#and it would mean I don’t have to move and sign a whole new lease

[lesbiansanemi]

I’m also realizing the reason my kitties are so unsettled and lashing out more often is partially my fault. It is definitely because of the new guy and the goddamn dog that got moved in (esp cuz one of my cats has past trauma with dogs and when I got her it was with the assumption she would never have to live with dogs again) but it’s also because I’m not giving them as much attention. I used to be out in the living room/kitchen with them for at least 4-5 hours after work every day, petting them, playing with them, letting them sit next to me on the couch cuz neither were big on lap cuddles. And now because I hate being in the main apartment anymore I never do that…. They’re upset because I’m not giving them as much attention anymore and they don’t know why, I feel so bad but also idk what to doooo 😭😭😭

[pedge-page]

Insatiable

Part 3/Finale to Cravings and Crash

Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Summary: Frankie and reader spend some time apart before realizing that’s actually really stupid—and solid communication happens for once :) 

Notes: it’s finally HERE! Thank you all so much again for your words of praise and keeping with these two absolute idiots in love. Honestly intended the first one to just be a one-off drabble throw away thought, but I’m glad everyone enjoyed it so much to ask for more! I’m spitting this out earlier than expected. Don’t know if I’ve done them reasonable justice but this is what I’ve got—hope you like it!

Warnings: unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, creampies, mentions of m oral, pussy eating king returns, cum eating, missionary, doggy, cowgirl, overstimulation, fingering, squirting, bit of possessive and jealous Frankie, mentions of drug use, drugs present, language

18+ ONLY

- - - - 

You had cried when you got in your car. And again when you went to your cousin’s house to crash until you signed your new lease. And then again every night for a week straight.

You had NEVER cried this hard over a boy before.

Except this wasn't some boy—this was Frankie. The guy who comforted you through all your dates that stood you up, and shitty boyfriends, albeit few, that left you feeling less than worthwhile. The same Frankie who stood around you like a guard dog when you went drinking together so no one would even think to slip something in your cup, but who YOU have to comfort during horror movies because he's a big scared kitten. Who lets you sleep on his shoulder for five hours in the car no matter how uncomfortable it was for him, never once moving, but still ate the food you didn't like off your plate "because he's a garbage dump who'd eat anything, even mold." 

The first guy to tell you that you were beautiful when you weren't even trying to impress him. Who brings a hair tie with him when you go to eat because you always forget yours and get your hair caught in your fork. Who pushed you to take charge of your life and break up with your loser first love, and it was the hardest and best decision you could have ever made.

And you know what? The ONLY guy who made you cum 9 fucking times the FIRST time he went down on you.

You called Santi that night because you needed to let loose, and the only other person you trusted to hold you up outside of Frankie was Pope.

“So how is he?” Santi asked, as you immediately double fisted your first two shots. 

"I don't wanna talk about him tonight."

Santi nods, eyes widening as you don’t even resist the bitter taste going down your throat. He holds his finger up towards the waitress to order 4 more glasses.

You really didn't want to think about Frankie. The more you thought about him, the more confused you felt, and you couldn't afford to be confused about your purpose in his life right now. You knew battling addiction isn’t a linear healing process. That it would get worse before it got better at times. You're his friend. You're helping him. That's it. 

Frankie spent a whole year being physically intimate with you, but never once asked or made a move for anything more emotionally. So why let yourself get carried away even thinking about something more?

To even consider if you wanted more...

You snatch the shot glass out of Santi's hand right before he was about to sip it and catapulted it down your throat, the burning sensation taking your mind out of the gutter.

Fuck Frankie for not keeping his shit together. Fuck him for being hot and cold. Fuck him for using you when that's exactly what you’re here for.

It's much easier to keep it all that way. Easy to encourage him with sex to avoid overthinking his intentions. Easier to constantly verbalize it, knowing he won’t deny it, as a means of reassurance to yourself. 

But absolutely fucking HELL he’s being so difficult lately. The sex—wasn’t just good. It was fucking phenomenal. you could physically see how much better he was just moments afterwards, even if you were blacking out and falling asleep not too long after. He was so hungry for it too, why deny? But he’d been holding back too much now—getting too tense, crashing, then stressed again. You needed to get things back on schedule with him so he’d be happy again.

And gentle, nurturing, innocent, sober you just wasn't doing the trick for him anymore.

You barely hear Santi over the pounding in your head: "When we was the last time you got laid? You need a distraction from your Fix-a-Fish hobby."

You gulp down the last of the vodka on the table, suppressing a slight burp.

"I'm 'bout to do both tonight."

That was 4 weeks ago. You didn’t achieve either that night.

Fish didn't seem too upset when you left, ultimately making the choice much easier. You looked so fucking stupid walking in there, basically demanding sex from him when he made it clear all year that you were only there for HIM and not the other way around. He didn’t want you like that. 

Good. Makes staying friends that much easier.

Or it did, for a little while. 

You couldn’t get over the way he made you feel when all was well—when he’d serenade you so easily in affection like Querida, Carino, Hermosa, and you could barely contain the butterflies in your stomach each time. You had never once heard him even refer to his dates or ex girlfriends in the same manner. It was both confusing and arousing. He treated you like a best friend some times, but adored you like a lover more. 

Hadn’t the man heard of friendship boundaries? Aside from the fact he made you orgasm every minute of the day, what was Frankie like as a lover? What more could he possibly do to cross that line?

Who the hell treats their friend like that?

That last month, however, felt more realistic. Grounded in the truth of your relation. You didn’t realize how much he had gotten to you with sweet words first that made the change in his attitude so unbearable. 

You wanted to go back to being selfish with his unbridled love.

You hadn’t gotten off in over a week, a new record. But as you lay in bed, conjuring any and all pornos, audio eroticas, pillows, aching fingers, even the dusty vibrator still wrapped in its new plastic, nothing was getting you to that same addictive feeling that Frankie gave you every single day.

You should have called him to return his shirt you had accidentally packed in your bag in a haste to get out of there. But it still smelled like him. You felt perverted getting wet just by holding it in your hands, but it was doing the trick, and finally you could touch yourself without additional lubricant assistance.

All the memories that tumbled from then on only made the ache between your legs worse: The first night, Frankie between your legs, begging you to let go so he could force more orgasms from your shaking body. “Doing s’good for me, cariño. Give me more, fucking starving” ; when he held you in his lap as you grind down on his bulge, his head buried under his shirt that you were wearing as his lapped at your nipples, “Don’t you dare hold back those beautiful moans, wanna hear you singing when I’m devouring you”; when he’d come home from work and didn’t say a word, just grabbed your wrist and lead you to his bedroom, lied on the bed, slapped your ass a few times to get you to straddle him higher, higher, until you were right over his lips. He didn’t even wait for your hesitation, immediately bringing your hips down and crashing his lips on your pussy, shaking his head like a mad scientist at work, hell bent on discovering what makes you cry faster.

You pulled your fingers away from your slick cunt. No amount of memory would compare to the real thing—and it wasn’t all the acts that you needed, but the intimacy, the familiarity that came from Frankie—THAT’S what always sent you over the edge.

It scared you.

Santi was half right. You did need to get laid. Needed someone who wasn’t Frankie to remind you that you don’t rely on him for some shit like getting off (although you had developed a keen preference by now). You needed a new hobby that wasn’t thinking about Frankie all the time. YOU needed a distraction.

