that his behaviour DID changed more than a little bit.

The first few days went by and (Y/N) started getting used to her new environment. She would wake up early, have some breakfast - sometimes with Tom or by herself (because Tom would be already working) -, read for a while, maybe go outside the castle but always accompanied by Tom or Harrison or even Jacob (Tom refuses to let you go out alone). The rest of her day would vary with her longing.

Other days, Tom would request her to stay by his side while he does some paper work - something he doesn’t fancy at all. And (Y/N) would never refuse because, well, she misses his presence next to her. So she would just lay down on his leather couch, a book in hands, while the King does his devil business. And sometimes, he would leave her there for a bit, leaving a soft peck of her lips and saying an important matter was waiting for him and that he will be back later.

But Tom would never let his angel enter the throne room while he is in there. The things that happen there are way too horrible and morbid and gore. It is where he can show his new self, his devil self, and terrify to death whoever was in there. The throne room is where Tom, as the King of Hell, decides of the life of any demon: are they allowed in Hell, in which part of Hell would them live forever, their punishment and so on. And Tom would be inflexible. And harsh. Never in a million years his beautiful and immaculate angel lover would put a foot in there. Never. That is why the King would also take extra precautions and shower neatly before finding her again, the smell of blood way too strong and sickening on him. And then he will ask (Y/N) to massage his sore shoulders in front of the fireplace, being back at the sweet and caring lover she knew.

And then, there are this particular days where Tom is... handsy and daring. At first (Y/N) wouldn’t mind because she appreciates his caresses with all her heart. But sometimes, well, (Y/N) is surely not use to what he does. The demon would sometimes sneak behind her, wrapping his toned arms around her waist but then, he would slide his hands on her hips and on top of her thighs, massaging them. Or as he is sitting and ask her to cuddle with him, he would keep her standing between his legs and bury his head on her tummy while embracing her frame. Or legitimately putting his hands on her bottom while they would kiss. Without forgetting the time when he would cheekily ask her to join him in the shower or in his bed... and so on.

All that embarrasses the innocent angel but she doesn’t say a word about it. One night Tom pleaded? no demanded asked her to try sleeping in the same bed as him, because he too misses having her next to him. And.... (Y/N) didn’t say no. Again. But still she felt her stomach contort and mouth dry, without really knowing why. Why was she so stressed being this close to him?

* * * *

By now, all Hell knew about the angel woman and the demons accepted her - not like they had a choice anyway. Some were still defiant to her of course, but never oh never they would dare making an attempt on hurting her. So Tom did everything in his power to make his Kingdom understands the angel was no harm to them. And he obviously succeeded.

Tom recently left his lover aside because work has been an insane hell (pun intended?) to him so he surely wanted to make it up to her. So after delegating his duty to Harrison, he took (Y/N) out for lunch. After spending some time there just chatting, they had a walk into town and Tom took the opportunity to order some made-to-measure clothes for her that he of course all paid for. All white. No black. He wanted to keep her like she has always been so dearly.

In the afternoon they went back to the castle and enjoyed each other company in the garden. Unlike Heaven’s gardens which are full of flowers and animals, the garden here in Hell were more simple - as that is just the aesthetic down here. Trees and bushes, plain but still beautifully looked after, and the only flower here are roses. Red roses everywhere. The garden is full of them and they definitely match with the environment. And (Y/N) loved touching their delicate petals, feeling like silk on her fingers, as a sweet and strong smell that awakes all senses.

❞ You know, my love, red is the colour that joins us ❞ Tom says behind her, slowly walking towards her to watch over her naked shoulder. ❞ It goes perfectly with white... and black. ❞

Wrapping his arms around her frame, Tom begins humming as he puts his head on her neck, leaving kisses here and there. (Y/N) closes her eyes and slightly rubs her face against Tom’s, while putting her hands on his. And their body would swing from left to right as if in rhythm with an imaginary song playing in the background. No one to interrupt. Just them.

“I love you, Tom. So much.”

❞ I love you too, princess. You’re the most precious person I ever had. And I want you to be mine as I already am yours since day one. ❞

As she whispers a soft “yes” in his ears, Tom keeps trailing a path of kisses along her neck until he finally catch her eyes to then kiss her luscious lips. Her hand makes its way on caressing his cheek, also feeling his jawline and the slight growing stubble there that she liked rubbing with her nails.

Tom lets out a raspy growl at the feeling. Then he detached from his lover and look at her again, as to ask her permission to proceed. When he got it somehow, a lap of his slippery tongue over her bottom lips have them parting right away, leaving the young woman under his spell of desire that always offer new sensations. The demon draws her even closer to him, not wanting her other than right next to him.

Such a hellish behaviour.

(Y/N) would sometimes think that letting loose is good. And yes, it also feels good indeed.

* * * *

The same day Tom and (Y/N) went to bed at the same time, both tired and quite pleased from the day they spent together. The angel’s body is curled into her lover’s frame, nuzzling her face in the middle of his naked chest - by now she got kind of used to it. His body give off a very calming warmth that she really appreciates, the nights in Hell being strangely cold. They face each other, one of Tom’s arms bend behind his head and the other around (Y/N)’s waist. His soft breathing indicates his sleeping state, as his lover is still wide awake.

Every night, a bunch of questions would rush into her mind, questions that still need answers. How did she manage arriving in Hell like it was nothing? And above all, why was it possible that Heaven has not revealed itself yet? It has been almost ten days - maybe fifteen? - and still nothing from up there.

❞ Trouble sleeping, my love? ❞ Tom must have feel her wiggled against him.

“I-I am just... thinking, that’s all. Sorry for waking you up, dear” whispers the angel back.

❞ Don’t worry, angel face ❞ Tom starts caressing her back tenderly, ❞ so, what are you thinking about that keeps you awake? ❞

Could she tell him what was on her mind all this time? Wouldn’t he just say to enjoy her new life with him and to not ask stupid quest-

❞ (Y/N), darling, look at me. ❞

The words seems to be illusive until the angel looks up and flutters at the features on his face. He merely seems curious and... preoccupied, maybe?

“Well... I, um... I still wonder h-how is it even possible for me to be here... in Hell...Like you know I’m an angel so in what miracles did I make it here, without any injury? Am I a f-fallen angel too? Will I become a demon? And how come the Heaven didn’t even try to look after me?? I don’t know what to think, but it’s not like I don’t like being with you, Tom, trust me, I love you with all my heart and-”

Tom cuts her off by placing his lips on hers, slowly kissing to calm her down. After a few seconds, he pulls back but stays close to her face. His expression softens, coiling both his hands around her beautiful body and whiffing at the top of her head. Her delicious scent has always been soothing and he couldn’t help but bring her even closer to his frame.

❞ Relax, princess ❞ He kisses her forehead, chuckling at a nervous state, ❞ I will gladly answer to all your questions but tomorrow because, well, it’s kinda late now? ❞

(Y/N) just nods at him.

❞ But if it can calm you more, just know that I did every research possible to bring you and keep you with me, safely and by the rules. Nothing will ever hurt you, so you don’t have to be afraid of Heaven anymore. I will protect you until the end, angel face. ❞

The woman shows him a most sincere smile, while she circles her hands on his face to return his kiss. He enjoys the way she snuggles closer, sliding her warm tender hands around his hips then higher, just before his wings. Once again, she could feel all the cuts and closed wounds covering his strong back, another reminders of what he suffered during this first years here. She keeps caressing them, as hoping it could cure them for good, putting extra attention around the birth of his wings. And this startles the demon, who almost more like completely shivering from pleasure. He suppresses a weird sound definitely a moan from leaving his mouth by swallowing his saliva.

❞ I- I suggest you to... to not touch me here a-anymore, my love... ❞

HIs heartbeat accelerates, just like hers. (Y/N) has no idea of what she did but her entire face feels heats up. Why that? Her soft and confused eyes blink a few times, before she becomes redder and shy at the way he pulls apart. Even in the darkness of the bedroom, his alluring brown eyes show tonight a different expression, one yet unknown by (Y/N) but that she kept catching some time when the demon was starring at her for way too long. The sharp gleam behind his dilated pupils soon grows intimidating but the moment she tries to move away, Tom presses his warm palms against her cheeks.

The expression behind his handsome face unsettles the angel and this encourages him by rolling slowly on top of her, his strong body now between her thighs making her nightgown slowly slide down. Now laying under him, her eyes flutter at him as if (Y/N) were dreaming, mesmerised by his beautiful dark wings displayed on his back. But an ounce of confusion persists in his look, as if something bothers him deeply.

❞ (Y/N), doll ❞ he begins not looking away from her, ❞ You know that I love you, with all my heart and since the beginning... right? ❞

The angel nods, not daring to speak. Tom lets out a sigh before proceeding.

❞ A-and I know I’m not like I used to be in Heaven b-but... But I want to show you how much I love you and... A-and make you m-mine, forever... ❞

The King of Hell stuttering is sure a sight, delectable as a piece of candy but still undeniably cute. It has been a long time since the King himself was not 100% honest with his needs. And now that you both were reunited, Tom didn’t want to scare you. But when he caught sight of his lovely angel after years and years of torture, he couldn’t help but want to please her in any way possible. Any way possible. But Tom controlled his biggest urges but well, he couldn’t really stop the heated make out sessions when he started them.

Until tonight.

His (Y/N) is such a masterpiece. Now he finally has her just for himself, no one around too bold to check her out, but him. And only him. She is his ray of sunshine, at his mercy laying on his soft black silk bedsheets. Her all quiet, dressed in white, delicate and her beautiful and delicious features screaming innocence in his face. And her nightgown that just doesn’t let anything to his imagination but pure fantasy, slightly squeezing her breasts then the fabric loosening on her lower body. The delicate skin of her bare knees gently caresses his side, sending new shivers down his spine then through his wings.

What a fucking view.

❞ We... we haven’t been together in this way ❞ continues Tom, ❞ All this time I have been waiting for you and only you, hoping that this day would come... The day I openly declare my love to you. ❞

Tom slowly bends down towards (Y/N), ghosting his lips of her forehead. ❞ ... but Heaven didn’t want that at all. ❞

The angel closes her eyes, enjoying herself in this warm proximity with the demon. She still can feel his heartbeat going fast just like hers but now, it is a good sensation like both hearts try adjusting their rhythm to synchronise. Her hands slide along his built shoulders to then stroke the back of his neck, bringing his face to hers again.

“Tom... Tell me what you want” (Y/N) heavenly whispers against his lips, her cheeks flushed.

Tom’s hands accentuate his meaning by caressing first along her hips and over the round curves of her breasts. The angel’s body squirms with a soft moan, leaning back with a most delighted murmur of the demon king’s name when he leans forward to kiss at the side of her neck.

❞ My gorgeous and beautiful princess, I want to show you how much you mean to me, in both romantic and intimate way. I never want you away from me, ever again. I want you to be mine as I will be yours for eternity. I want Heaven to know that even in the afterlife, angels and demons have the right to be fully happy... meaning to love someone, no matter who it is. ❞

These tender words have (Y/N)’s heart absolutely fluttering, while he goes to claim your lips again. Meanwhile his hands slide down to massage her hips and they both share several sensual and mind fogging kisses, that display just how much he wants her.

❞ My angel, are you ready to... give yourself to me? Because I want all of you ❞ Tom smoothly groans, admiring his lover’s flickering eyes with their pure colours.

His hands then trickle down at the top of her thighs, where the nightgown is all wrinkled up and almost showing her most private area. As his hands try to push the fabric even more up, Tom keeps his eyes on (Y/N)’s, tasting there waters and ready to stop anytime if she doesn’t want it. But her eyes ask maybe plead? him to continue so he pushes it up her hips, finally able to look at her thin white lace panties.

For fuck sake, I need to keep cool... keep cool, Tom... cool...

“I... am more than ready, Tommy. I always trusted you and always I will. And I want to be with you, forever” (Y/N) smiles to assure this is alright.

Then it is like her body already knows what to do. She lets him lean her off the mattress enough to fully pull her nightgown off, dropping it to the floor. The demon almost forgets how to breath in front of so much beauty: her perfect body displayed for him, wings beautifully spread out on each side of her frame, her underwear being the only thing left on her, skin as immaculate and tender as a cloud. And her breasts finally free from that fabric, round and full, just like he always imagined them.

Fucking Hell.

He murmurs softly so many compliments, praising each centimetre of her body then using the flat of both his strong hands to appreciate the edge of her stomach, of which he places a warm kiss against.

“Mmh Tommy, I enjoy your kisses a lot...”

The demon gives her a tender expression pecking right against her belly button, as he works his way south. A warm haze of his chuckling breath aires against her stomach when the young woman gladly slips her delicate hands on his head, filling the buzz cut she starts to love even more day by day. She then gently scratch his short hair, a ticklish feeling left under her fingers. And Tom does enjoy the way they pet him in a tender loving way.

Dark brown eyes check up and down her lace lingerie that enhances the curves of her womanly frame, taking in how completely irresistible and erotic (Y/N) looks. This single piece of clothing really does wonders to her voluptuous form, so much that Tom can’t resist but keep caressing her skin.

❞ Bloody Hell, doll, you’re such a masterpiece. All for me. ❞ Tom growls, his voice low and eyes desperate with lust.

The angel giggles at the swear word her lover used, clearing referring to Hell, but still funny coming from the King of the said place himself. As he appreciates more her hips, a pleasured pour of Tom’s name frays from her succulent lips, turning into full moans when he places several kisses between her breasts.

Soon (Y/N) feels nothing anymore and when coming back to herself, her eyes meet with her lover’s. Her head slowly tilts on the side as if asking him what if something is wrong.

❞ Princess, before we go any further I want you to promise me to keep talking. That you will tell me if you feel good, what you want or even if I need to stop, alright? I don’t want to hurt you or do something you don’t enjoy, baby... C-Can you do that for me? Please? ❞

Not leaving a chance to the demon to continue his rumbling, (Y/N) firmly grabs his face and pulls him close to her again, making him lose his balance a little in the process. He catches himself on his forearms, draping her head in between them while savouring their sealed lips.

“I’ve always been ready for you and I promise you to tell you anything, Tommy. I know you would never hurt me... I love you so much, my love, so so much.”

Her words resonate like a prayer in Tom’s ears. He couldn’t help but shows a relieved smile, showing his perfect white teeth.

❞ I love you too, baby, so fucking much. ❞

The young man continues his ministrations by pecking the angel’s lips one last time before leaving a trail of wet kisses all the way to (Y/N)’s bare mounds. Then he is quick to lick a warm circle down and around the closest bud. Soon he is suckling and lapping in such a warm intoxicating way that fog was quick to form inside the angel’s brain. Even more when Tom becomes determined to leave a flavourful hickey. With a delectable pop he edges over her other breast, lapping flat his wet muscle slow enough to push up her nip before wrapping both his lips around it. The melody of his name and how good he makes his dear angel feel is all he needs as an evidence of her pleasure.

Tom then pauses his moves when he feels both her hands on his shoulders, her nails lightly pressing into his warm skin to get his attention. When he raises his head the demon notices (Y/N) with her arms opened like asking him to get back in between them. And how can he refuse such an offer made by his lover?

With his signature smirk on his face, Tom slides back up in (Y/N)’s needy grasp. The angel hums with satisfaction, her nose nuzzling against his temple.

❞ A bit needy, aren’t we my beautiful girl? ❞ mocks Tom while he playfully tugs at the frame of her ears with his teeth.

(Y/N) chuckles as she tightens up her embrace around his body.

“I love feeling your skin on mine. You’re so warm and comfy, I never want to let you go...”

❞ Cheeky... I love that... ❞ Tom immediately places butterfly kisses all over her face, making the angel giggle even more.

With goosebumps of warm delight gliding through her nerves, both her hands curl around his defined back muscles, arching into his frame. The feeling of their bare chests pressing together has (Y/N) closing her eyes again, enjoying the sensations wholeheartedly. Tom too seems to like this feeling as well when he aires a hot rasp of her name against her neck, before giving it a kiss and playfully tug at the skin with his teeth.

Soon they both share a most loving expression while meeting in the middle to devour each other’s flavour in a frenzy of passionate French kisses. His black wings go to lovingly brush her white ones that are still displayed on the bed. The union of both colours is at the same time poetic and sensual, each feather entering in a new passionate dance with its opposite.

During this saliva pooling fray, one of Tom’s hands squishes its way down her chest, stomach and eventually into the waistband of her lace underwear. He slows down a bit just to make sure (Y/N) doesn’t protest. And she doesn’t. So the moment his rough digits feel along her womanhood in slow v-shape, making it a point to note her warmth, a mewl hazes between his lips to accompany yours.

Pulling back Tom enjoys in a most seductive way the sheen of saliva connecting them together with a most dominant expression contorting his thin yet a bit swollen lips.

❞ You feel so warm and wet down there, angel... I’ve been waiting for the day we would be intimate for a long time, fuck. You too, baby? ❞

A simple demand but one that (Y/N) is way too embarrassed to answer.

Tom doesn't mind her silence, specially because he trails the edge of his lips along her jaw to then find a smooth patch of skin behind her ear to suck on. And unexpectedly, both his index and middle finger curl up into her folds, gently to make her used to this overwhelming sensation, and like desired he feels the intoxicating rattle of her lover’s vocal chords.

“Ah, Tommy... Oh please, it f-feels so good...” gasps out (Y/N) ever so sharply, clinging to his body and tossing her head the moment he starts thrusting back and forth.

Tom sighs in relief against the hot skin of her neck. After taking pleasure of the melody of her mewls - which leads to many love bites, he laps his way back down to her breasts. Both of his lips wrap around the closest delectable nip, sucking and puckering in a way that drives the woman even more insane.

❞ Mmh (Y/N)... I can feel you warm my fingers... Can I taste you? ❞ The demon hazes his naughty yet simple straightforward desire against her flesh, detaching his digits from her folds.

Within a few seconds, he uses both his hands to tug her white panties down. Now his prominent boner can’t be hidden anymore, pulsating from pure want and need from that view - not like he was trying to hide it in the first place anyway. Besides some mild embarrassment that has the angel covering her most private part with her delicate hands, all it takes is a few tender kisses and an assurance she has nothing to fear of before she easily gives into his whims.

(Y/N)’s heart can’t help but palpitate against her chest, almost breaking free from her ribs. Shyly, her eyes flutter up at his handsome visage that thoroughly appreciates the unhindered view of her womanly curves. Sliding his warm hands along her legs, Tom edges down pulling up one of her knees to bring it to his lips. After a kiss or two he proceeds up along her inner thigh, until he sucks feverishly enough to leave a bright purple hickey.

“Oh Tommy, if you k-kiss me right there.... I will go crazy...”

But she only has the time to instantly whimper out his name when he laps down the middle of her slit, pressing his thin lips almost defiantly against her intimate ones. The smell of her sex is completely intoxicating his nostrils and the demon can’t think about stopping, unless his lover tries to push him away.

❞ Also, you never called me ‘Tommy’ before... but it sounds so heavenly coming from you, fuck- I love it baby... ❞

His hands steady on her stomach, gliding his muscle up and down, over and over again, before sucking on the flaps of her womanhood. Her mewls delight his every bones that scream this gorgeous angel is his woman, and he has to make her feel pleasure beyond she could ever imagine of.

With the thrust of his tongue into her body, (Y/N)’s hands fly down to the back of his head as she screams out her bewilderment with the heavy raise of ecstasy. Her thighs squeeze slightly his head in between each spasm of pleasure. She tastes like the finest meal the demon never had the privilege to devour and so, Tom doesn’t hesitate to eat out her walls in a very detail oriented type of way, gulping down her nectar in a way that let her know he has no intention to waste a single drop.

“O-oh God, Tommy! M-my head is spinning!!” (Y/N) moans, her body consumed by this new pleasure.

❞ I prefer to go by King of Hell, if you know what I mean, baby ❞ he teases.

The smirk on his lips says the demon enjoys how desperate he is making the young woman, which he makes worse by wrapping his hands around her breasts and squishing a bit while he delves as deeply as possible into her pulsating walls.

The sharp feeling of her nails digging in his scalp - that she probably didn’t mean to - proves him how close (Y/N) is. He can feel against his slippery muscle the throb of her core and taste the fruits of his labor that tells him his angel is completely discombobulated by all the consuming pleasure he provides her.

“T-Tommy, oh Tom! It feels too good, I-I can’t take it any longer!!” whimpers (Y/N), legs shivering as they clench more around his head with a most lewd expression of her face.

❞ Don’t hold back baby, come for me ❞ Tom rasps, not letting her see the lust filled haze in his eyes as he parts from her core but for a second to lick his lips.

That is indeed a hell of a sight, that (Y/N) doesn’t quite catch because too engrossed in her pleasure. And next thing she feels is his tongue lapping trembling circles around her clit before sucking on it in a ferocious way.

That intense feeling mixed with the way two of his rough digits glide into her core, watching at her slick folds take him in drive the angel completely crazy. Never did (Y/N) imagine having such intense pleasure, as he keeps appreciating not just her most private parts but her soft breasts in the best way he can until it sends the young woman over the edge with a mind blowing orgasm, her vision now totally blurry.

The enamouring feeling of her folds clenching against his fingers and subsequently coating them in her juices has a most warm wanting growl hazing around her womanhood, making (Y/N) leave a high pitch moan. When Tom pulls back, he instantly slides his digits in his mouth, enjoying the flavourful nectar of his lover with dilated eyes.

❞ You taste so fucking good, angel. ❞

A small shy smile forms on (Y/N)’s lips, still a little embarrassed at what just happened and panting softly as she tries to recover from the heavy bubble of pleasure that still courses through her veins. Tom’s lips peck tenderly over her belly button as he makes his way back up, squeezing her breasts for another few seconds before finally cupping her red cheeks, claiming a possessive kiss.

Both (Y/N)’s hands slide around his neck, caressing his nape with the tip of her still trembling fingers where she can feel some hair growing back. After many kisses that steal even more of her breath away, the demon parts with a wanting and heavily lust riddled face.

His knuckles caress the side of her cheek and down her neck before edging backwards to start tugging off his sweatpants. But he has to stop his moves and contains some chuckles.

❞ Baby, why are you hiding behind your hands? ❞

“T-That’s embarrassing!!” she stutters.

❞ What? Me undressing in front of you? ❞

“N-No! Well, maybe b-but like... itslookingatwhatisunderyourpantsthatisembarassing...”

Tom couldn’t help the heartfelt laugher that escapes his lips. He still catches her last sentence and finds it so adorable. His love for his angel would never stop growing, he is sure about that.

❞ I mean... I already saw your divine naked body, so it would be unfair of me not to let you enjoy mine too... what do you thing, baby? ❞

(Y/N) thinks about his words for a few seconds and, as she slowly puts away her hands from her face, the sight in front of her makes her unintentionally whimper. Tom standing tall on his knees still between her legs, pecs and abs lightly shiny from sweat, black wings wide open, face tilted on the side, smirking while bitting his bottom lips, his fingers pushing the waistband of his sweatpants under his hips showing his damned mouthwatering V-line.

❞ Fair enough, love? ❞ Tom asks again, the smirk never leaving his face.

Jesus fucking Christ.

This man could corrupt anybody by just making them look at him. And he did succeeded with (Y/N), but since the day they met.

And (Y/N) could only nod, her hands now resting on her collarbones as she shamelessly keeps her gaze on what he has to offer. This being the signal, Tom finally proceeds his previous actions, pleased. He tugs off his sweatpants and boxer at the same time. The now nude sight of his whole body brings warmth to the angel’s cheeks, even more so when she catches the stout image of his manly muscle, pressed against his stomach.

❞ This is what you do to me, babygirl. All the fucking time. ❞

Her heart forgets to beat for a second at this new nickname. But the demon doesn’t let her think twice as he takes her hand, kissing her palm, and encourages her to pump his length.

Despite her complete embarrassment, all of her fingers curl around his cock and develop their own rhythm that he sure appreciates with a wispy rasp of her name.

❞ F-fuck, baby... your hand feels so good around my cock... ❞

With some courage (Y/N)’s other hand meet his perfectly defined chest, caressing it and his hips, trying to show him she is as attracted to him as he is to her.

It doesn’t take much even for a not so patient man like the King of Hell himself to realise he wants so much more than the delightful and hot sensation of his lover’s hand around him. After using his own ones to roll her nice and mellow breasts, he squeezes down her luscious hips pushing her thighs apart, making a bit more room as he pushes (Y/N)’s digits away.

Her legs surprise Tom momentarily when they gladly spread while both her hands land now on his chest, moaning as he aligns his tip up against her slit. His expression softens, gently petting (Y/N)’s cheeks with a few of his fingers waiting for her to meet his lips for a soft peck. She indeed tastes herself on his lips but it doesn’t bother the angel and before she knows it, Tom uses his other hand to steady her hip to then presses himself into her walls.

“N-ngh!... Oh Tommy... I-I can you feel so deep...” (Y/N) suddenly moans at the weird sensation.

The proud expression on the demon’s face makes the angel blush and bury her nose against the side of his neck, her arms wrapping tightly around his broad shoulders. A nuzzle of his own nose on her cheek makes (Y/N) smile tenderly, thankful for a moment to get use to his shape and size. Her breath slows down little by little, the uncomfortable stretchy feeling of her core disappearing as she tries not to move under Tom’s body.

And when her hand finds his nape to pet the spot and placing a small peck against his neck, Tom takes it as her desire for him to go ahead and start moving. With a pull back of his firm hips and a tight grip of your own, he slaps forwards filling your walls to the brim over and over again, as he develops a very pleasurable rhythm that has (Y/N) moaning from the first few thrusts.

“OH! Tommy! I-It feels so good!!”

❞ Good, baby. I want to make you feel like you completely belong to me... and only me... ❞ Tom husks, nipping at the edge of her jaw never slowing down his pace.

As possessive as it sounds, Tom’s affection feels more than true and his desire to please (Y/N) comes from a place of finding you to be the most beautiful woman he had the chance to meet that faithful day, years and years ago, in Heaven. And man did he replay their first encounter and other alone times too many times in his head.

Both of his hands squeeze her hips, pushing and pulling her perfect body to meet with the sway of his manhood. (Y/N)’s mind blurs with the intense pleasure of feeling his muscle in such intimate and dirty details, as it hits all the right zones to make her a moaning and mewling mess. It is even more erotic because he can feel how wet she is as he sloshes her juices.

With a startling grasp he pulls her legs up to wrap around his lower back, kissing the angel in a fray of his own overwhelming desire. (Y/N)’s moans haze into his mouth as he loops his slippery tongue all around her own muscle, downing the flavour of their combined saliva, and becoming determined in the way he slams roughly into her core making her thighs a tingly bright red.

Pulling back from her swollen kissed lips, Tom brings the bottom one with him to suck on it enough and have a warm drool ebbing down her chin. Delirium swans inside the angel’s head so brightly that she can’t even be bothered with how wet her inner thighs start to feel. The only thing (Y/N) can only focus on is the warmth pooling in the pit of her stomach.

In a whimper of desperation her hands drag a bit down his spine, leaving Tom a claw mark or two but soon being blocked by the beginning of his big wings that are in the way. Realising how close they both are, his hands slide under her ass and lift her backside up off the bed to meet with every deeply penetrating sway of his hips. The hotness of her folds makes him grit his teeth as the demon keeps giving his angel the best rhythm he can muster.

❞ (Y/N)... H-hah, you feel so good babygirl. Your body is so warm, I... I want to f-feel you up... so badly... Fuuuck. ❞

“Oh... Tommy, I want all of you. Please baby!” (Y/N) quivers to him with ecstasy and pleasure rattling her vocal chords as she clings to him tightly.

The demon most certainly doesn’t have to be told twice. With a clench against her plush bottom cheeks, his pace picks up to the best of his abilities mixing up her insides, getting off completely on the mewl of her constant moans.