He was half wrong, however, because you knew very well that you’d be drowning in lame date after lame lay a million times before you got over the addictive feeling of being around Fish this past year.

It never felt like a chore. Well, obviously, you were getting ate out like a Sunday brunch. But it was everything else that made you want to keep staying around, even after he maybe didn’t need you anymore.

You realized then that leaving was the best for you and him. You had somehow managed to score a  date tonight, the first one in over a year, with a James. Or Jonathan. Or Jimmy. Something J. I think.

I’m excited. I’m going on a date. I’m going to have fun. I’m excited. Im going on a date. Im going to have fun.

You didn’t even have the care to shave tonight before you begrudgingly left for dinner and a movie.

-

He couldn't say it then. Frankie remembered so vividly the image that he wishes he could forget: you standing there, so meek and vulnerable, spilling your tears as you tried to level your emotions with your feelings and confront the fucked up situation he put you in. Maybe if you had screamed, yelled at him and cussed him out for being such a dick, then he could have told you how he truly felt.

He was always better at being shouted at by others from being in the service. The guys would let their tempers soar and just shout, honesty tumbling through like a flood, and then everything would be out on the table, and shit would get DONE.

The apartment is unforgivably quiet and cold.

He's noticing little things you left behind: your nice moisturizer, expensive shampoo, a paper towel holder. He thinks you’re mocking him by leaving bits of you around his place, so he collects them in a bin and waits for you to come retrieve them. But you don't contact him for the first week.

He starts to think maybe you left those things for him. You bought all these things while you were here, forcing him to use them with you:

"Your face is as dry as a desert; you need moisturizer, not body lotion.”

"You can't use a 4 in one hair and body wash!"

"Who the fuck doesn't have a holder for their paper towels?"

It wasn't all just sex when you were here. He remembered coming in to the bathroom when your feet were soaking in the tub, and you explained you were rubbing your calluses off your feet. He joined you, sweats pulled up above his knee as you held him down to get the stone on his crusty feet, the whole time laughing and squirming because it tickled too much. He fell on his ass in the tub desperate to escape your strangely strong grip around his ankle, getting his clothes all wet.

And despite how well he had known you even before your arrangement, he continued to learn new things about you. Like you took night showers, and could only go to bed with your hair in braid. He'd come to see you, agitated in his room all morning, waiting for you to finally wake up so he could distract his craving. He’d walk into the kitchen where you were already cooking him breakfast, slip his arms around your hip, and pull your braids out lovingly to smell scent of your shampoo waft off in waves, closing his eyes and feeling his jitters dissipate, instantly calming him like no other remedy.

Found it funny that you couldn’t use a regular spoon for cereal, always replacing it with a tea spoon because the other ones are “too big” for your mouth to fully close around. A sentiment he suspected to be a load of BS when you had no problem swallowing his cock whole and then gulping down his cum without spilling a drop.

Or when you got red sauce all over the laundry and had to borrow Frankie's shirt to sleep in. He liked that you smelled like him, that it draped over you so pretty, and you'd never wear pants underneath. He'd put you in his lap and make you hold the shirt up with your teeth, showing off your perky tits. His thumb circled your hip bone, large hand clasping your waist to keep you upright while he'd kiss your nipples, and then make you both look down and watch as he rubbed his fingers through your folds, sucking the juices off as he finger fucked you over top him.

He can't help but feel his twitch of his cock stir in his pants at the thought.

Ok. Maybe the sexual parts were a big part—how could they not be? That’s all it was, at first. And he was able to pretend like it was too. But the more time he spent with you. The more time he got to really know you, live with you, breathe you in, unravel you and bind him to you so that you had no sanctuary untouched by him, it was all over before it began. 

He sat down with Pope a week after you left: 

“You look like shit.”

Frankie grumbled, shrugging it off. He hadn’t slept, hadn’t eaten like he used to when you were around. His beard was growing in more patchy and less manicured than before.

“Have you talked to her since?”

“Don’t wanna talk about her tonight.”

Jesus, a broken record with these two, Santi thought. But he knew Fish much better, knew the exact reason why he called him out instead of all the boys together is precisely because he needed to get this off his chest. “She thought you were stressed, needed time. Clearly she was right.”

Frankie’s jaw clenched, teeth grinding so hard that he could form diamonds.

Santi cleared his throat, twirling the ice in his glass casually. “Course, I didn’t tell her you’re head over heels in love with her. Why didn’t you?”

He doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t think he could again. “Imagine how that would have gone? She was crying right there. Right in front of me, BECAUSE of me, after I’d treated her like shit for weeks until her breaking point. Would have given her some fucked up idea that that was my expression of loving her. If I’d said it then, she would never have believed me. Would have ruined everything. Including our friendship.” He pauses, staring down at his rough hands. “She deserves better,” he said weakly, more to convince himself than anyone else.

Santi leans back against the booth. He’d heard the Frankie pity train before, but this was much lower than usual. “And friendship is still good enough for you?”

“I’ll take whatever she’ll give me at this point. I can’t lose her.” 

“You can’t? Or don’t want to?”

Frankie thought about that for a while. He had realized too late he didn’t actually still need you. He hadn’t really “craved” cocaine like before. He no longer needed you tending to his every reaction, overly serving his necessities and desires, always a few steps away to brighten his smile, or warm the house with your laughter, your cooking, your terrible taste in movies, all for the sake of keeping him sane and sober.

But damn it all, he still wanted you.

Frankie goes 4 weeks of the hardest withdrawal of his life. You were right, he was getting better at not thinking about cocaine. But without you here, he's more agitated than before. It's not that he craves it now, but rather craves a substitute to get him through your absence.

He's itching for his phone, for the number of his dealer he should have blocked and deleted so long ago.

He shouldn't. It would devastate you. You'd think it's your fault because you weren't here to distract him, only making the whole lie he’s been telling himself that you could still be just friends more abundantly evident. Pushing that useless tale even further, rooting it in your mind.

 In truth, it is your fault that his entire happiness is now emotionally and physically tied to you, but he can't really blame you for leaving him since he's the big idiot. He had the entire year to make it right, damned be the consequences of your possible rejection.

He’s clenching his fist at his sides, debating whether to text his dealer. He doesn't even want that shit, at least not the way before. He just wants a distraction from the real aches that you've left behind.

And if he did... wouldn't you come back to him to make it right?

You’re so clear in his mind that doesn't even struggle, doesn't hesitate as he pays the money and carries the little pouch in his hands. He gets back to his apartment with vigorous haste, slamming the door behind him, and sits it on the coffee table, staring.

Even if you don't come back to him, getting just a little bit high would help take his mind off it all. He'd be able to stop thinking about you, even for just the night. Just to get some sleep.

Just to stop feeling.

He shakily tries to undo the tightly sealed bag, but few particle traces catch in his finger tips from outside the plastic, and he instantly wafts the infinitesimal scent of it on his finger tips. He stops, feeling something he's never felt before when staring down at the thing thats caused him so much trouble in his life:

Disgust.

-

You considered calling Frankie a million times, but how soon was too soon? Would he think you were just desperate to get ate out again? Would he deny you the second you wanted to see him, thinking it was just a booty call again? You had made some stupid choices, like going on a shitty date with a guy you weren’t even interested in, just to get over Frankie, so that you could avoid thinking about how badly you had shattered your friendship.