Suddenly (Y/N) feels a most tight knot forming in the pit of her stomach that she tries to relay on her demon lover, but he honestly already knows. Specially when her hot and wet walls begins to pulsate vividly around his cock, with a toss of her head and the most lewdly erotic moan of his name, spreading warm along all her body.

“T-Tommy, I-I feel it!” (Y/N) exhales against Toms breath, heart beating extremely fast, as her glassy eyes looked up at Tom

To help her reach her climax even faster, one of his hand sneaks between both their bodies. His thumb starts to rub her clit, causing a pure jolt to run through her.

❞ I know, baby. C-come again (Y/N), let yourself go... ❞ replies Tom, a mix between a whisper and a growl, without stopping.

“B-But- Ah! But I’m s-scared, Tommy...” almost sobs (Y/N), everything getting blurry and confused around her.

Tom keeps his movements going but slows down a bit to look at (Y/N) closely. Seeing her in this state of euphoria and distress breaks his heart so the demon starts kissing her cheeks and neck again, trying his best to confront her.

❞ I’ve got you, angel, and always I will... Fuck- don’t be scared ❞ Tom says, a moan escaping his lips as he feels her walls squeezed around him.

His groans increase but louder this time, his jaw clenching as he held his orgasm back for a little longer as the angel pulls him against her - even closer if that is even possible -, their breath hitting each other face.

❞ I-I’m here, (Y/N)... Fall apart for me, baby girl ❞ finally whispers Tom, going faster on his last thrusts.

“TOM!!”

❞ (Y/N)!! ❞

And that night, an angel and a demon fell apart.

But only to reborn as one, and stronger than before.

* * * *

❞ You feel alright, my love? ❞ questions Tom as he twirls a strand of (Y/N)’s hair around his finger.

The angel only hums. She snuggles up against his warm body, her face resting on his heart while she sleepily draws forms on his chest. Laying on his back, Tom keeps one arm around his lover while his other one stays behind his head. A silk sheet is now up to cover their naked bodies, still hot and sweaty from their previous passionate lovemaking.

There is no sound around. What time is it? No idea, by now probably the middle of the night. But who cares, really. Peaceful. That is how the two beings feel. Peaceful and happy. Finally. They succeeded in taking that big step that the Kingdom of Heaven forbade them to even think about many years ago. But their fear is all gone. And things will get even better from now on.

(Y/N) steals a glance at Tom while he is not watching. He stares at the ceiling of the bedroom, smiling but his eyes kind of somewhere else. And the angel knows when something is on his mind. Even after so long from being apart, she knows him by heart.

“Tommy, is there something wrong?” she murmurs, still looking at him.

The demon sighs and buries his nose in her hair, nuzzling it against her temples.

❞ I’m the happiness man right now, with my gorgeous woman in my arms. How can something be wrong? ❞

“I know you too well, dear” answers (Y/N) as she leaves a light kiss on his jaw. “Now, tell me.”

As she finishes her sentence, (Y/N) has no time to breath when Tom suddenly rolls on top of her, making her squeals and taking the sheet with them. He now attacks her with kisses everywhere on her still rosy face, while his hands tickle her waist. The angel starts giggling at the childish attitude of her lover but tries to stay serious.

“Oh b-bloody Hell, Tom! I’m still sensitive, c-careful!” she says in between laughters.

❞ Why yes, I mean... Hell is quite bloody, that’s my job though... ❞

“Are you for r-real?!”

❞ What? Can’t someone be the ruler of Hell AND funny? That’s the whole pack, baby girl. ❞

Tom slows his moves to then flops down delicately on top of her, his head hidden in her neck still letting his lips wonder on her skin there. A few minutes pass before Tom decides to talk.

❞ I’m just... thinking. That’s all. ❞

“Oh I think I heard these same words earlier this night” cheekily replies the angel.

❞ Stop being a smartypants, young lady. ❞

They both chuckle and there is again no word spoken. (Y/N) massages the demon’s scalp and shoulders with soft motions, according some extra attention at the base of his wings. He lets an almost inaudible growl in her neck, relaxing at the feeling of her thin and delicate fingers on him.

“So... What’s on your mind, my love?”

❞ ... Be my Queen. ❞

(Y/N) blinks a few times. Did she really hear what he just said?

“E-Excuse m-”

❞ Be my Queen, (Y/N). Marry me and be my Queen. ❞

She heard right, there is no denying it even if his voice was muffled because still in her neck. Slowly Tom raises his head to face his lover, looking at her deeply in the eyes, noses touching. Clear shock can be seen on her face. This sudden love declaration out of nowhere startled her, and words can’t find their way out of her mouth. Seeing her like this, Tom pecks her lips and succeeds in taking her out of her trance.

❞ I want you nowhere else but by my side, doll. No way in Hell I’m gonna let you go now. ❞

“Stop making puns about Hell and then maybe I will think about it...” (Y/N) muses as she raises an eyebrow, glancing at him.

❞ I’m HELLA funny, my dear. You can’t deny it! ❞

That damned smirk.

They share another fit of giggles, kissing each other faces as if their lives is depending on it. At some point (Y/N) finds herself on top of the demon, her legs on each side of his hips as he worships the view she offers him. Messy hair and rosy cheeks, but still perfect to him.

❞ I’d think you are trying to seduce me again with your naked glory, gorgeous lady... ❞ flirts Tom while feeling her hips in his hands.

“As if I’m the only one naked here...” (Y/N) purrs, her hands flat on his torso.

As they flirt back and forth, the angel’s eye suddenly catch the glimpse of something strange. Without a word, she approaches her face to get a closer look at one of Tom’s inside wings.

❞ What’s the matter, dove? ❞

“Wait a second, dear. Don’t move.”

Delicately, her fingers brush some dark feathers hiding behind his back. And there she sees it. Her eyes didn’t deceive her before. Her is a single but little feather, completely white between all the black ones. A white feather of an angel, a feather like hers. (Y/N) couldn’t help the smile on her face and as Tom notices that, he turns his head towards what his lover is looking at.

“It’s tiny, but beautiful” murmurs the angel, still caressing the single feather with the tip of her index finger.

Tom looks at it too. Never did he noticed it.

❞ It might be thank to you, love. ❞

Tom then takes her hand in his, kissing her palm before he snuggle his face in it.

❞ A beautiful angel sent from Heaven to help the pitiful King of Hell that I am... ❞ The smile on Tom’s soon becomes more dull, lost in deep dark thoughts.

(Y/N) doesn’t hesitate to firmly cup his face in both her hands, making the demon focus on her and her only.

“You are not pitiful in any way, Tommy. You are the bravest man that exists, the only one that went through so many horrifying times to then, being able to piece himself back together and start over again. You are the only one who can do that. You are strong, Tommy, never doubt about it.”

❞ Shit, you could almost make me cry angel... ❞

They now smile warmly again at each other, pure love written on their face. They have been through a lot, they are plenty aware of that. But the tables turned and they had another chance offered to them.

❞ I love you, princess. ❞

“Queen, baby. I accept to be your Queen” coos (Y/N), showing her brightest smile at her man.

Tom brings the angel into his torso, tightening the embrace until they both need to breath. Their giggles echo in the silent bedroom as the sound of shared kisses at some point.

❞ I’m yours, my Queen. ❞

“And I’m yours, my King.”

The promise is sealed by a languorous kiss.

“I’m heavenly yours.”

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slutsofren · 4 years

Text

Alphabet Prompt: with demon au Kylo since ya’ll enjoy him :3

for those who don’t know, this Kylo au is from my post here <3

* some of these are NSFW lol

Original list from here!

A- Activity (What is their favorite activity to do with you.)

Demon Kylo just REALLY enjoys vibing with you in your apothecary, he likes watching all the little humans interact with your witchy self. There’s something about you that naturally glows when you’re working. The sun sets differently when it’s touching your skin, creating a shine he wants to capture and love for eternity.

B- Beginnings (How do they act in the beginning of a relationship)

He is one confident bastard but in all reality, you are the one human who has intrigued him in his entire immortal life so he gets a wee bit insecure about how to court you properly according to modern dating standards- it just doesn’t make sense to him!

C- Communication (Are they good communicators? How do they normally talk about their problems or solve issues)

Oh, by the stars not at ALL. Kylo is awful with words, if he ever did a love language test his main would be spending time, secondly he’d much rather give gifts then talk about his feelings. If you two ever do end up arguing he would just leave- space for you as well as him to clear his thoughts. When he does come back though he never goes into a full on speech about his feelings- rather he apologizes straightforward and explains what he said/did was wrong of him and he will be more mindful going forward. Afterall, this is new to him.

D- Drunk (What are they like when they’re drunk)

So, demons don’t get drunk per say... BUT oh, boy, does he get drunk off your scent after you orgasm time and time again. He gets a little more snuggly and openly affectionate, during this time he lets his guard down a bite and sleeps. Oh, how rarely do demons sleep. When he does, you take this time to admire him.

E- Emergency (How are they in emergency situations? You get hurt, they get hurt, someone is dying etc..)

Imagine a raging storm- winds billowing, rain falling as harsh against your skin as hail, cold nipping at every inch of your body threatening to steal every degree of warmth. It’s like that but fire. He gets so enraged you think he might just kill the whole town to find out who hurt you. When you tell him it was the fridge that gave you the bruise on your hip he gets a little flushed with embarrassment but you appreciate the sentiment.

F- Free Spot (I’ll give you any headcanon I come up with)

Kylo realizes one day of how much he has missed out on since the last he visited the surface. So he tries to do one thing a day- reading a book, watching a film, or researching new things.

G- Gifts (What kind of gifts do they give? What kind of gifts do they get?)

Being a demon who has seen everything on earth, he expected you to be more of the materialistic type. It bewildered him how you refused every piece of gold, diamonds, and fine clothing. Eventually he came to discover you enjoyed useful gifts- especially ancient books of the craft you long thought were lost to the ages. Kylo is a very mindful gifter.

H- Hugs (How do they show affection/cuddle)

There is literally only one way this damned man cuddles- with his body draped over yours and his face snuggled straight into your chest and you playing with his long hair. He often says your heartbeat lulls him to sleep.

I- Irritation (What is something that irritates them? How do they show their irritation?)

This demon hates with a passion about being late to things. Admittedly he was late to your WEDDING and no, you will never let him forget that.

J- Jackpot (How would they spend their winnings if they won the lottery?)

He would be so bored at home scratching random lotto tickets and if he won he wouldn’t even claim it. He knows lotto money brings nothing but destruction in its wake which is why you never know he won in the first place- he just imagines it’s another person saved from its terrible fate.

K- Kryptonite (What is their ultimate weakness?)

Uhh,,,,,,,, you. Especially when you come around his cock, moaning his name. He could weep just from listening to the sweet symphony your moans make.

L- Laughter (What makes them laugh?)

By the stars, this man gets a hoot when you attempt to bake. You are just so bad at it but he enjoys watching you make an effort. “Just stick to cooking and I’ll do all the baking.” Although he still ends up doing the cooking too, not that you’re complaining.

M- Morning ( How do they wake up in the morning? Are they a morning person or a morning grouch?)

He is a morning person! He doesn’t sleep like humans do so he has a tendancy to leave bed before you wake to make you a warm cup of something and a small breakfast so you don’t have to worry about that. It also gives him a few quiet moments to watch the sun kiss your skin.

N- Needy (When do they feel particularly needy? How do they show it?)

Kylo Ren is one of those kinds of men demon who is touch-starved so he often finds himself seeking you out. Maybe you’re both sitting at a cafe or bookshop and he reaches for your hand just to feel you close by. He just constantly needs to be touching a part of your skin.

O- Oasis (Where is their happy place? Where would they go if they didn’t have anything holding them back?)

He’s been wandering the earth for a millenia and he will continue until the end of time. In all his years he has witnessed the destruction that colonialism leaves in its wake. He’s watched as many of his sacred places have been corrupted by man and it breaks his heart. Now one of the few places left is within a redwood forest, far away from the eyes of humans. A quiet place where he dreams to take you one day.

P- Pain (How do they handle pain? How do they handle when you are in pain?)

He has such a high tolerance for pain and often says “ow” just to feel like he’s just your normal husband- nothing demonic about him!

Q- Quote (What’s a quote that fits them and your relationship)

“Yes, I love him. Yes, he is a jerk. Yes, I want to fuck his brains out.”

lol are we surprised

R- Reunion (How do they celebrate seeing you after a long time of being apart)

Kylo hates being apart from you so much. It tears him apart every time. When you finally see him it’s like all the air rushes out from his lungs the moment you walk into his gaze. He forgets how to breathe and just runs to you, to hold you. He soaks up your presence with his face buried into your hair and leaves chaste kisses on every inch of your face never wanting to leave you again.

S- Stress (What stresses them out? How do deal with stress and how do they relieve it?)

Simple solution is sex- both of you fuck your frustration out. Once you called it “make-up / angry sex but without the fighting” and he did not understand what you had meant but he fucked you into oblivion and immediately saw solutions to his stress. You gave him hundreds of smooches after these kinds of evenings.

T- Terror (What are they afraid of?)

Kylo is truly afraid of losing you and not being there quick enough to save you. He really cannot fathom a life without you by his side and it kills him each moment he is reminded of your mortality.

U- Unique (What is a quirk that is unique to them?)

Since Kylo is a fallen angel, they all lost their feathered wings- destroyed in the nine day fall. Oddly enough, he somehow maintained his wings. They were transformed to become black as dark as midnight with tips shimmering gold- like Icarus’ wings before he too fell to his destruction. This caused him to be hated more as many of the other fallen resented his beauty.

V- Violence (Do they fight a lot? Are they a good fighter? What is their fighting style?)

He doesn’t fight a lot- doesn’t really seek it out but when it comes to protecting you his long talons would rip through flesh and bone, rows and rows of sharp teeth tearing into his foes. A true horror and sight to behold.

W- Wow (What do you do that really surprises them? What do you do that they really like?)

Kylo loves loves loves watching you do your craft. He is so enamoured by your potential and skills that he can sit there for hours watching you work.

X- (Explicit headcanon. For all you degenerates)

Kylo’s cock. Oh, boy. There were plenty of historical texts and recordings of witch’s accounts of fornicating with demons but none could prepare you by how this man could fuck. Every time he rocked his body into yours you could swear you felt the earth shake beneath you. His cock was unworldly, a true testament to the Big Dick Energy he carried with him. His size was perfect- not too big, not too small, seemingly perfect for his body and your pleasure. What you didn’t anticipate was the head of his length- it flared and sharpened to a tip, reaching and caressing every inch inside of you. His cock really could ascend you to another plane.

Y- Yucky (Is there something that grosses them out so badly that they can’t deal with it?)

This man does not enjoy things that have contradicting properties. Like, wet and crunchy. Pickles are a perfect example- just the smell could make this immortal demon gag and run from the room.

Z- ZZZ’s (What are their sleeping habits? Both with and without you)

When you’re apart he tends to just starfish across the bed counting down the moments until you come home. He doesn’t sleep well since the day you came into his life, he just needs you. When you’re together he has to- absolutely has to- sleep on top of you and cover your body with his while he gives you all the smooches between high heaven or lowest hell.

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itsakpopalypse · 3 years

Text

ORAGAMI HEART

Im Jaebeom x Reader

1.6K words

Warnings : None? unless pretentious, wordy inner monologs aren't your thing. Cause it's definitely that. Over use of metaphors, and a STRONG aversion to making any kind of sense at all.

Jaebeom's heart, he thought, was like a folded paper crane. The kind you left on your windowsill growing up that he could see from his own across the yard. You used to tell him each fold held a wish of yours that you whispered beneath the stars. You had loads of origami friends, each lined neatly in your room, an army of your hopes and dreams, he had no doubt they'd all come true.

Currently, the folds inside him, full to bursting with wishes and hopes, made him want to hide away or sing ? He couldn't tell but he knew he wasn't ready to tell you. Not yet, anyway.

Surely, on your trip you'd come back with priorities very far from his own, taking you to some adventure that wasn't quite so simple. No, because you were never really simple.

You were spicy cups of cider on the roof outside your room, with matching fuzzy socks and a big shared blanket and "shhhhhh they'll wake up if you keep laughing Jae!"

You were the feeling of adrenaline right before the drop on a roller coaster, that weightless fearful stomach in your throat feeling that made your heart feel as high as the sun itself.

You were passion and jumping in puddles well into your twenties and arriving in the house soaked to the bone with a satisfied smile.

You were moonlit nights and the smell of vanilla and anise. You were home to him, but you were never home with him, and he feared his heart would weigh you down.

So he folded up his feelings, like your paper cranes, and let a wish get whispered into each crease.

****

Jaebeom was like the very stars, to you, glittery and out of reach and so, so much more beautiful than they know.

Coming home meant coming to his side, and that was scarier than any bungie jump you'd ever done. Sure, you were full of spontaneous excitement, but he was the stillness your heart needed to find peace. He was steady and strong, like the undercurrent in an ocean.

Dangerous, like that too. Because it took barely you dipping your toe in to feel the rush that overwhelmed you,

dragging your heart into the depth of his eyes.

Truthfully, you did half your traveling to avoid the fear you had when you saw him last. Over a year ago in person, when you'd both drank a few bottles of rosé because he isn't tough like he wanted people to think and you'd asked him what he wanted from life.

Then he'd said "Family. Someday." He'd said so wistful, so full of certainty that your gut had twisted in pain. He said it like he knew exactly who that would be, like his future was laid out in clearly defined path he knew, but had yet to follow.

It made you afraid to ask him who, it made you more afraid to guess. You didn't want to know, because you had feared it wouldn't be you.

But now, you couldn't avoid him. It was your sister's wedding, and your families were close. He'd be there, as always. It scared you just a bit, to imagine just how handsome he'd be now in person. You kept in touch enough to facetime occasionally, talked nearly daily. You'd seen his hair, pulled back in ponytail, little strands broke free. Part of you wanted to run your fingers through it loosely hanging about his handsome face.

The various new piercings he had suited him perfectly, and his once slouchy style had become more refined. Perfectly low maintaince and yet costly for you.

The price you'd paid for being his closest friend was your heart, and he'd clearly lost the receipt.

He crossed the dance floor towards you, one hand out as though asking you to jump.

You were so tired of making excuses for your red cheeks, wondering how he hadn't figured you out long ago.

You were all pictures in black and white, when he was near your world exploded into a kaleidoscope of color, dizzying and free.

He was the band aids he kept in his back pocket when your riskier stunts failed. He was the click of tongue against teeth in disapproval when you said something a little too sassy back.

He was worried brows and dark stormy eyes and protection from failure. He was the rocks tip tapping against your window on a summer eve, when your tank top clung to your damp skin after a shower.

He was secret smiles and shared songs and night drives that let you scream until your voice was raw.

He was fingertips electrifying your skin when he held your hand to pull you back from the edge of misery.

He was safety and solace and comfort like huge down comforters weighted with nothing but your best interests at heart. He was firey warmth and understanding in bright shining eyes.

He was mischievous and perfect… and you were scared.

As you slid your hand into his and let him lead you close close closer until your bodies were pressed tight. More an embrace than proper form, and your head felt too heavy with worry to be held up on your own, letting it fall, resting on his front, tucking into him for the reassuring you needed, that even after running free he was still waiting for you.

Not as a lover does, but as a part of your life you couldn't be without.

As you felt one hand too hot against your lower back, the swaying lulled your eyes closed to enjoy the moment, afraid to pop the bubble of intimate silence.

"You cut your hair." He commented, the rumble beneath his suit deep and low.

"Yours grew." You replied simply.

He hummed, thoughtful as always.

The hand on your low back was too hot, grasping gently, thumb rubbing over your spine. You couldn't suppress a chill, instead your breath wooshed out of your lungs.

"Jaebeom!" your aunt called from nearby, dragging you both from your own planetary spiral.

He lifted his head and eyebrow, smiling gently as he always did.

"Yes Auntie?" He asked, moving you towards her, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze as you broke apart from blissful reunion.

Your aunt was beaming. "I see you've found our wandering child! Haven't you missed her?"

Your eyes widened. "Auntie!"

Jaebeom's ever patient chuckle hit your ears and calmed you, the sound so familiar and necessary in your life.

You felt like you could breathe again.

"She had to do it, or she'd never know she could. Can't tie her down- Y/n deserves to follow her dreams. Missing her is preferable to her missing out on herself."

God, sometimes when he said such things you could imagine a future he wanted but with you. It tightened your chest, because you'd tried to escape this, leaving distance should have brought clarity but instead within moments your choking on emotion.

They began to chat about his work, and you excused yourself, bodice of your dress too tight, chest full of desert air too hot and dusty to allow you thought.

You hovered near the drink table, desperately clinging to a wine stem, drinking several in one go.

It wouldn't be long until you could forget, you think, too overwhelmed with it all.

By the time your body is buzzing from drink, just tipsy enough to brave the crowd again, Jaebeom is already there, eyebrow lifted as he considered the 4 glasses to your left.

"Don't judge me. Weddings are scary."

He didn't speak, just took your hand and led you away.

The night air was fresh and brought you some sense of calm. You spun gently in a circle, your skirt flying out in a circle, enjoying the air and the silence and the humming of life in your veins.

"You were gone a long time. "

You nodded, opening your eyes to regard his handsome face.

"Facetime isn't enough. I like it when you're tangible." His hands steadied your elbows when you stopped spinning, letting your dizziness fade protected.

Except it didn't fade. Instead the dizziness got more intense, the world outside yourself and Jaebeom spinning, the stars becoming a blur of white streaks and chaos reigned in your mind.

The roller coaster you loved so felt like child's play in adrenaline highs in comparison to staring into his eyes. Something in them undiscovered made you shudder in excitement, and you made either the biggest mistake or your first right decision, grabbing his lapels and bursting forward, he caught you and registered the shock for just one moment. You had a split second before you lost nerve, you only needed a hint.

He glanced at your lips, wetting his own and maybe, just maybe recognition in his hungry gaze.

He read your mind and you let it go.

"I'm going to." Your voice was quiet, timid in ways you never were.

"Do." And that one word sealed your fates as you sealed your lips against his.

Sometimes a moment feels like eternity in a bubble, trapped under glass for the infinite beings in the universe to ponder.

This moment felt like infinity and insignificance. The first of uncountable kisses, the last time you could call him just friend.

Because he responded. He responded with the vigor of a man who knew only the breath inside your mouth as though he were useless without your touch as though he felt the weight of your entire future flashing into his minds eye.

No moments spared for what ifs, when your foreheads rested against each other his folded origami heart suddenly beat inside your chest too, plenty payment for the way you'd given yours to him.

#this has been sitting in drafts for over a year #it's pretentious and I'm sorry #but I'll post it just cause 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️#jb #got7 jayb #got7 jaebeom #jb x reader #fanfic #kpop fanfic #jaebeom x reader #lim jaebeom #jb fluff #got7 jaebeom fluff

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solohux · 4 years

Note

Since we’re here may we get a thrilling conclusion to the Milo Saga pls ? Reunions, love, family, all that good stuff Thank you. Also you’re amazing keep up the good work 👍

Here it is! The third and final part of the Milo saga!

Part I & Part II

All three parts are also on AO3 as a full fic titled ‘searching through shadows and snow’

Read On AO3 ❤️

For the first time since his exile after Exegol, Ben has a dreamless night’s sleep. It’s strange to wake up without tears on his cheeks, without clutching his pillow like a lifeline as a dream of his beloved Hux burns itself onto the back of his eyelids. But there’s still an empty space beside him in his bed, inside of his heart, and Ben knows that nothing can ever fill those voids. He rolls over onto his side and faces the vacant side of the bed, running his hand over the cold sheets and trying to force himself to imagine that Hux has just risen early to make breakfast. Everything is fine, everything is fine—

Ben can’t repeat the mantra a third time. It hurts too much to tell such a lie.

Morning has broken on the little planetoid, illuminating Ben’s room in a familiar glow. It’s particularly cold this morning, making Ben wish he’d worn a long-sleeved shirt to bed instead of this short, white one.

“Dada!” Ben’s three year old son bounds into Ben’s bedroom and leaps onto the bed, scrambling to his father’s side. He looks as though he’s had a good night’s sleep, since his copper-coloured hair is messy and his blue pyjamas are twisted and wrinkled. As usual, Milo’s favourite vulptex plush is in his arms. “It’s snowing! It’s snowing!”

Ben smiles at Milo’s excitement, his brown eyes alight with childlike wonder. Their planet experiences snow a few times a year but the landscape of beautiful white never fails to make Milo want to rush out in it before Ben has had a chance to dress him properly.

“Snow!” Ben smiles, hiding his sadness from his beloved boy and sitting up in bed to take Milo into his arms. “And I guess you want to go outside to play?”

“Yeah, Dada! Now!”

“Breakfast first, sweetheart,” Ben stands up with the boy in his arms, carrying him around his bedroom as he opens the drapes and sees the white wonderland that covers the entirity of the fields that surround their solemn home. Even the beds of white poppies have disappeared underneath the inches of snowfall.

“Awwwwww. But ‘m not hungry, Dada.” Milo wriggles in Ben’s hold, tugging at his father’s dark hair as he tries to climb onto his shoulders, making Ben laugh. “Go outside now! Pwease!”

“Alright, Milo,” Ben says, never being able to deny his son once he gets a certain expression on his face—the very same one that Hux used to give Kylo whenever he wanted to get his own way. “We’ll get dressed and then go out, hm? Build a snow-droid?”

“Yeah! A BB!”

“A snow-BB. Let’s go, sweetheart.”

In less than five minutes, Ben and Milo are dressed for the snow in thick clothes and warm coats. Utilising the ways of mind manipulation, Ben has easily kept his existence a secret, wiping the minds of the market traders who operate in the small town almost fifty miles away from Ben’s quaint countryside cottage. And it also means that Ben can steal without being caught. Whilst he tries to remain in a neutral state of mind when it comes to the light and dark side of the Force, Ben struggles. Truly, Kylo Ren has never left his veins—possibly kept alive by his love for Hux.

As the pair stand on the porch in the morning sun, Milo is practically buzzing with excitement whilst Ben tries to calm him enough to put his woolly hat and gloves on but the boy is jumping up and down, stomping his little black boots on the wooden decking whilst giggling.

“Hold on, starbright,” Ben smiles, making sure Milo’s ginger hair is dry under his hat and his adorably large ears are tucked warmly away too. “We don’t want you to be too cold, do we?”

“Dadaaaa, I wanna play!”

Ben smiles, amused by Milo’s impatience.

“Come on,” and Ben takes his son’s hand as they jump off the porch together, the snow swallowing Milo up to his little knees but instead of being scared by it, the boy pulls free of Ben’s hold and trudges off as fast as he can through the thick snow as more begins to fall upon the pair in a light flurry.

Ben follows closely behind his son, watching him run and play and pick up snow to throw it above himself, only for it to cover his little head.

Milo laughs, tumbling over and landing on his bum in the snow. Ben would give anything for Hux to see how happy their beloved son is right now.

Ben. Ben! The Force calls out to Ben, piercing his mind like a cold needle. He stands up quickly, looking to the clouded skies for the source of the disturbance. It’s been a long time since he’s sensed something as monumental as this, something that is making his hands shake and his stomach twist with worry. It feels familiar, though, which is somewhat comforting but Ben’s maternal instincts run haywire as the Force won’t let him smile.

“Milo, sweetheart,” Ben says, his voice low, but his heart stops when he sees a figure in the distance, one that is staring at him and Milo, and one that has the boy frozen on the spot.

Ben’s fingers twitch, wishing he’d kept a lightsaber with him in his exile for moments such as this.

“Milo,” Ben says sternly, standing behind his son. “We’re going inside.”