And going right back to being his friend, which included sharing one of your reckless decisions you make on your own, was one of them. He’d be interested in hearing about it, right?

You dial him up quickly.

You rock back and forth on your heels, unable to sit still.

The phone rings out to voicemail.

He’s never missed a phone call from you. Not even at 2am on a work night. He's never on his phone, and yet still always managed to answer your calls even if it’s on the last ring.

He's just avoiding you again. It's fine. Santi said he'll get over it eventually. That you’ve done enough worrying for him, and need to take care of yourself for a change.

You glance at the key he gave back to you, and not even a moment later, are soon slipping on shoes and heading out the door with it in hand.

-

You unlock the door and slowly walk in to the familiar layout of Frankie's apartment. It's entirely dark, curtains drawn save for a small crack in the shades. You call out his name tentatively, the eeriness of the place making you anxious. When you see the bathroom light on and door slightly ajar, hearing the rushing sink water running, you sigh relief.

Thank God.

You gently push open the door. "Fish?" You see him, heart skipping a beat at how much thinner, paler he looked now than before, eyes sunk from lack of sleep.

His eyes light up when he sees you, and your heart breaks at how different he looks but STILL has the brightest, softest, loving smile at you.

Your eyes drift down, smile fading, horror quickly overtaking your face at the unopened baggie of white powder sitting at the sink. And his face drops at the realization.

You take one step back, unable to close the gape in your lips, petrified. "Fish—I—holy fuck..."

You had never seen him doing it, never seen him freshly blown high from it. The closest you ever got was what the boys would tell you, or seeing the long aftermath of his crash. They were always first on the scene and quite frankly, ensured you were never the one to find in him these states. You had never been able to mentally prepare to have to handle it now.

"No—no no no! It's not, I didn’t, I didn't! Look—ok it looks like I did but I swear I haven't touched it. It’s still sealed! I’m. I'm dumping it down the toilet."

You don't trust his word, seeing as the bag is here, albeit fully wrapped up, seal unbroken like he said. But here, nonetheless. With him. In front of you with no denial that it was his. 

He gets on his knees and wraps his arms around your waist. “Please don’t leave me. I didn’t want you to leave the first time…”

“And it’s taking you being high right now to admit that?!”

I’m not high, seriously. Check me.” You peer down closer, and aside from his rampant heart beating against your leg and big round eyes, there’s no trace of smell or lingering white powder anywhere on him. But you’re hesitant.

“I bought it but then realized It wasn’t what I really wanted…”

He licks his lips quickly, his brown eyes pleading up to you, biceps flexing against your ribcage.

Your chest is pounding, the encasing feeling of Frankie refusing to let you back away making you feel like a trapped rabbit. 

“Please believe me,” he breathes.

"Your eyes are dilated as fuck Frankie!"

"That's because of you!"

You both hold your breath, a pregnant silence ringing in the air.

“I—I’m. Um. I meant." His eyes trail off sheepishly as a warm blush takes over his face. 

He stands up, rubbing the back of his head. He can tell you’re patiently waiting for him to get over his blubbering awkwardness so he can explain properly. To find the words he’s combing his brain for. And find them he did: 

"I miss you, Querida.”

He breathes slowly, time catching up and suddenly stopping. 

You glance toward the bag, still fearful that he had gotten to this point while you were gone. “Frankie. I’m—I’m so sorry I wasn’t here. For your needs—“

“I don’t need you to fix me. I haven’t craved that shit for a while, still don’t even now. I just wanted you here with me.” He snatches the baggie and chucks it in the toilet, immediately flushing it.

You want to say that might not be great for the plumbing, but Frankie’s hands are on yours, holding them securely to his chest. “I just want you. I should have said it before you walked away.  Should’ve said it a year ago, when I knew I didn’t want to pretend this was just some—some drug replacement.” He goes quieter. “I didn’t want this to be nothing. I thought when we had sex, maybe you’d feel the same, but you didn’t—”

“I was afraid about what would happen to you If our dynamic changed, Fish. I was worried it was just another high. So I tried to make things go back to how they were since it seemed to be working so well for you before,” you rambled. He can see the shininess in your eyes, feel how your body is no longer resisting him and instead, cradling his neck with affection, empathy, nurture, all the things he’d been depraved of for weeks. “But then it made everything worse and I didn’t know what to do—“

He cut you off, as if suddenly things didn’t line up. ”Why did you come back?"

You lick your lips, eyes unable to meet his. “Well I called, and you didn't answer. And I wanted to check up on you, and tell you... um—I mean I always tell you about… I went on a date, my first one in over a year."

Frankie's eyes blankly drift lower, down to your feet, his arms retreating. He takes an awkward step back. "How... how did it go?" He asks slowly, feeling the distance between the two of you growing again.

You throw your hands up in the air, unable to express yourself. “He was…Handsome. Funny. Charming. Paid for me, made me feel pretty, treated me real good—“

He nodded, unable to bring his eyes anywhere else but back to the back on the sink as he listened. “S’good. That’s what you deserve,” he says, jaw tensing.

“Yeah. Yeah it is what I deserve.” You pause, here goes everything. “Except the whole time, I hated the fact that he was nothing like you." 

Frankie’s attention darts back to you as you cup his scruffy face in your hands. "You're irritable, and sassy, and needy and clingy, and you pout when you don't get what you want. And you don't listen to me or stop when I tell you to stop—“

A roasting fest? Now?? “OK, That's, Jesus, I get it—“

"And I love all those things about you.” You hold his gaze, feeling his breath seize in his chest. “And I miss being here. I miss waking up with you every morning, and your smug face being the last I see before I go to sleep. And it took me until after I left to realize how I actually felt about you. This whole year with you has felt like this perfect—“

"High?"

Your brows furrow shyly. “I didn’t want to put it that way, for obvious reasons. But fuck it. Yes. I don’t—I don’t wanna let that go.”

His fingers tense around your waist, almost begging you to say it, spill it out for him and don’t hold back ever again. 

“You got me addicted to you, Francisco."

You aren't aware of how fast he moves, his hands grabbing your neck as he smashes his lips to yours. Your heart is beating out of your chest when he sucks every breath from you, barely separating from your lips to utter "I've waited—so long—for you—“ He hoists you up on his waist and brushes out of the bathroom with your legs wrapped securely around him, his kiss hot and full of passion the entire time. "Wanted you since you first let me have a taste of you.” He slams you on the bed, the familiarity of you two being in this exact situation settles on you. “Wanted you to want me. Want more.”

He continues to engulf your lips with his, his moans vibrating against your tongue. "I shouldn’t—“ he hastily bites your lip with a grunt “—shouldn't have pushed you away—treated you so bad.” He pauses his assault. “I was so scared you didn't want me like that. Couldn't handle pretending I could be okay with it.”

You place your hands on his chest, feeling the pounding of his heart matching yours. "Frankie, I want you."

"Good," he smiles, leaning up to remove his shirt over his shoulders. You whine at the sight. Draping himself over you, his lips never leave your body as he kisses down your chest then back to your lips. You’re unable to bring yourself to action as his body dictates both of your moves.

You feel his bulge pressing painfully against your core, eliciting an obscene moan from your throat. "Frankie—Let me take care—“

"No. Fuck no. I'm taking care of you tonight. And tomorrow, and every fuckin’ day after," he growls.

He kisses you once again but then slowly backs away. "Um, if... if you want that."

He feels your hand tangle in the hair behind his neck as you bring his face back to yours, teeth clashing for dominance. "I want it," you whisper, sucking his lower lip and biting it possessively.

His jaw hitches. “Prove it."

You unbutton your pants, taking his large hand and guiding it down your panties in haste. His digits make contact between your folds, the two of you sighing.

"Oh f-fuck. You want this, don't you?"

"Want you so bad, Frankie. It fucking hurts.”

His fingers dont leave your dripping cunt, spreading your slick around your swollen clit. His other rips your string underwear off with incredible strength. He then helps push your shirt over your head, and you immediately unclasp your bra. Frankie growls lowly at the sight of your perky breasts bouncing from their release. "Fuck, I missed these.” His mouth wraps around as much fat of your tit he could before biting, making you lurch. 

“I—I’m not gonna be slow—I wanted to—“

"Jesus Fish, I don’t care, just take me!"

He plunges two of his thick digits into your soaking heat, making your back arch off the bed. He takes the opportunity to suck a nipple back into his mouth, half his body hovering over you to keep your form perfectly positioned between his mouth and fingers. They teasingly thrust in and out slowly from your hole, intentionally dragging out his torture against you. "So mean to me, baby." His teeth nip at your nipple with a smug grin. "Takin’ my sweet little pussy away from me like that. I barely touched you and you're absolutely soaked. Were you wet on your way here?"

"Frankie I haven't... haven't been able to get off in weeks."

"How long?"

You moan out loud, eyes rolling back as your brain turns to mush. Your hand tries to guide his wrist faster but he slaps it away, continuing his teasing ministrations.

"Answer me!"

"Since the last time you touched me!" You cry.

He haults his movements. 

The girl who bragged about cumming an average of 6 times a day just grinding on a pillow, now telling him she hasn't been able to orgasm in a month, because of him.

Ohhhhhhh fuuuuccccckkkkkfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. “That why you went on your little date, huh?"

You nod shamefully.

"Did you fuck him?"

You whine, eyes burrowing in confusion that he still expected you have coherent thoughts while he had you in this compromising position, teetering on the brink of your much needed orgasm.

"Your date.” He repeats, his wrist slowing down entirely. “Did. You. Fuck. Him."

“No—no! I didn’t even let him kiss me goodnight. Couldn't even get wet for him, that's how bad—Frankie, fuck! please!—bad you've got me fucked up."

He speeds up his hands, satisfied with your confessions. They are thrusting perfectly in and out at record speeds as his jaw clenched around your tit, watching your eyes roll back as your first orgasm in WEEKS overwhelms you fast. You’re shaking violently, legs desperate to close but Frankie pries them open with his strong hand, continuing to dominate your cunt with his incessant fingers.

You feel something else coming as he continues to ram his wrist against you, fingers digging so deep, curling so effortlessly that you can’t stop the gush of liquid squirting out of you. “Oh shit, oh fuckfuckFUCK that’s it! That’s my girl, holy fuck yeah—yeah keep going, Cariño, so fucking good.” He continues to finger fuck you repeatedly, working you through it as your pussy continues to contract and release your spend.

You hardly have time to process your embarrassment as he's shifting below your hips, throwing your thighs over shoulder and giving your soaked pussy a longing look. Your clit twitches excitedly. Cool air is blown on it, making you fist his hair harder. He presses his large nose into you, inhaling your scent like bloodhound, growling like a man possessed at the sticky coating. "I fucking missed you, Hermosa," he groans, and his mouth latched right on to your pulsing cunt. You gasp, hands fisting his hair as he rolls your overstimulated clit with his tongue, jaw opening wide to practically swallow your pussy whole, sucking away everything you're giving him.

Whether he was talking to you or your pussy, it didn’t really matter to you. All you could process was the rough feeling of his fat tongue and scruffy face rubbing perfectly between your legs as Frankie got reacquainted with his former addiction. "FrankieFrankieFranke-ohFUCK!"

You can’t stop him, can’t even warn him as the overstimulation send you into a fit of gasps, cumming again, legs squeezing his head as painful pleasure courses through you. His upper back is littered in your scratches, the red marks raising his skin like tiger stripes.

You're struggling to catch your breath with ragged moans. He slows his licks to draw it out, letting your spasms pass. His sinful, lidded eyes have never left your face, absorbing every reaction from you, committing it to memory.

"You really have neglected this poor pussy," he teases, kissing your clit as his fingers begin to spread your glistening folds once again.

You can only nod, arms covering your face as he starts to rub the pad of his thumb on your swollen nub again. “It’s—not as good—unless it’s you.”

He grits his teeth in satisfaction. “S’okay. M’ gonna take care of you now. Gonna fuck you real soon."

You whine when he pushes his fingers back in to your tight heat.

"And then, when I’m done fucking you—We're gonna fuck again," he laughs.

You’re a bit frightened with how he’s looking at you: like he’s fucking possessed by a hungry, malicious demon.

He makes you cum on his fingers again, then his lips, then both at once. He’s pinning you down so harshly, you have no choice but to take the endless barrage of orgasms he’s forcing from you, almost as if he’s trying to make up for the time you two have been apart. 

By the time his tastebuds are content, he brings himself back up to you, messily kissing your lips so you taste yourself, his beard and stache now soaked in your cum and rubbing along your chin.

You gasp when you feel his hard cock sliding along your folds. He rolls his hips against you, your copious slick letting him glide effortlessly, tip nudging your clit.

“Frankie,” you warn, unable to handle his teasing now.

He grabs the base of his dick. “Beg. Beg me for it,” He commands with a godly voice you’d never heard him use before. He slaps the underside of his throbbing member repeatedly against your pussy with a taptaptaptap. “Tell me you want it.”

You don’t care for the fat tears spilling down your cheeks as you whine like a bitch in heat. “Fuckyou, Frankie,” you seethe, anger building with your desperation. “I fucking want it, want it so bad, want you to ruin me, please, Fish, fucking please put it in already!”

He grins, big and sadistic as he watches your face contort with the first push of his tip into your wetness. “Oh F—“ he breathes, eyes closing as your tight walls do their best to accomodate his size.

Your eyesight is blurry, waves of pleasure rolling throughout your entire body, delirious as he bottoms out. Where he belongs. Where he’s always meant to be.

He presses his forehead to you as his hips start rutting.

He’s hardly fucked you for a few seconds, but the pressure building inside of you, desperate for this moment again after months, isn’t giving you a choice to savor it. “Fish—fuckfuckfuckfuckFUCK! ‘M not gonna last!"

He growls excitedly, driving his cock more harshly into you, reaching that special spot he’s decided is only his to abuse. “It’s okay, babygirl. You cum for me. You're always so good at it."

And you are, you really are. “OH FUCK FRANKIE!” You scream. Your body agreeing with him so much that your abrupt orgasm squeezes around him so hard, his movements stop altogether.

“Oh shit—“ he hisses, your pussy greedily milking the cum right out of him. He only pauses for a moment, shaking over you for a moment as his first orgasm subsides before his hips are moving of their own accord, his cum forced out with each thrust.

“Keep goin’, pretty thing. Give me more,” he grunts. 

You nod deliriously, eyes rolled to the back of your skull as he pounds your battered puussy.