But the boy doesn’t move. Ben’s knees tremble; it this the Shadow Man who has been haunting Milo’s dreams? Is it another Snoke come to turn the newest Solo against his family just as he did with Ben? No. Never. Ben would die before he allowed anything to ever hurt his son. He owes it to Hux to love and defend their precious boy with everything he has.

But the man in the distance is getting closer. Ben skids to his knees in the freezing snow in front of Milo, finding his face looking anything but afraid as one would expect a child to look when staring down the man of his nightmares.

“Milo? Milo, look at Daddy,” Ben says, putting his hands on the boy’s cold, blushing cheeks in a vain attempt to draw his gaze away from the approaching menace. “What is it? Starbright, talk to me.”

Milo blinks but his brown eyes don’t stray from their path. He raises his mitten-clad hand and tries to point at the figure, uttering one word that sends Ben’s heart into overdrive, “Papa.”

It can’t be. Ben frowns, turning around to look back over his shoulder, seeing the man that doesn’t look like a monster at all.

He looks like an angel, gliding across the snow-covered ground with a copper halo around his head, his skin so ethereally pale and familiar that Ben can’t find any words to describe the man’s beautiful presence.

“No…” Ben whispers, taking hold of Milo and standing up with the boy sitting on his hip, his feet walking forwards of their own accord towards the snow-angel.

It’s Hux. It’s his Armitage Hux, here and present and so very alive. Ben chokes on his words.

Even when they’re within arm’s reach of each other, Ben still can’t permit himself to believe it. He’s already been blessed with a second chance at life, bearing such a beautifully bright baby boy, for his lover to be back too.

“Daddy,” Milo says, patting Ben’s cheek. “It’s Papa?”

Ben can’t take his eyes from Hux. He still looks the same as he did almost four years to the day since they last saw one another, sharing a kiss goodbye as Kylo Ren departed for Kef Bir, both unaware of what would transpire once their hands left each other’s and their destines diverged. The Hux in front of Ben’s tear-filled eyes is still as handsome as ever, his pale eyes just as piercing and his body just as tall and lithe. Even without the greatcoat and uniform, he’s still the image of power to Ben’s eyes, he’s still the only constant that has ever blessed Ben’s messy and lonely life.

He’s saved.

“Yeah, Milo,” Ben sighs. “It’s Papa.”

Hux’s shoulders shake as the tears fall, no doubt hurting his cheeks as they fall from his eyes and onto his freezing cold skin, but he doesn’t flinch. He takes another step closer as Ben sets Milo down in the snow, the boy bringing his thumb up to nibble on the soft material of his mitten whilst his other hand is held in Ben’s.

“Milo,” Hux says, beaming as he utters his son’s name for the first time. Ben’s chest clenches, watching Hux kneel down to Milo’s level; Ben knew that their son looked most like Hux but seeing the two together now, Ben can’t believe just how much of Hux is in their son. “My clever, brave boy. We’ve met before, haven’t we?”

“When I’m asleep,” Milo nods. “You said you would be here soon.”

“And here I am, darling,” Hux says. He looks up to Ben, smiling. “Here I am.”

“Hux…” Ben sobs, but Hux is standing and leaping in to catch him in an embrace before his knees give way beneath the weight of shock and relief that have fallen upon his shoulders like a collapsing building. It’s immense, it’s overwhelming but it’s the happiest that Ben has ever felt.

“Ren,” Hux whispers Ben’s once-name into his ear as they hug so tightly that nothing can get between them, and Ben feels his soul soar; Kylo Ren was never truly dead anyway. “My darling. I love you, I love you so much.”

“I-I love you,” Ben—Ren—cries. “Y-you were killed.”

“Death would never keep us apart, my darling. I’ve travelled across the galaxy in search of you. And it’s because of our son’s power with the Force that I was able to find you.”

“Don’t cry, Dada,” Milo tugs at Ben’s trouser leg and makes them pull apart. “It’s happy!”

“I know, starbright,” Ben sniffles, picking his son up and holding him between his parents, embraced by them both for the first time in his life. “I’m so happy. So happy.”

“I want to know everything,” Hux says, wrapping his arms around Ben and hugging both his lover and their son at the same time. “Everything, Ren.”

“It’s…uh. Ben.”

“Ben,” Hux repeats, raising his eyebrows but the smile doesn’t fade from his face. “As you wish. I want to hear everything about you and our son, Ben.”

“Can Papa stay for breakfast, Daddy?” Milo asks excitedly.

Ben takes Hux’s hand, leading him back to his house, “Papa is going to stay forever.”

Home was never a place for Ben Solo or for Kylo Ren; it was always Armitage Hux.

#kylux #kylux babies #post tros #post mpreg #m:writing

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hashtagartistlife · 4 years

Text

this is a state of grace

; –this is a worthwhile fight. Fate pulls them apart, and fate brings them back together. If there is one thing Ichigo and Rukia know about their separations, it is that their reunions are always worth the wait.

the poems at the start of each chapter are not mine, but are from this post here. This has 4 chapters planned, one for each stanza, but I really don't know if I'll get around to finishing it since I have other fics that are higher on my priority list. Nevertheless, I've been holding onto this one chapter for so long that I figure it's time to send it off into the wild.

_________________________________________________________

“I missed you.”

you toss it to him,

unexpected,

but knowing he has the animal reflexes to

catch it. It’s half a joke,

half something else

and the way he looks at

you, means you both aren’t

ready to talk about it.

Ichigo doesn’t return to his human body immediately after the battle ends. Instead, he sits outside on the rooftop, his fingers lingering along his newfound black cladding like an afterthought; he watches the stars as he traces the armour snaking around his wrists and neck. There are a lot of people who want to see him, to speak to him—but he’s shunned them all for the moment, in favour of sitting outside in his shinigami form just a little longer. As though he is afraid that should he change back, the events of tonight will dissolve into a dream and he’ll wake up powerless once again.

Rukia doesn’t blame him. She knows exactly how he feels, the warmth of her reiryoku returned to her after months of its absence still clear as day in her mind. She remembers what it is like to feel hopeless and helpless, trapped in a body that was not meant for her, going through the motions of everyday life while constantly yearning for something beyond her reach. Shinigami are not complete without their zanpakutou by their side— are not much of anything at all without their power ringing through their veins and soaking through their souls.

Her power had trickled back to her in small streams, gradually and softly like a dam filling with rain, but even then her first brush against Sode no Shirayuki after her incarceration in Urahara’s gigai and the Senzaikyuu had been one of the most profound and relieving moments of her life. For Ichigo, she knows it will be that much more powerful, his reiryoku having been returned to him all at once (and in a distinctly ungentle manner). So it’s no surprise to her, really, that he has chosen to stay just a little longer in his Shinigami form, has chosen to sit outside where it’s quiet, all the better to feel his reiatsu swirl around him in a cloak so thick and heavy that she’s certain no Hollows will dare bother Karakura tonight.

She’s just three buildings away from him now, and already she can feel the pull of his reiatsu against hers, vital and alive. She hadn’t meant to seek him out when she and Renji had volunteered to scout the perimeters after Ginjou’s fall, to keep the area clear of Hollow complications while the rest of the party searched for stray Fullbringers, but somehow—like the first time, like every other time after that—she has ended up here anyway.

Some things are not like the first time, though. He’s taller, even when he’s sitting down. He’s broader. And though his back is to her, she knows his eyes will be older. A soldier’s eyes, a warrior’s eyes; not eyes you should see in the face of a seventeen-year-old.

She thinks, he’s grown up too soon.

She lands beside him like a star falling; beautiful and devastating all at once, graceful and assured. He doesn’t make any signs of acknowledgement, but his reiatsu shifts, warms and moves aside to create space for her next to him. She joins him in sitting, and his power envelops hers, settles around her like stardust. She closes her eyes and revels in the sensation.

“How are you?” he asks after a short silence, and she opens her eyes slowly; he is still looking at the sky, but his voice is warm and low.

“That should be my line,” she replies, because it should have been; he’s only seventeen, and he’s just killed a man. You always remember your first kill; you fold it away in the recesses of your heart and let it make or break you. Rukia will take the feeling of Kaien on the end of her sword to her grave. She knows Ichigo will see Ginjou’s last leer in his dreams till he dies.

“I’m fine,” he says lightly, “I’m fine,” repeats it for emphasis when her expression becomes skeptical. He turns to her with a hint of a smile in his eyes. “I’m fine.” The unspoken ‘now’ at the end isn’t lost on either of them. She studies him a moment, and decides he is telling the truth; he really is fine. Better. Whole.

And if that doesn’t speak volumes about how much he’s grown since the skinny, angry fifteen-year-old boy she stabbed with her sword two years prior, she doesn’t know what does. She takes back what she’d yelled at him in the heat of their reunion; he’s become resilient. Strong enough, and sure enough, to take on the world without her shouting directions into his ear. Which is both relieving, and a bit of a shame. She quite enjoyed the shouting at him part.

(Of course, just because the boy’s grown up a bit doesn’t mean he won’t still be an idiot on occasion. Just look at Renji. Perhaps her shouting days weren’t entirely past her after all.)

He must read some of her thoughts in the expression she turns to him, then, because he allows the mirth in his eyes to manifest into a smile—a half-smile, with a tinge of something bordering on sadness still, but a smile nonetheless. Rukia breathes.

“Your hair’s shorter,” he notes out of the blue, and his hand twitches, like he wants to bring it up and tug at her shorter strands.

“Yours is longer,” she counters, and unlike him she has no compunction about bringing her hand up and messing his windblown strands into a veritable disaster. Ichigo laughs as he tries to stop her, and she laughs too as she tries to continue, and somehow in between the reaching and the restraining and the hands around wrists, they topple over into a half-sprawled position, stargazing forgotten in favour of charting the small constellations of change scattered across the other’s person. Sideburns. Lieutenant’s badge. Black cladding. Gloves.

A melancholy that wasn’t there before in his steady gaze, and a loneliness that is different to the one she has always carried in hers.

“Does it hurt?” she blurts out, before her thought processes can quite catch up to the ache in her heart that causes her to ask this. “Does it hurt? Where I stabbed you?” Does it hurt, she wants to ask, the sadness in your eyes?

He stills beneath her, and without his larger frame supporting her precarious leaning, she has to abandon her attempts to reach his hair so she can prevent herself from collapsing on top of him. Her hands fall, and somehow both land on his chest; one off to the side, the other one directly over his sternum, where she had pierced him to transfer his powers back to him.

“No,” he says quietly, “not anymore.” Not anymore, he wants to reply, not now that you’re here.

They stare at each other for a heartbeat, the moment stretching into eternity; ah, but the things that stretch are always as fragile as the gap they bridge. A gust of wind chases a late autumn leaf into Rukia’s mouth, and the moment is broken. She splutters comically, sitting bolt upright to spit the offending plant out of her mouth, and Ichigo doubles up with laughter, rolling out from under her in helpless spasms across the cold concrete.

Ah, Rukia thinks, even as she scrunches her face up in mock outrage, this was better. This was something familiar in unfamiliar territory, and it gladdens her that no matter how many things change between them they will always have this. This easy dynamic that neither of them can find with anyone else, and this emboldens her just enough to throw out the words that have been on the tip of her tongue all evening.

“I missed you, you fool.”

The moment the words are out of her mouth, she wants to take them back; the tone is all wrong, too heavy, too full of an emotion she hadn’t meant to put into them (hadn’t realized she’d put into them). Ichigo’s eyes widen a fraction, the grin dying on his lips, and Rukia feels a detached sort of panic climbing up her throat; she was wrong, she was wrong, she had misjudged everything completely and there was nothing there to stop her plummeting headlong into the abyss—

Only, he sits up. His lips close and part soundlessly a few times, and a hand reaches out for her almost involuntarily. She offers him her wrist, and he curls his fingers around it, clamps down on it like a lifeline. He’s looking at her with the strangest expression on his face, somewhere between anguish and yearning, and her heart jolts.

“I—“ the word chokes in his throat, half-strangled, barely articulated. Very suddenly, he looks much younger than his seventeen years. “Rukia, you—“

Her other hand reaches up to rest against his temple, brushing back the soft, spiky hair there. He tenses for a split second, all his muscles locking in a soldier’s reaction to proximity, before his bones are liquid and he melts into her touch. He exhales shakily, turning his face into her palm; she feels the warm tip of his nose brush her hand. “Rukia, I—“

“Shh,” she croons, “It’s alright, Ichigo. It’s ok.” And it is, because she understands—they’ve always been good at this, this unspoken communication. And as much as things haven’t changed between them, she understands in that moment that something significant has. But she barely knows what it is and he—well. If the way he is shaking is anything to go by, he’s not ready for it either. So for now, this is enough. His shaky breaths against her, his fingers around her wrists, her hand on his hair; the two of them, under the stars.

Gradually, his breathing slows, evens; she makes to draw back, but his grip on her tightens. His other hand fetters her other wrist, keeping it against him. She can feel his warm exhalations on her skin and the tiny hairs on her arm stand on end.

“Wait,” he rasps, and the breath tickles on its way past, sends a shiver down her spine. His voice is calm, but there is an edge of a question to it, the tight, anticipatory tension before a reply.

“I know,” she says, heart in her throat. She’s not quite sure what it is that she knows, only that she does. “Ichigo, I know.”

He relaxes fractionally; he doesn’t let go of her wrists and neither does she attempt to take them away. There is something calmer in the air now, a feeling of something resolved, if only half-resolved. They will come back to it later.

They breathe together.

#bleach #ichiruki #kurosaki ichigo #kuchiki rukia #bleach fic #writer life

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theeternalblue · 4 years

Text

maple magic

AN: slightly inspired by @soyforramen prompt secret whispers (for some reason) from her list of prompts here for varchietober

This has a lot of the Blossom twins

---

Nana Rose said Blossoms came in pairs because they could never be lonely - and she also said that if they were three, they’d wake the magic.

“A table with three legs never wobbles,” said the old matriarch as she tapped the table at her side. It was a sign so Mary placed a tray of maple pecan cookies there, where she could reach them. They were her favorites, and one of the reasons why she forgave Mary about not visiting often.