He pulls out, the sudden withdrawal making you whine with emptiness. He sinks to his knees again, yanking your knees up to your chest. Your pussy twitches, his cum spilling out and sinking down your ass.

He lets out of primal groan from the back of his throat before smashing his mouth on your cunt, sucking your clit and tongue fucking your hole like a cream filled pastry. You feel the descending bob of his Adam’s apple against your rear as he swallows the mixture of your cum, drinking it like liquid life from the source. “We taste—so—fucking—good, Princesa,” he taunts, tongue lapping your little clit in quick succession before shaking his head back and forth aggressively against your mound, smearing the obscene mixture across your folds and making a mess.

Oh fuck, he’s so gone.

He quickly gets on his knees, turning you over on your stomach like you weigh nothing. His hands grip around your hips, bringing them flush against his crotch again as you arch your back for him. He puts his palm on the small of your back, keeping you right there, pressed tight against him as his cock slides back into your eager and cum coated cunt.

“Fuck yeah,” he groans, setting a faster pace this time. You hadn't realized just how much Frankie was holding back the first time you had sex. He leans over your body, hands splayed past your shoulders, fisting the bed as he rails you deep, his thighs crashing against you with harsh slaps. Your temple lands against his cheek, meeting eye contact. He smiles, breath caught in his throat like running a mile at your fucked out expression. 

He continues to fuck you like an animal. A soft hand grips your chin lovingly, tilting your head further back so his lips meet yours with each punishing grind. You’re surprised by how much you love the hold he has on you, willingly submitting to him without being told. Drunk on each other’s lust.

You suck greedily around his tongue, hand reaching behind the two of you to play with his soft brown curls, refusing to let him leave your mouth. He stutters with a few more thrusts before halting, eyes scrunched closed. “AUUGHHH—haaaahh!” You feel the twitch of him inside you, draining his balls some more of his plentiful seed. 

“Fuck, fuck I love it when you cum inside me!” You confess. The action makes you fall forward, mouth burying into his pillows as you muffle your own cry of your release again.

He pulls out of you and flops to the bed. You think maybe he is done, after having cum twice now, bur Frankie is quick to bring you to straddle him, his dick never once softening as it presses incessantly to your entrance again. He licks his lips, watching his cum spill down your thighs, right to his creamy cock that refuses to fully part from you. 

“Frankie,” you moan, unsure if you can take him again.

“Want you just like this. Ride me,” he breathes. He’s covered in sweat, out of breath and shaking with a mix of exhaustion and adrenaline if it were possible. His hands gently wrap around your waist as he guides you. Eyes so lidded, transfixed on the area where your mound slowly swallows him again.

You’re nodding, body taking over all actions, completely starved for the man under you. 

He leans up to get a good look at you, taking it slow, burning this in head to remember.

"Thought about you... everyday.” He whispers, mouth parted in lust, gliding your hips along with steady rolls. “Couldn't sleep."

His hands down along the curve of your ass, to your thighs spread out over him, before rubbing up the length of your back, holding you as close to him as he can possibly bring you, your tits pressing against his chest. He struggles to breathe evenly as your creamy pussy continues to tighten around him each time he breaches you, the two of you moaning softly into each others’ open mouths. He occasionally catches your lips, slotting perfectly as you grind against him.

His mouth finds its way back down to your pebbled nipple, biting gently before kissing it better. He brings his face back to yours. “So perfect for me,” he whispers.

You start grinding on him more fervently, lifting yourself on your knees ever slightly and baring down on him. He grits his teeth, sinking further down into the bed, eyes never leaving you as his digs his nails into the meat of your hips, forcing you to bounce harder. 

“That’s it, baby. Ride me just like that. MY girl, my beautiful girl.”

You bite your lips, feelings your clit catch on his public hairs. The sloppy squelching of his cum being driven out of your heat by his thick cock is no match to the heavenly sounds you were making atop him. The vein in his neck strains like he’s suffocating himself from air, refusing to slow down, to take a break, to let go for even just a moment.

“More. Give me more,” you moan, confidence soaring as you feel him begin to meet your hips with every thrust. “I want all of you, Frankie.”

He shouts out, lifting you up, his feet digging into mattress as he fucks you from below. “Fuck, fuck!”

You want to throw your head back, ride out this high, but the dangerous allure of him watching you brings your focus down to him, watching the way the two of you are getting off to the other falling apart.

“Just like this. You n’ me. Want it just like this. Forever.” He mumbles repeatedly, ragged pants uneven as he fills you the way you had been unknowingly wanting for months.  

You feel the build of your umpteenth orgasm building in your lower tummy. “Frankie-F-Franke! I’m—I’m gonna—“

“Do it, Querida, do it f-for me.” He thinks he can starve off the low build of his third orgasm of the night, just enough to make you cum for him once more.

You feel the heavy knot in your stomach snap. With absolutely no hesitation, no doubt behind your word, you cry out, “I love you!” as you cum harder than any time before.

Lifting you both practically off the bed, Frankie’s hips seize, pressed so tightly against yours there was no room between you. He shouts loudly, animalistic, snarling with his teeth baring at you and 0 control left in him, immediately emptying his load deep inside with each heavy pulse of his cock against your cervix, painting your walls white with the last of his cum that his balls could give you.

You collapse on top of him, the two of you sucking  air like you were underwater for years. Neither of you say anything, covered in sweat and cum, but finally being able to relax from the pent up release that’s been building there far longer than it ever should have been.

His hand rests against your lower back, somehow pressing your naked body closer to his. 

“I love you,” you whisper again to his collarbone. He brings your eyes to his, and this time he knows you mean it.

-

Frankie wakes to a cold bed.

His arm reaches out subconsciously for your body, but only feels cool empty sheets at his side. His eyes fly open, head sitting upright as he scans his bedroom. There's no sign of you. None of your clothes are scattered on the floor, no immediate trace of your scent. He feels a strong pain in his chest suffocating and stabbing him all at once.

He lies back flat on his pillow, fingers rubbing his forehead. He has two thoughts: the first thought, the one he'd rather think is true, is that it was all dream. You hadn't come home to him.

Before he could bring himself to consider the pain of the second thought, the fear is instantly squashed when he hears the door creak open, your sweet soft smile and gentle eyes landing on him.

‘Hiiiii,” you whisper in a singsong, gentle morning voice. Tip toeing bare foot on the hardwood floor, he see’s you’re dressed in nothing but one of Frankies slightly torn over sized, faded band T shirts that swallows your body. Your bed head still evident, eyes baggy yet happy from the events of last night.

He didn't realize he had held his breath the moment before you walked in, afraid that rather than having dreamt it all, that it did happen, and you had left him anyway.

"I made you tea," you hummed, setting the two cups down by his bedside table.

Your ears go red at the image of him: sheet pulled half way up his hip, his bare chest and torso visible as he props himself up with his elbows to get a good look at you. And the WAY he's looking at you, like you’re the only thing that matters in the world, has you sheepishly avoiding his big brown pupils, sliding in to the covers and nuzzling your head against his shoulder.

He wraps his arms around you, unwilling to let you sneak off again. “Don’t wake up before me like that again.”

You giggle. “Frankie, it’s 4 in the afternoon.” 

He checks his digital clock by the bed, true to your word. You both had fucked so hard, so long last night that he didn’t even realize it was well into the morning by the time you had drifted to sleep. 

He lies back down in bed, encircling you to him again. He can more clearly see the damage of last night’s episode on you: bite marks along your tits, hickies against your inner thighs and swollen lips. he doesn’t even need to touch your pussy, feeling its puffy soreness pressing against his leg. He kisses you gently yet passionately this morning, cradling your head so you can’t back away. Not that you want to—he doesn’t feel any resistance in your movements as you devour his lips. 

“I love you,” he says clearly. He can feel the way your breath hitches, the blush on your cheeks at the confession. “I love you, and I’m so sorry it took me so long to say it. I’m sorry I caused you so much confusion and I—“

“Okay, Fish. It’s okay. I know.” You bite your lip, pushing your hand against his chest so that he’s lying down on his back. “But I’m not sure I forgive you just yet.”

A brief moment of confusion wracks his face before you’re clambering on top of him again, your naked lower body straddling his under the sheet. You fist the t shirt of your head, letting your soft supple breasts fall. Frankie immediately grabs them tenderly with both of his warm hands, his breath quickening. His length twitches, hard as a rock and pressing right against his lower stomach as you glide your slick folds along him.

“I think you should keep making it up to me.” You align the tip of his throbbing cock against your swollen entrance and sink down, hands seeking purchase on his chest, scratching the skin there as he fills your sore cunt, taking him down to the hilt in one go.

You let out the tiniest, sexiest whimper, and Frankie is ready to drop everything he’s ever owned just to hear it again. So smitten with you, he’s grinning harder than he has his entire life. Like a big dumb idiot.

Your big dumb idiot.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Querida: I love you.”

Tagging people who either requested a part 2/3 or directly requested to be tagged. At least what i can remember (sorry if I missed you!)

- - - -

Series masterlist

Series Taglist: @paleidiot @pedropascalsbbg @tonakings @nerdieforpedro @thewritermj @ahintofkiwistrawberry @perfectly-imperfect-me23 @sammy-4103 @survivingandenduring @millercontracting @emilyjustemily @boiistfu @pedritoferg @missladym1981 @titlee78 @fairytale07 @multiplefandomwritings @steviesimp @marisemonteiroo @dilfluverrrrrrr @howdigetinhere @jessthebaker

Permanent Taglist: @harriedandharassed 

[kdogreads]

Imagine moving in with Carmy

You didn’t really mean for it to happen.

Carmy lived closer to work and most of your friends’ places, so you started staying there if you worked a late night or got too drunk on a Saturday night and didn’t want to Uber all the way home.

You’d call him after the bar closed and nearly give Carm a heart attack:

Baby? Are you alright? What happened, where are you?

Carmyyy, can you pretty pleaaaase come pick me up?

Don’t want to ride all the way home?

No, Carm, it’s so farrrrrrr

S’okay, baby. I’ll be there in 5

You start leaving clothes and shoes there

Just in case you had an early meeting. Or needed something to wear when you two went hiking after work. It could snow in May in Chicago — what if you needed your boots and coat to shovel out your car? All valid points Carmy made to persuade you to leave some stuff at his place.

Of course, Carmy got you your own toothbrush not too long after you started staying over. He made you mean dinners, but neither of you wanted to hang out all night long with onion or garlic breath.

He slowly starts accruing a stash of everything you may need: tampons, ibuprofen, makeup wipes, socks (the no-shows you like), even that sugar-free dairy-free coffee creamer Carmy thought you paid way too much for.

You change your delivery address to his

On everything from Amazon to your monthly makeup subscription, it just makes more sense for it to go to Carm’s. Otherwise it’ll just sit at your apartment’s office for days.

Your mail starts coming there, too, since you put his address down whenever you sign up for anything new.

It doesn’t come up until your lease is almost up

Carm’ll hit you with those sad, puppy dog eyes, sweetly questioning you why you bother to pay for a whole apartment you’re hardly at.

Why don’t you, uh, just stay, stay here?

Are you asking me to move in with you, Bear?

Yeah, yeah I guess I am. Move in with me.

Moving day is pretty simple

Seeing as most of the stuff you need is already at Carmen’s place. Your place.

Marcus, Ebra and Richie all come to help, insisting you didn’t need to hire movers with all that man-power around.

You decide to just sell all your big furniture on Facebook marketplace, aside from a funky chair you couldn’t part with and all of your eclectic art collection.

Carmy gives you free reign to redecorate however you want. He doesn’t have much on the walls to begin with, so you meticulously place every piece of art in its perfect place. Carm doesn’t understand all of it, but he loves it. It makes his empty apartment come to life. It feels like a home for the first time in a long time.

Carmy starts calling it “our place” right away

You still stumble here and there:

I left my jacket at Carmy’s, er, at home this morning.

But Carmy would shout it from the rooftops if he could. He’s so proud to be building a home, a life, with you.

Cousin! Can you stop by our place tonight and help us carry that god-awful futon out to the curb?

The two of you are more comfortable than you’ve ever been before

And you can’t wait to spend every night and every morning with Carmen in your home, the one you’re creating together.

[domini-porter]

Little Fic For You: My Neighbor the Cop (PG, I guess?)

NOTE: as you may know, I’m a compulsive writer (not being self-deprecating; sometimes it sucks when I’d rather, like, sleep in), and I have a complex about it! I wrote this (other) little one-shot today, and it’s kind of stylistically different, and also I just don’t really feel like posting it to AO3, so it can just be for us locals, yeah?

————————————————-

My neighbor the cop has lived in the unit next to mine longer than I’ve lived in Boston at all, and I’ve lived here way too long. I’d move—somewhere cheaper, or nicer, or quieter—but it’s close to my work. And, okay, because of my neighbor the cop.

I’ve only talked to her a few times over the years. Usually when she’s apologizing for having her door kicked in by some psycho, like that’s her fault, but if we see each other in the hall it’s always one of those little half-nods that say I acknowledge you, but let’s leave it there. I don’t mind, since I don’t, like, love cops. My parents thought it was great, that I had the police right next door, especially since they’re convinced I’m gonna get murdered every time I even think about going outside, until I told them she was the kind of cop who attracted psychos who kicked in her door all the time; they were less excited after that.

She’s hot, I guess, even though she’s a cop. Tall, like model-tall, and skinny. Long curly black hair that she always seems to wear down, even though it seems like it would get in the way when she’s, like, chasing bad guys, but what do I know. She almost never smiles, which isn’t any of my business, but it does keep me from smiling at her, too, so it’s this weird mix of courtesy and being what seems like kind of an asshole. Maybe because she’s a cop, or maybe it’s the reason she became one, but she doesn’t seem to really like her life, at least from what I can tell. It’s not like I love mine either, so no judgment.

Except sometimes she seems really, really happy. Which is part of why I keep renewing my lease, even though the landlord’s a real deadbeat piece of shit. This thing next door, it’s better than cable.

She’s got this one friend—she’s got a brother too, another cop; I only know this because they don’t so much talk to each other as shout, but I’m from a chaotic Italian Catholic family too, I get it. And he seems nice enough. Way nicer than her. Except when her one friend—“one” meaning “only”—comes over.

She’s also really hot, but more like some European movie star from the ‘70s, when Halston jet-setting va-va-voom was the thing. Or maybe she’s just rich, but—and I know this makes me at least kind of a creep—I was three days from signing a lease on a place in Somerville when I saw her come over for the first time, and it made me call and cancel. Not in a pervy way, but because even though my neighbor the cop has made the local news more than once, her pretty friend was immediately the most interesting thing about her. Again: not in a stalkery, mouth-breathing way, it’s just that when she started showing up, the whole atmosphere shifted. My neighbor the cop actually smiled at me once. And anyway, this place really is close to work.