Archie leaned against the wall, watching as his mother mingled effortlessly with the rest of her family. Even if she despised them for the most part, she knew who had paid for law school – this was the price to pay: yearly Blossom family reunion.

The gathering was always held around October because it was when the Blossoms Maple Farms had been founded.

“Ugh, eating cookies and sipping cider is certainly less satisfying each year,” Cheryl comments as she takes a bite of a cookie.

Archie’s mouth tilts up on one side before snickering. “We’re not kids anymore.”

“Cous is right,” Jason offers, throwing an arm around Archie’s shoulders with ease in a half hug. He’s always been the golden child of the family. The heir of a maple empire, the star quarterback of the Riverdale Bulldogs, and the soon to be Yale undergraduate. Funnily enough, the spot of quarterback will be kept in the family when Archie replaces him next year – or at least that’s what Archie hopes. “Any ideas, Cher? I’m sure you have plans.”

Jason chuckles at the way Cheryl smiles, almost wickedly.

“Now that you mention it, JJ, tonight is a new Moon, and that means the start of a cycle and the opening of portals.” She takes a new bite off the cookie and stares at the boys before rolling her eyes because they are not getting whatever she’s trying to say. “Male brains, so unfortunate.”

“Be nice, Cher. We have guests.” Jason is the only person in the universe whose opinions might matter to Cheryl, so she purses her bright red lips and sighs.

“You know I’m very close to Nana Rose and she has told me about every legend in our family history, and also about the magical powers in her gypsy blood that we are very lucky to possess–”

“Cheryl, I don’t like ghost stories.”

“Shush, cousin Archie!” She lifts one finger in front of his face which effectively shuts him up while Jason snickers. “This is a great opportunity to test out powers. Sure, JJ and I have magic but with a third Blossom we could achieve wonderful things.”

“I think we should make a spell so Archie finally dares to ask Veronica on a date,” Jason quips, poking him between the ribs and through the blue sweater his mother made him wear – even though all the Blossoms wear red for these events.

Anyway, Archie is not scared of asking anyone on a date. Veronica Lodge just happens to have managed to politely decline his every attempt even before he could ask. And he would’ve asked the first time he met her in her black cape at Pop’s. She’s simply the girl of his dreams – beautiful with her onyx hair and her dark chocolate eyes, mysterious, smart, with a sweet smile and mellifluous laughter…

Mellifluous is the word Veronica used to describe his guitar playing.

“Is he daydreaming?” Cheryl’s voice interrupts his thoughts.

Jason laughs. “Must hurt, Cher. I heard she now went out on a date with Reggie.”

Yes. It’s true. Archie heard it from Reggie himself as he boasted about it in the locker room after football practice. And the pang in his chest felt even worse than when she dated Chuck Clayton.

“Could you–” Archie tries to ask, but feels his cheeks burning with embarrassment. Is he truly going to resort to magic for a date?

“Ew, no! I’m not going to force anyone to date you.” Cheryl’s disgust is so blatant, it makes Archie take a step back.

“I wasn’t going to ask that. Maybe just to mess with her date?” Archie shakes his head even as he says it.

It’s stupid! Yet, wouldn’t it be fun? After a terrible date, he could sweep Veronica off her feet by giving her the best date ever next weekend.

Cheryl taps a fingernail against her lip, seemingly thinking. “Interesting. Sounds fun, but we wouldn’t see results.” With arms akimbo, she smiles in that way Jason calls the witchy Blossom smile. Before Archie can stop to say no, he’s dragged up to the second floor of Thistle House by Jason and Cheryl.

It’s not the first time he’s been here, but Archie doesn’t like candles, the dark curtains closed during the day, the heavy smell of incense… or the circle with a triangle in it that Cheryl just drew on the floor.

“Sit on one corner.”

Archie does as told, but doesn’t find it as amusing as Jason does. He looks like the Cheshire Cat.

“Cheryl–”

“You talk so much for someone who can’t ask a girl on a date.” Cheryl glares at him, but then takes a deep breath before smiling. “The plan is to discredit your theory that Veronica is your soulmate, so you don’t beat yourself up about not having a date with her.”

Archie cannot believe this, and it’s his turn to glare at his cousin. “So you want to make me feel like an idiot, so I don’t feel miserable?”

“Yes! You’ll thank me later.” Cheryl replies, never losing her smile, and then gives him a lit candle. She does the same with Jason. “Okay, boys, focus on the flame and repeat after me…”

Archie repeats whatever she says because he just wants Cheryl to shut up. Maybe now she’ll stop babbling about this nonsense of how the Blossom blood is powerful and the magic of the maple trees and the moon…

Why is the room spinning?

When did the candle become so bright?

He lifts his gaze and sees a mirror, but it cannot be a mirror because that’s not him. The image looking back is Veronica as she gets her pearl earrings on. She looks so pretty with her hair half up, with the burgundy top and her dark berry lips.

“Ronnie,” Archie tries to call and Veronica’s movements still. Her eyes widen as she looks at herself in the mirror of her vanity. “You look incredible. You are incredible.”

“Archie?” she whispers, alone in her room, looking around her as if she’d find him. “What–”

“You can hear me?”

Her dark eyes return again to the mirror and she nods slowly, afraid. “Where are you? How-”

“I don’t know. Oh, shit, I hope I’m not dead. Could I be a ghost? Did Cheryl kill me? I only wanted to ask you out on one date. For you to give me one chance.”

“Archie,” Veronica mutters, “You’re... in my head. It’s your voice.”

“I’m watching you.”

She turns around sharply.

“Shit! No, not like that. Cheryl, she made a spell. She said she’d prove you’re not my soulmate.”

“How would she do that? And why would you let her– wait, you don’t need to answer that. It’s Cheryl.” Veronica keeps looking at the details of her face in the mirror as if she could find him in them.

“I don’t know! She made us repeat something about mirrors and what we had found. Show me what I found in my other half. Or something.”

“Archie?” Veronica keeps talking in whispers.

“Yes?”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

She giggles. He can see it in the mirror, how her eyes light up and her lips curve up in a bright smile.

“Ronnie?” Archie calls desperately as her image begins to fade. “Ronnie?”

Archie blinks a couple of times before he can feel himself being shaken by someone. He can see the dark room again, the candles, smell the incense.

“Archie!” Jason is about to slap him but Archie stops him by pushing him away and standing up quickly. “What the hell? Are you okay? You passed out!”

“Where’s my phone?” Archie babbles instead, looking for it like a mad man.

“Did you see anything?” Cheryl asks as she hands him the phone he had left on top of her dresser.

“Veronica!”

“What? Are you serious?” Cheryl frowns and it becomes deeper as Archie hurries out of the room and Jason stands before her, taking her by the shoulders and looking too pleased with her anger.

“You owe me fifty bucks, sis. I told you. You might have the gypsy blood, but soulmates? I know about that.”

#varchie #varchie fanfiction #varchietober #[mine]#cheryl blossom #jason blossom #humor

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blueishfood · 3 years

Text

I didn’t have a home (until I found you)

Pairing: Adrienette

Words: 1,3 k

Warning(s): none

A/N: The AO3 version is here, and as I write there, this might turn into a series, but I’m not certain. Drop a comment if you like it!

She can’t remember how they got separated. She remembers the last night, when they smiled and cried and rested in the truth they had discovered. She remembers the horror of discovering who was behind it all. She remembers the murder, the assassination, and a black cat on the run. She remembers the akuma spreading, not stopping. She remembers the fires and the living dead in the streets. She remembers the impossibility of finding the first victim.

But she can’t remember the moment when she realized he was gone.

He was so different before the change.

A young man carefree and happy and oh so very innocent. They both were, at that time.

And when they meet it is for not the first time, but it is all the same, for they are both hardened by death and by fear. In that way they are strangers as much as anyone else.

She is leaving a mall she has never been to before, tucking supplies in her backpack and not entirely aware of her surroundings as she lifts a pack of painkillers.

The metal cylinder against the back of her head is cold, but not very surprising.

A small smile plays at her lips against her better judgement because this is it. This is how she escapes. This is the reunion she has been waiting for, and she pauses, awaiting with a shivering eager, to meet the collector of souls once again.

But the bullet never comes. Only a voice.

“Marinette-”, it is gasping, the way he says it, as if the entire world stands before him, and in some ways it does. The gun clatters to the gravel beneath their feet, and his arms wrap around her from behind.

For a split second she thinks he is trying to strangle her, and she rolls her eyes because that is the worst attempt at murder she has ever-

But then she realizes.

That familiar voice… is one she has imagined on countless lonely nights and she turns around slowly because she dares not hope, the disappointment would surely crush her.

Then tears spring to her eyes and lets out a sob willingly for the first time in years because it’s him, it’s him, it’s really, truly him.

He sniffs loudly and she laughs, and he joins her unevenly. The sun is dripping, and the sand is warm as they sink to their knees. She has her hand buried in his hair, his ring is cold against her lower back and she melts into him, sobs wrecking their bodies and the only thing she can think is Adrien, Adrien, Adrien.

For the first time in two years, she is not alone.

It’s not like she hasn’t seen life in two years of course. There are settlements. But she’s lost… everyone. And she doesn’t trust others. She can’t help but think that something will go wrong and she… At least she can’t stab herself in the back.

But Adrien, soft, warm, beautiful Adrien… him she does trust. She doesn’t know if it’s buried feelings, the distinct notion of home or the remains of something that could have been, but she can’t help it.

It isn’t until they’ve been sitting in silence for some time, hours or maybe minutes, that she understands. She hears dragging footsteps crunching in the sand behind her, and sighs, because she doesn’t want to do this, not now. But then a shot goes off, and she flinches because it wasn’t hers. But when she looks around it’s him, gun lifted, hand around her and something dark flickers in his eyes.

That is when she sees him. The light stubble across his jaw, the pierced ears, the long hair, the furrowed brows.

Oh, she thinks, because this... this is different.

They were children when they were separated, and now they are adults. Reflections of what they once had been. Ghosts, in a way, and she wonders if this is what it’s like to meet a loved one in hell.

But then he smiles, and she shakes off the idea. His smile could never belong in a place like that.

“They probably heard that”, she whispers, a little afraid to ruin the moment. But he nods and smiles and kisses her cheek, so she thinks maybe it’s not really a moment and maybe it can’t be ruined at all.

His clothes are different too. She sees them when they finally stand, and when she cocks her head to look at him, he either doesn’t notice or he doesn’t care. Too distracted by looking at her to point out her admiring the worn leather jacket around his shoulders, the black cargo pants, and the combat boots.

She likes it.

After a second Marinette wipes her cheeks dry, probably smudging dirt over her face, but he is just watching her, happy and content, so she turns to him and wipes his cheeks as well.

They move her things to his car since hers has just broken down. They are both used to working quickly, under pressure, but it all seems a little imaginary and floating when they do it together, so they are done before they notice.

He drives off when they see the first dead’s round a corner, and she laughs as the motor roars under her feet, turning around to wave them goodbye. He laughs with her.

They can’t seem to stop touching each other. They have been together for a few hours, but she finds herself checking with even intervals.

A finger gliding over his knuckles as he rests his hand on the gear stick, a hand on her knee, her fingertips placing a strand of hair behind his ear. Just checking, just to make sure. Because waking up from a dream like this would crush her.

“Are you sure you’re real?” she asks, when the wind is ruffling her hair pleasantly, and she smiles towards the sun. He chuckles beside her, and she sees his eyes flicker to her once or twice before he answers.

“I really hope you are”, he says, answering a different question entirely, and she stretches, grins, her hands playing in the wind above her. Watching them feels almost like a memory.

He has a base a few hours away, in the middle of the desert where he can see someone coming from miles away. Though it’s not the tactic she would have chosen, preferring to stay hidden and constantly on the move… Well she can admit it’s smart, probably smarter than her idea of safe, and he gets a little cocky, so she punches his arm as he smirks.

It’s an old gas station, still somehow smelling like greasy burgers and Adrien opens the door with a little fanfare to make her laugh. He tells her there’s a diesel generator, and it’s not like he’s running out of that so... There’s also a homemade shower and hot water for the first time in so long, she almost cries again.

When she’s done, he has made soup. They eat in silence, looking at each other sometimes, and smiling, and Marinette blushes because she suddenly remembers how impossible she was around him when they were younger.

Then she’s sleepy and she remembers the sleeping bag in the car. With a heavy sigh, she heads to the entrance, but then Adrien is there, hands on her shoulders, telling her she can sleep in his bed and she is too tired to protest. Too exhausted to realize what he is offering.

She doesn’t think about it until he is walking towards the cold stone floor on the other side of the room while she is nestled in his pillows and blankets, and she rolls her eyes, grabs his arm and yanks him into the bed with her.

“Self-sacrificing kitty”, she murmurs affectionately, and falls asleep as he shrugs under the blankets, soft puffs of breath to the crook of his neck, his skin warm against her nose.

They don’t talk about everything. Not about the fires, the death, the virus. They don’t talk about his father or of what they discovered before it all happened. They don’t talk about the kiss. They will, one day, but not right now. Simply because there, as she lies in the warmth of his arms, she feels at home.

#adrienette au #adrienette #zombie apocolypse au #miraculous ladybug fanfiction #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #fanfiction #AU fanfiction #miraculous ladybug #miraculous the tales of ladybug and chat noir #chat noir #ladybug

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cagestark · 5 years

Note

Could you do a divorced!starker prompt? They meet each other some years after their divorce... I really don’t have a plot for it? lol I just wanna see them falling in love again after an angsty split up, pwease 🥺

Hope this works!

Warnings: sex, addiction mentions, overdosing. Tony and Peter are both 38.

Read here on AO3.

“Thirty-eight years old,” Peter mutters under his breath, glaring at his reflection in the mirror. “And I still don’t know how to tie a tie.”

Ned appears over his shoulder, a familiar warm presence. It’s been nearly fifteen years since Peter moved away to California, only seeing Ned for the odd weekend during the holidays or their weekly Skype sessions, but some things never change. Their friendship is one of them: something forged in fire and made invincible, but for all its strength, its still so soft. “Here,” he says. “Maria taught me years ago.”