She came over a lot for a while, like twice a week, and I noticed my neighbor the cop would be gone a lot, too, like twice a week, and once I saw her getting dropped off by her pretty friend after a couple days, which seems like something totally obvious, right?

Except one night my neighbor the cop came home drunk—stumbling into the walls, dropping her keys, having a one-sided argument with her pretty friend loudly enough for me to hear through my bedroom wall as soon as she’d slammed her door behind her.

Her pretty friend didn’t come back for a long time after that night, so I figured they’d broken up—cop’s loss, obviously—so it was more surprising than maybe it should have been, and way more shocking, when a week or so later she dragged some bland-faced dude up to her place while I was picking up a package in the lobby. Surprising, because it was way faster than I would have expected. Shocking, because I would have sworn on a stack of bibles that she was your stereotypical dyke cop—the swagger, the sneer, the high-femme girlfriend—but she must have been on some kind of extreme rebound since I heard them later that night, the bed thumping against our shared wall as she—unconvincingly—panted and moaned his name.

Casey. Like my youngest female cousin. Probably some Freudian coincidence. Or some Freudian intention, I dunno. I’m not the one faking it with some crew cut to get back at my super-hot ex.

He came around for a while, pretty regularly for a few weeks, but one night there was some sort of fight—a bad one, the kind where everyone’s talking low and quiet—and then he stopped coming over, too.

My neighbor didn’t even nod at me in the hallway for months after that. Her pretty friend eventually started coming over again, though not nearly as often, and for not nearly as long—they didn’t really laugh together any more, either, which made me sad, which made me realize how invested I was, which made me feel weird, but I was in too deep. Meaning I’d just renewed my lease a month before, after another place fell through.

But then something really bad happened to my neighbor. Some new psycho. She was gone for a long time, and then when she came back her brother was with her, and her mom—who’s really nice; at least she reminds me of my own nosy aunts—and, trailing behind them, looking both kind of nervous and also like she was trying to look like she wasn’t scared to death, her pretty friend, a leather duffel bag over her shoulder.

The brother gave me a friendly greeting when I went to take out my trash; we shook hands, I wrote down my number to give to his sister in case she needed anything. We both knew I was just being nice, but he seemed to appreciate it, anyway. Told me his sister would be laid up for a while, but her friend would be around a lot to take care of her, so I didn’t need to worry.

Then later, when I was cleaning up after dinner, her friend knocked on my door. Introduced herself as the cop’s co-worker—I’m pretty proud of how I managed to not snort a skeptical little uh-huh, but she seemed pretty stressed out—and thanked me for offering to help, that my neighbor really appreciated it.

That time I did snort, my neighbor’s pretty friend grimacing, apologizing for attempting to lie, that she literally couldn’t, but she wanted to make sure I knew she, at least, appreciated my thoughtfulness.

She smelled really good. I always assumed she would.

Listen—I admit I have a crush on her, but I’d seriously dare anyone not to. But not in a gross way, I swear—more like she seems fascinating, and kind, and like the sort of person you just hope everything goes well for. So maybe less of a crush than an admiration, while also not being able to help imagining what she might look like naked.

We only talked that one time during my neighbor’s recuperation, but she always gave me a smile if we ran into each other in the hall, one that got more and more genuine as the days went on. Not because she liked me any more than usual, but because my neighbor the cop was obviously recovering nicely—not three weeks later one of my picture frames rattled off the wall as she crashed into it from her side, whooping about a home run. It should have been annoying, bad-neighbor stuff, but honestly I was mostly relieved that she was feeling better, if only because it seemed to make her pretty friend feel better, too.

It was obvious her friend was trying to delay the end of her tenure as nursemaid, and that my neighbor the cop didn’t really seem to mind. She kept staying over even after I saw them hauling armloads of groceries up the stairs, the cop carrying a full rack of beer under her arm, not even winded. I admit, seeing them seemingly back to their old selves—well, what I considered their old selves, before that business with the Freudian rebound—made me feel like something nice had happened to someone I actually knew, cared about, instead of some parasocial creep eavesdropping on her neighbors.

But I suppose it’s not a terrible thing to feel happy for relative strangers, and again: they’re both, like, improbably attractive, and there’s always high-stakes hijinks going on, it seems like—I didn’t even mention the Mafia stuff, like I wouldn’t recognize a goon anywhere—and like I said: better than cable, especially now that it’s nice enough to open the windows again.

I get that deliberately eavesdropping is both shady and distasteful, and I really wasn’t even trying, it’s just that they were hanging out as usual—this was after the cop had fully recovered and they’d sort-of-pathetically ended their temporary sleepover, so it was back to the occasional clink of glasses and snatches of my neighbor’s pretty friend laughing at something she said, interspersed with my neighbor’s occasional whines about something or other, usually having to dress up.

I’d still, even now, love if someone would explain to me how these two weren’t in a committed, hetero-coded relationship straight out of a 90’s cable show, one that was maybe a little too heavy on the male gaze. The sporty-butch cop moaning about wearing a dress, her lipstick wife cooing and cajoling until she inevitably relents and they go out together, looking like a screenshot from a Bette and Tina episode of The L-Word. This happened all the time. Way more than any girlfriend and I had ever squabbled-as-foreplay.

But they weren’t fucking, somehow. I acknowledge it did take me until Boy Casey to realize I’d never actually heard my neighbor the cop have sex before. Not that I had to make an effort; our walls are basically Kleenex wrapped around balsa wood. It had simply never occurred to me; I guess I’d figured if she and her pretty friend were dating, they just never had sex at the cop’s place, probably because of the walls. Instead, it turned out they just . . . never had sex, a realization that made me grab my metaphorical popcorn, especially after the unceremonious exit of Boy Casey and the gradual return of Pretty Friend.

But. It was a nice late-spring evening, my neighbor in a grand mood because the Sox won—something I appreciated too, which I think my neighbor knew because if I could hear her TV, she could hear mine, so I figure she felt comfortable being a little more cheerful than usual—and she and her pretty friend were talking and laughing in the living room, which I could hear since I was in my own living room, waiting to see what came on after baseball, when everything suddenly went quiet.

Not like they were both looking at something on a phone. Like, quiet-quiet. Something’s-happening quiet. So quiet I held my breath in my own apartment, feeling like an idiot but still afraid to move, in case whatever quiet thing going on next door would be spoiled by me scratching an itch on my foot.

I’m not into any of that spiritual astrology shit, but I have been a lesbian for a long time, and I could tell—with certainty—that something was happening next door. It was like the air changed, so dramatically it was leaking through into my apartment. The vibe had gone from chatty cheerfulness to . . . whatever it was now, something that made me hold my breath, just in case.

Either my neighbor the cop or her pretty friend had to—had to—be finally, at last, making a move. There was no other explanation for the abrupt silence except both their mouths being occupied—whether it was the cop who kissed her pretty friend or vice versa wasn’t important in the moment, except to them of course, but I couldn’t help wondering.