“I wish she could have made it tonight,” Peter says. Ned’s wife of ten years is a lovely woman with the darkest skin he’s ever seen. When Peter visits New York, he often stays with them in their apartment, sleeping on the couch only to wake up to her in her mint colored bath robe telling him that breakfast is ready and coffee is waiting.

Then again, maybe it’s a good thing she isn’t there. As selfish as it is, tonight he is glad to have all of Ned’s attention on himself.

Maybe it will help him stay out of trouble.

“I wish she could have made it, too,” Ned admits, taking Peter’s tie and maneuvering it expertly into a Windsor knot. “But she’s showing some couple a house upstate, and she wants to be there early. I told her I’d send her a selfie. You’ll have to get my good angle.”

“She thinks all your angles are good.”

“Well, she’s farsighted.”

“Barely. She doesn’t even wear glasses—”

The bantering comes easy to them. It always has. It distracts him from the thoughts of what’s coming tonight, of his reflection in the mirror, of what his former classmates will think when they see him. The eyes are the same, with some extra lines around them. His hair isn’t as thick as it was in high school, but it’s certainly not thinning. His physique is mostly unchanged, though he isn’t running anymore eight minute miles. It’s hard, getting older. And what does he have to show for it? Yes, he’s successful in his field. He doesn’t have to worry about money (much). But there is an emptiness in his house in Palo Alto, one that echoes. It echoes inside him.

“You’re thinking about him, aren’t you,” Ned asks in the cab.

“Who?” Peter asks. Like he doesn’t know. He gives up the gimmick almost immediately, shoulders sagging. His gut feels full of snakes, twisting and squeezing the breath out of him. If he weren’t sitting down, he’s afraid his knees might knock together. He hasn’t been more scared of anything in his life—not moving across the country, not changing careers, nothing.

Nothing except seeing his ex-husband, Tony, for the first time in fifteen years.

“He’s going to be there,” Ned says calmly. “He already mentioned it to the tabloids. I called the school ahead and they said that they’ve got increased security just because of him. He’s definitely going.”

“Of course he’s going,” Peter mutters. “He’s Tony fucking Stark. He’s a billionaire. Why wouldn’t he go back to his twenty-year high school reunion.”

Ned is unphased in the face of Peter’s sarcasm. He reaches out to take his friend’s hand, both their palms sweaty. They haven’t held hands in years, not since they were just kids in high school, but Peter squeezes and squeezes and doesn’t ever want to let go.

“I’m scared,” Peter admits.

“Are you going to make a move?” Because of course Ned knows. Peter has never explicitly stated that his biggest regret—the thing he thinks about during every lull in his day, the thing he lies awake at night lamenting, what he wishes he could take back every time he tosses a penny into a fountain—is divorcing Tony.

They were high school sweethearts. When Tony moved from Malibu to New York in their sophomore year, there was animosity between them, both competing for the top spots in their class, both on the decathlon team, both filling out forms for the same scholarships their senior year. It only made sense that their animosity morphed to a tension of a whole different sort. Tony was beautiful, was clever and smart, so kind-hearted…so flawed.

But freshly eighteen, already committed to going to the same college together, Peter could only see through rose-tinted glasses. They married with only Peter’s aunt there at the courthouse to give her blessing (and her blessing came in the form of many warnings—you’re so young, Peter, I hope you know what you’re doing). Then their time spent in university was tumultuous at best.

Tony drank too much. There were a few incidences with cocaine that made the older boy aggressive and even more pig-headed. Mostly, it was the arguing. Tony’s instincts to lean towards stoicism and sarcasm in the face of emotion and turmoil made Peter feel more alone than ever in his own on-campus apartment. What had they been thinking? Neither of them was mature enough for marriage. Tony especially, Peter would think, noting his empty seat during the morning lectures, knowing that his husband was back at their apartment sleeping off his latest binge.

So, he went with his aunt to begin the annulment process. The judge was sympathetic and granted it. Peter Parker-Stark became Peter Parker again. He moved apartments, stopped answering Tony’s texts, sat on the other side of the room during the classes they shared together. It wasn’t easy. If anything, Tony’s behavior grew more reckless, which was hard for the younger man to ignore. There was one night when Peter got a call from the emergency room that Tony had overdosed, and Peter was still his emergency contact. He sat by his ex-husband’s side until the sun came up and he began to stir. Peter had left before Tony could wake, stopping by the front desk to tell the nurse to remove his contact information. He wouldn’t watch Tony kill himself—couldn’t.

After that, Tony got the hint. He stopped texting. He stopped making sad eyes at Peter from across the room. He stopped trying to corner him in the hallway after their lectures ended. While it was what Peter had wanted, it still made his heart ache, heavy. There was no winning. There was no clean break. Everything hurt.

Sitting two rows behind him at their graduation was the last time Peter saw him. In person. After that, all of his Tony-sightings were via the news: newspapers sold by vendors on the street, magazines beside the checkout at the store, interviews on television. Tony had always been brilliant, always had dreams of starting his own company. Peter had just never thought he’d be able to shake his addictions and do it.

For a long time, it seemed like he was able to manage both. Every other article seems to portray Tony as a partying playboy, different men and women on his arms every night, arrested once for possession of marijuana. But Tony never crashed and burned the way Peter had been so afraid of. Even after Peter had move away from New York (away from Tony, away from the huge tower in Manhattan that had his former last name emblazoned on the side), he’d kept track of Tony in the news. Seven years ago, he committed to rehab, and when he got out, he’d done more than turn over a new leaf. He’d abandoned that tree altogether.

Peter couldn’t help it. Alone in his condo one night, eating leftover take-out alone, he’d realized: leaving Tony had been the biggest mistake of his life. Every interview charmed him all over again, every smile cut as sweetly as it cured him. The passion in his ex-husband was visible, and he was doing it, living his dream, changing the world. So many nights he thought of trying Tony’s old number to see who might pick up. In a box in his closet were letters, apologies, pleadings, still in their envelopes, unlicked and unsent.

“I can’t make a move,” Peter says, feeling tortured. “I know what that looks like. Trying to get back together with him now that he’s on Forbes Wealthiest.”

“Does that have something to do with it?” asks Ned.

Peter is ashamed to feels tears burn at his eyes. “I remember when we sat on the floor of our apartment because we had no furniture. I remember eating ramen and rice for three meals a day until we both found jobs. I loved him, then. It’s not about the money.”

Ned squeezes his fingers. When the cab turns into their school lot, filled to the brim with cars, they slide together a little in the backseat, and Ned is a warm, solid presence beside him. Suddenly, Peter wants a hug, more than he’s wanted anything. Instead, he just squeezes back.

There is heightened security. There are paparazzi, real life people with cameras standing around. And Tony is already there, his car a sleek, sexy thing, obscene outside their simple high school. The cab drops them off and Peter pays with shaking hands. It’s something out of Alice in Wonderland, being back here after so many years. Things have changed—the school’s roof is a different color. The parking lot has been paved, finally. But it’s still the same place. They’re the ones who have changed.

“Ready?” Ned asks.

“No,” he says. They go in anyway, shifting through the crowd which is only there for Tony. They have to show their ID’s to get in, and Peter is already seeing familiar faces: shapes different, hair different, but features so similar. Voices the same. The old decathlon team is there and they freak out to see Peter, even Flash, who was only ever shit to him.

Peter shakes his hand anyway. It’s been twenty fucking years. Plenty of time for Flash to have changed.

The auditorium is decorated scantly, but classy. It’s preferable to the way Peter remembers their school dances being: all strobe lights and music so loud it was impossible to hear each other. His eyes scan the room, but there were so many people in their graduating class (and Tony is, admittedly, short) that Peter can’t spot him right away.

“Drinks?” Ned asks.

Peter nods. Across the room are a series of white-clothed tables with finger foods and drinks. They fill their plates with grapes and cheeses and shrimp cocktail and all manner of other things, laughing at the pile of food they’ve accumulated. Sporadically placed around the platters are framed pictures—outtakes from their yearbook, most likely—and they laugh so hard that tears fill Peter’s eyes at the picture of Flash taken at the prom afterparty wearing nothing but his vest and pants. The afterparty was held at the school also and an alcohol-free zone. That hadn’t stopped plenty of teens from drinking on the way there.

Their class president accosts them before they can sit down, giving them nametags and markers to write with. For the sake of irony, Peter considers writing his name down as PENIS, but really. He was grateful if no one would remember.

“Peter,” Ned says, lowly, pressing his nametag into place on the breast of his shirt. “I see Tony.”

“Where,” Peter breaths, marker shaking in his hand. He keeps his head ducked, staring at the table. He can’t look up. He just can’t.

“He’s—oh. Oh, Peter. He’s coming over here. Okay. T-minus ten seconds, I’d say. What should I do? Should I tackle him? Should we run? Peter, I—oh.”

Peter can feel him. Tony has always had a presence about him, a tangible aura that follows him around the room. For the first time in fifteen years, it washes over Peter like ocean tide slipping over his head. He feels it from his crown to his heels, goosebumps raising along his arms, hairs standing on end. It’s a Tony-sense.

A tanned hand enters his vision. There are more scars on the knuckles than there used to be, but he knows those hands. He knew them intimately. Those hands used to take him apart after a long day in classes, used to edge him for ages during finals when he was already wound up tighter than a spring.

“Hey, Leeds. Looking good. I think some friends of mine are being shown a house by your wife tomorrow.” The voice is the same, maybe a little deeper, rough and fast. It makes Peter shiver. He watches Ned shake hands with Tony but can’t cock his head up to take the man in.

“Oh, you’re friends with the Romanovs? The house is killer. Maria showed me some pictures.”

“Natasha talks about it all the time. Don’t tell your wife this, but they’re already pretty sold.”

“Jokes on you,” Ned says, whipping out his phone. “I’m going to tell her anyway.”

They laugh. Peter can’t avoid it anymore, can’t stare at his own hands like an idiot. He turns, tilting his head up.

He knows how Tony looks. Last week, the guy did a segment on Good Morning, America for fuck’s sake. He isn’t so different, has hardly changed, to be honest. He looks so good that it hits Peter all over again, he let this man go. He feels that stinging in the back of his eyes that warns him he is on the verge of tears, presses his lips together even as he sees Tony smile—he has more laugh lines, ones that Peter didn’t give him.

Peter holds out his hand, trembling, hoping to God that he doesn’t burst into tears. Tony stares at it for a long time before taking it—and pulling Peter up and out of his chair.

“Can I hug you?” Tony asks warmly. “Are we there yet? Can we get there, quickly? Because, not to be soft, I’m really craving a hug right now.”

Peter laughs wetly. He nods. They hug. Tony is barely an inch taller, definitely broader through the shoulders though. His suit feels silky against Peter’s skin, and he smells so fucking good. Cologne. Something expensive and familiar. The same cologne he got Peter for Christmas their first year together. He digs his fingers into Tony’s back, pressed flush together from chest to shin. It’s hard not to fall back into their old dynamic. In this man’s arms, he feels small and soft and cherished.

“It’s okay,” Tony says softly. “It’s okay. Okay?”

Peter nods. He doesn’t know what’s okay, because nothing feels okay, except for this moment. This singular moment, when Peter clicks back into place with the neighboring puzzle piece that he left behind so many years ago.

Tony lets the hug go on far longer than is platonic. Except for the lack of swaying, people might have mistaken them for slow dancing.

“Now might not be the time,” Tony says into Peter’s neck, warm breath fanning over him. “But I texted you a few times, oh, a decade and a half or so ago, and you never got back to me. Like, what gives?”

Peter shakes his head. Tony pats his back, right between his shoulder blades, and hums—a warm sound that reverberates through Peter’s entire body. “I’m only kidding,” he admits. “Water under the bridge, Pete, I hope?”

Pete. God. He pulls back, a hand on Peter’s shoulder, and there isn’t any hope that Peter will be able to school his face. None at all. He must look tortured, on the verge of tears, years of regret that he will never be able to reverse. So much pain, and some anger too, because Tony became the man that Peter wanted, only years, years late.

“Want to walk with me?” Tony asks. His eyes flicker to Ned. “That okay, Leeds? Pete and I will go and see the locker that Thompson used to shove him in. Pay our tributes.”

Ned exchanges looks with him, unsubtle question written on his face. Peter smiles shakily, nods. “Just don’t check to see if he still fits.”

Tony keeps a hand on his back, escorting him out. The warmth sinks right through Peter’s shirt, down to his skin and deeper still, to his bones and his aching heart. This might be all he gets, the last interaction with Tony, the last touch, the last looks. What he gets tonight will have to hold him over for the rest of his life.

Tony leaves behind his security while they walk down the hallways, shoes soft against the tiled floors. It smells the same, and if he weren’t just a little taller, he’d be seeing everything exactly the same. Remembering it. The squeaking thunder of shoes as students filled the hall, the slamming of locker doors, the raucous discussions and laughter.

When he glances over, Tony is staring at him, a soft smile on.

“What?” Peter asks when Tony’s smile blooms.

“Just—you couldn’t have made it easy on me? Became hideously unattractive, or something? God, Pete, you haven’t changed at all.”

“You have,” Peter says. His mouth has always worked a little faster than his brain.

“The crow’s feet? They’re my curse.”

“That’s—that’s not what I meant. Come on, Tony,” Peter says, bumping their shoulders, feeling twenty years younger. There are butterflies in his stomach again. Maybe between AP chem and Shakespearean Literature, he’ll catch a glimpse of Tony in the hallway, a split moment that could make his entire day. “You know you look great.”

“Yeah?” Tony asks. He sounds sincere. “Not going to lie. It feels damn good to hear you say it.”

“So modest,” Peter teases.

“That’s one thing that hasn’t changed,” admits Tony. He stops to rest against his old locker, leaning against it. These days, he wears tinted glasses, but they are off and hooked in the breast pocket of his suit. He’s styling his hair differently these days, but it works for him. Everything works for him. “Tell me what you’ve been up to. How’s California?”

“It’s—” awful. Lonely. “—great. I’m making security software for companies who want to stay ahead of cyber-attacks.”

“I keep up with your work.” Tony’s expression is unbearably tender and fond. “It’s impressive, but I expected no less from you.”

“Tony,” Peter whispers. “Tony, I know this is years too late, I know that you’re successful and happy and there’s no reason to bring up the past. But I just need to say that I’m so sorry. I’m sorry that I didn’t have more faith in you, in the man you could be. You were—and I just—left. I’m so sorry.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” asks Tony. He pushes away from the lockers and comes to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Peter. “I’m not holding any grudges. I was a fucking mess in college, Pete. And for many years after. The things you caught me doing—I’m ashamed to admit that was only the half of it: the drugs, the drinking. You were the only thing that kept me together—”

“I know,” Peter laments. “And then I just left you—”

“It wasn’t your job. Come on, where’s the smart man I knew? You should know this. You can’t make a person change a moment before they’re ready to, and you’re not obliged to wait around in the meantime. Keeping me together wasn’t your responsibility.”

Peter’s face crumples. It’s more than he expected to hear after all these years—he was so afraid that Tony would be angry, would blame him, would rub in his face how far he’s come and how it is no thanks to Peter. The relief he feels at knowing Tony forgives him (or doesn’t think there’s anything to forgive) almost staggers him. But that’s only half the burden Peter carries.

“I wish I’d held on longer,” he admits. He can’t even look at Tony, the warm solidi presence by his side. He stares down at their shoes, dark and shined enough that they can see their faint reflections in them.

“I’m glad you didn’t. I was hurting us both. I wasn’t any good for you.”

“And now?” Peter asks.

“Now what?”

“Now, are you good for me?”

Tony turns until he has one shoulder braced against the lockers, all of his attention on Peter. No questioning that it’s a heady thing, a physical, tangible feeling, being under those dark eyes. He shivers all over with it, skin prickling, craving—“What are you asking, Pete?”

Peter shakes his head. He can’t say it. Can’t be rejected, even though he deserves it, after the way he rejected Tony all of those years ago. Tony reaches out and Peter flinches even though Tony is the gentlest man he knows, never raised anything more than his voice to him even in their most heated arguments. Warm fingers brush his chin, coax his head to turn and make eye contact.

“My therapist says that communication is key,” Tony says, the corner of his mouth drawn up. “Ironic, considering that I barely spoke a word to him for our first three sessions. Talk to me. We were no good at this back then, and we’re too smart for that. Let’s be good at it now.”

“You’re right, I just—I. I follow your work, too,” Peter ends, lamely. His eyes are wet, lips trembling even as he smiles. “I always have. I can’t stop.”

Tony groans. He reaches out for one of Peter’s hands and laces their fingers together. It’s been too many years—they don’t fit the way that they used to. But maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe this is something that they will have to relearn. That they will have the chance to relearn. Tony brings Peter’s hand up and presses his lips to the knuckles, facial hair brushing the skin. It’s the most chaste, platonic affection, but it takes Peter’s breath away. Then he turns Peter’s hand over, wrist up, and presses a kiss to his pulse. Surely he can feel it hammering away under his lips.

“You want me, Pete?” Peter nods, eyes closed to savor the way Tony’s lips brush his skin as he speaks. Then all at once, they are gone. When he slits his eyes open, Tony is watching him, serious. “I don’t want a fling. I don’t want a one-night stand. You were my one that got away—and unless you don’t want this—I’m not letting you go ever again.”

“How, Tony?” Peter whispers. “I live in California, you live in New York—”

“We’ll take it slow,” says Tony. He’s always been quick on his feet, and the picture he paints for Peter is everything he needs to hear. “Texting. Phone calls. Skype. And if things go well—and I want them to go well, Pete—I’ll fly to you or fly you to me and we’ll go out for the weekend. And if things go very well—and I want them to go very, very well—”

Peter laughs. “I get it, I get it—”

“Then we’ll figure things out. I’m flexible. California doesn’t have a SI headquarters yet, which I’ve always personally thought was such a shame. You could come to New York, too, if you want. Lots of companies here are vulnerable to cyber-attacks. I’m willing to stage a few myself, if it means you’ll have work—I’m joking, honestly, only a joke. God, I’ve missed that look on your face.

“And if New York doesn’t sound good? Pick a place. Any place. We can meet in the middle. We can leave the country. If it goes well.”

“And you want it to,” Peter finishes. He presses his palm to his mouth to smother his smile, but it’s no good. There’s no hiding it. “I want it to, too.”

They kiss, and it’s better than coming home. Peter’s home is an empty, lonely thing. This is warm, and soft, and so tender that it makes him ache from his chest right down to his groin. He brings up a hand to smooth over Tony’s cheek, down the curve of his neck, over the soft collar of his dress shirt. Tony coaxes his mouth open, licking softly and sweetly. He tastes faintly of some brown liquor, scotch or whiskey or bourbon.

All at once, their kisses change from a sampling to the desperation of two drowning men. Peter feels surrounded, overwhelmed in the best way. All of his senses are alight, signals jammed by the interference of Tony: facial hair and liquor and cologne and soft silk ties and the hot bulge below Tony’s leather belt, the one that presses against his own because Peter’s hips jut forward gently.

“I missed you,” Tony says when they come up for air. “I missed you, I missed you, I missed you so fucking much.”

Peter whines. He grabs at the lapel of Tony’s suit to urge him closer. Tony turns them so that he can press Peter into the lockers of their youth, bracing one thigh between his open legs and rutting against him, tilting his head to mouth hotly at his neck. Peter gasps, keeps his eyes half-open to watch the other end of the hallway and make sure no one comes looking for them.

“Missed everything about you,” Tony says. His voice is wrecked, and Peter thinks he might be on the verge of tears. When he pulls back, he sees the slightest redness around Tony’s eyes, the sheen of unfallen tears. “Look at me, Pete. I need to say—I didn’t do any of it for you. You know that, right? My sobriety, my therapy. It wasn’t for you. It was for me. Because I was tired of being the kind of man who let other people down. Who let himself down. I didn’t think I had a fucking snowball’s chance in hell getting you back, you know that right? If this goes south between us again…and I don’t want it to, but if it does? It will hurt like hell. But I will be okay. I want every day you spend with me, every phone call we share, every meal, every glance. I want it all to be because you want to talk with me, dine with me, look at me. Does that make sense?”

Peter nods. He reaches up to rub his thumb tenderly against the soft skin between Tony’s eye—it comes away only a little damp. “How could it be anything else?”

They kiss again. It’s fifteen years overdue. The library fines they must have accumulated would be incredible. They’re insatiable, eighteen years old again, spending their ‘wedding night’ in a motel 6 with candles that Tony bought at the local dollar store, ones that make the room smell like fresh cotton linens and that cast the room in a whole yellow glow. It wasn’t the first time they’d made love, but God it had been good. They’d nearly burned the room down, in more ways than one.

“Tony,” Peter groans, cock aching. He wonders about the car in the lot that belongs to Tony, whether the seats go back far enough for them to properly enjoy themselves. He thrusts his hips, desperate it a way he hasn’t been for anyone or anything in years. “Please,” he asks, not knowing what he’s asking for.

“You know I have you,” Tony says, biting at Peter’s throat. “You know I always have you. Come on, come here.”

Tony tugs him gently down the hallway. The first classroom they come to—AP Chemistry, or at least it was 20 years ago—Tony tugs on the handle and it opens. They duck in.

It’s still a chemistry classroom, the lab tables neatly arranged in rows. There is the faintest scent of cleaners and chemicals, a sinkful of glassware that some student didn’t put away. Tony and Peter had shared this class, Peter sitting at the front and Tony at the back. They don’t choose either of those lab tables, instead settling nearest to the door, unable to make it any further before Tony hoists Peter up onto one of the black, glossy tables.

“Can’t get enough of you,” Tony says, pressing Peter back so he can untuck his dress shirt from his slacks, push up the undershirt and mouth at Peter’s abs. They aren’t as defined as they were twenty years ago, but Peter is proud that there is still definition left, and plenty of strength beneath that. “God, you’re perfect. Still so perfect after all this time.”

“Tell me you’ve got a condom, lube, something—”

“All of the above, baby, be patient with me.”

Peter sits up abruptly. He threads his fingers through Tony’s hair and pulls gently until the other man gets the idea and leans back, their eyes meeting. “I’ve waited long enough, I think.”

Tony softens. Peter hasn’t seen such a serene, fond expression on his face since they were married. This side of Tony doesn’t exist in the tabloids. It fills up all the empty parts inside of him that gaped for so many years. But there’s another empty part of him that he’d like Tony to fill. ASAP.

“Undress,” Tony says firmly. “Just what’s necessary. Don’t want to get caught with anything more than our pants down, do we?”

“Don’t want to get caught at all,” Peter says snidely, opening his belt to leave it hanging at his sides while he unbuttons and unzips his dress slacks. He wrenches both down just as far as he needs to, rolls so that his stomach is pressed against the chilly lab table. He feels a moment of shyness, anxiety, but then Tony is pressing a reverent hand against his flank, rubbing soft skin with a tender thumb.

“God,” Tony says, wrecked already. “You’re a gift. I don’t know if I deserve you, Pete, but I’m willing to spend the rest of my life trying.”

“You can start by fucking my soul out of my body,” Peter says pressing his feverish cheek against the lab table. He’s smiling though. He’s missed this so much, the banter, the connection. The sound of Tony’s belt is loud in the room, the rustle of fabric deafening to Peter’s senses which feel dialed up past their limit. Tony reaches out to pull a stool from under the lip of the lab table, gently lifting Peter’s leg up to fold and rest on it. In this position, he’s spread wide open, the perfect cradle for Tony to fuck up into.

The first touch of Tony’s lubed fingers has Peter groaning. Tony has always been good at this, and the years have only given him more experience. He is gentle but relentless, massaging Peter’s rim, pressing in with a single twisting finger, then two, the stretch making Peter gasp and press back, urging Tony in to the knuckle. Tony fucks him with his fingers for several long minutes, leisurely, like they have all the time in the world. Peter knows not to rush him; this is Tony’s favorite part. Taking someone apart. Turning him into a leaking, whining mess.

“Think you’re ready, Pete?” Tony asks. “Think you can take my cock?”

“I know I can,” says Peter. “But are you ever going to give it to me?”

Tony spanks him lightly after pulling his fingers free. Then there is something larger, blunter, hotter at Peter’s opening and he lets himself go soft, opening up. It’s been so long since he’s bottomed for someone, but he remembers what to do. He’s so relaxed that he can’t even groan, just lets all the breath slip out of him as Tony presses in, gentle but insistent, until he’s bottomed out.

“How do you feel even better now than you did all those years ago?” Tony asks through his teeth. He leans down to bite at Peter’s shoulder through his shirt, just the soft press of teeth. Peter whines, panting, squeezing down around the cock inside him just to feel Tony jerk and bite harder. “Are you ready, Pete? I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Ready, I’m ready, give it to me—”

Tony does. God, he does. He remembers just how Peter likes it, too, soft, long, deep thrusts that the younger man can feel so deep it’s in his fucking throat. Merciless, Tony thrusts into him again and again and again, pressing firmly along Peter’s prostate, every inward thrust accompanied by a jerk of Peter’s cock where it’s dribbling onto the tiled floors.

“You want to work your cock, baby?” Tony pants. “Or you want me to? Feeling lazy?”

“You, you,” Peter gasps. He’s not feeling lazy—he’s feeling alive and awake and invigorated and like he’s liable to explode at any moment—but he’s also desperate to feel those rough hands on him again. Tony is obliging, reaching around to wrap his fingers around Peter’s cock and begin jerking him off in the same way he does everything: thoroughly, leisurely, efficiently. “God, yes, thank you, please Tony—”

Tony groans. “Keep talking like that and I’m going to blow my load in you, baby. You want this over so quickly? Huh?”

“Thought we were just getting started.” Peter can’t help it. He’s laughing, grinning, giddy with it. “Give me your cum, sir,” he says, playing on Tony’s old kinks. “You can impress me with your stamina next time.”

Peter thinks that’s what did it: next time. Tony’s hips roughen, thrusting harder as he nears his end, and Peter clenches his muscles to squeeze around him. When Tony cums, he wraps a gentle but possessive hand around Peter’s throat, the other hand milking Peter’s cock for all it’s worth. Peter wishes they weren’t using a condom so he could feel the hot rush of cum—but there will be time for that. Time for everything he’s been wanting again all these years.

Even after Tony’s hips slow, he stays deep inside while he jerks Peter off. Taking the hand off of his throat, Tony reaches down to cradle Peter’s tight balls and that’s it—he’s gone, spurting all over the lab table, another stool in front of him, the floor. It lasts forever, Tony holding him through the wracking spasms of his body. It’s the best orgasm he can remember having, alone or with anyone else, in years.

“Thank you,” Peter whispers. “Thank you.”

Tony turns him around, hair disheveled, sweat at his temples and softening cock still out between his legs. “What for?” Tony asks, smirking. “For the hand-job?”

“That too,” says Peter, laughing.

They clean up—thoroughly, since neither of them are interested in leaving cum behind on 12th grade chemistry desks. By the time they stumble out of the classroom, they are re-dressed, hair combed, looking (except for the flush in their cheeks) like all that might have happened in Classroom 110 was just a lengthy, tender conversation.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Tony asks. When they pass his body guard standing where they left him, the guy is struggling to keep a straight face, though he follows them without a word. “I’m thinking…Indian cuisine.”

“That place at 99 Hudson Street? Is it still there?”

“God yes, I’d have left this city years ago if otherwise.”

And in the morning when he wakes up tangled in the sheets of Tony’s bed on the penthouse floor of Stark Tower, the news has pictures of them sitting cozily in Tamarind restaurant eating lamb kabobs with bell pepper crusts and sharing tindora poriyal.

The headlines read, Reunited.

#starker #divorce #high school sweethearts #twenty year reunion #tw: addiction #tw: overdosing #cagewrites #longfic

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