I still haven’t found out, because that would be unquestionably creepy, but as time has gone on I’m coming down on the side of the pretty friend finally figuring out how to lay the groundwork obviously enough for the cop to figure out that groundwork had been laid; she’s been decorated by the city and the Commonwealth, so she has to be good at her job, but the way she wandered around in a daze for like two weeks after made me think it’s one of those scenarios where the femme finally realizes the butch is too afraid to make the first move. Classic fairytale stuff.

So the whole will they/won’t they arc is done, and thank god they will, because I’ve watched this whole thing unfold for years and they’re both miserable when they’re trying to pretend like they’re not in love. And the best part is I just signed a lease on a newer place even closer to work; it’s not because one day I woke up to my neighbor the cop’s stuff being moved out, her pretty girlfriend standing in the hall with a tray of iced coffees for the movers, but it did make it easier.

I’ll miss my next-door soap opera—well, not the part where psychos kick the door in—but it feels nice, somehow. Like I got to watch—hear, at least—two crazy kids finally figure out how to make it in this crazy world, which doesn’t happen very often.

And they really are both improbably good-looking, and equally improbably representative of your classic butch-femme dichotomy. So honestly, it just seems right. Like the universe is balanced at last.

I really hope they make it, but I’m pretty sure they will. As long as no more psychos try to kick down their door, at least.

[kelyon]

Contract

Before beginning a new BDSM relationship, Belle French and Mr. Gold hammer out their written agreement.

Read on AO3

Belle French sat primly on the edge of one of Mr. Gold’s dining room chairs and read the page in front of her. At the other end of the long table, Mr. Gold also had laid out a collection of papers. Both of them had the same document, but he wasn’t reading his copy. He held the handle of his cane in both hands and looked at her the whole time. 

She felt his eyes on her as she tried to read, which made it impossible to concentrate on the words. Maybe this was a bad idea. Everyone knew not to sign anything without having a lawyer read it first, and that went double for any agreement made with Mr. Gold. All over Storybrooke, he had written contracts that gave him the advantage and left the other person with no options but to do exactly what he wanted. He was a ruthless, heartless son of a bitch, everybody knew that.

But what he had proposed to Belle, what they were now about to negotiate, was an offer too intriguing for her to dismiss. 

The contract wasn’t a legally-binding document, Gold had made that clear. It was just an agreement, an understanding. Before they moved forward with their new relationship, it was important that they both know what to expect. 

Besides, Belle didn’t know any lawyers. Even if she did, she couldn’t imagine asking a legal professional to sign off on the sorts of things she and Gold were talking about doing.

Crossing her ankles under the table, she looked up from the contract. She tapped a clause with the pen Gold had provided. 

“I’m glad this is on the first page,” she said.  “The mutual consent and authority to revoke.”

“Of course,” Gold was quiet. His face didn’t have much expression, but his eyes were fixed on her. “I’m not interested in trapping you, Miss French.”

He really did have lovely eyes. Dark and intense, often cold. What would those eyes be like once Mr. Gold heated up?

“And the renegotiation after a period of thirty days, I like that.”

He shifted in his seat. “I thought it an appropriate interval. Enough time for both of us to get our bearings, then see if anything needs to change. Or if you want the relationship to end after that period, that’s fine too.”

According to the revocation clause, either one of them could walk away at any time. But he had given them a mandatory expiration date. In case she wanted to stop.

“You don’t think you might want to end things after the one-month trial period?”

“No,” he looked into her eyes. “I know what I want, and I know I want it from you. The only question is whether you want the same thing.”

Belle’s face went hot and her pulse jumped up a few beats per minute. “And if we both do want to continue after thirty days?

“We can negotiate for a longer period at that time. Perhaps ninety days, or six months. I also understand if you want to keep it month-to-month.”

“You really are a landlord, aren’t you?”

Gold grinned. “My tenants are bound to a yearly lease. What I’m asking you to undertake is much more serious.”

“Right.” Belle turned over the first page and began to look at the second. “Let’s get into that.”

“Before we do,” he raised one of his long fingers, “I’d like to review the second clause on the first page, about confidentiality.”

Belle flipped back to the first page and looked at it again. “Oh right. What’s a sex contract without a gag order?”

She’d meant it as a joke, but Gold sat up straight and looked away, like he was insulted. 

“I mean, I understand,” she said as an apology. “You have a right to privacy. I know this is just making sure I don’t blab your deep dark secrets to everyone in Storybrooke. I don’t mind at all.”

“It’s not that,” he said quietly. He brushed something off of the polished wood tabletop. Probably a bit of dust that wasn’t really there. “My reputation around town is already so besmirched, nothing you might reveal could possibly lower people’s opinions of me. And don’t forget that I chose you for this position, Miss French. You wouldn’t be at this table if I didn’t already have considerable trust in your discretion.”        

“So…?”

“So the confidentiality clause is for your benefit. Your good name doesn’t need to be damaged by any association with me.” 

“The contract mentions developing a ‘mutually agreed-upon cover story.’”

He nodded. “That way you can answer anyone who asks why you might come to my house, or be seen conversing with me in a public setting. I thought you might pretend to be my housekeeper.”

Belle’s lips quirked. His plan made sense. And if she told people she was working for him, that would also explain why she suddenly had more cash than usual--though it would be a very well-paid housekeeper who had the kind of salary Gold was proposing.

“Are you married to the idea of a housekeeper? Could it maybe be something less menial? I mean, if I told my father I was coming over here to clean, he might ask me why I’m not wearing something practical for work. Unless you want me to come over in jeans and an apron?”

Gold shook his head. “No, no. God forbid anything keep you out of skirts and heels, Miss French.”

Belle snorted, and felt her face flush at the same time. Maybe it was silly, considering what they were here to do, but a part of her was still surprised to hear Gold compliment her fashion choices. It forced her to know that he had noticed her. Without her knowing, he had been looking at her, looking at her clothes as well as her character.  Long before he came to her with this offer, he had considered her. He had decided that he wanted her, but he had never told her about it until now. 

She took a breath, and got her thoughts back on track.

“We could say I’m doing clerical work, maybe. Helping you catalog all the antiques?”

“Whatever you like,” he said. “We can decide what the story is later, just so long as we both say the same thing.”

“Sounds good.” 

In the margins of the contract, Belle wrote a reminder to come up with a cover story. That settled, she smacked both hands against the glossy wood tabletop. She did it without thinking, a sort of ‘back to business’ gesture.

At the sound of the impact, Gold’s eyes fluttered shut. His mouth opened, just a little. The reaction was almost a flinch, but there was no fear in it. All of a sudden, the dark room seemed warm and stuffy. 

Belle took a breath. She listened to her heart beating. Then she allowed the moment to pass.

When she looked at Gold again, his face was as expressionless as before.

“Okay,” she said softly. She flipped through the pages, to the meat of the contract. “Now, you understand that I don’t have a lot of experience with this sort of dynamic, right? Like, I’ve played with people, but it’s never been anything this formal or this intense. Is that going to be a problem?”

“Educational materials are listed in Appendix A,” Gold said briskly. “Over the years I’ve amassed considerable research on the topics you’ll need to be knowledgeable about in order to perform your duties. I assume you won’t mind reading a book or two on the subject?”

She grinned at him. “I’ve read a book or two, Mr. Gold. My point is that theory isn’t the same as practical, physical knowledge.”

“Of course,” he nodded. “I understand that, and I’m more than willing to guide you through your first ‘hands-on’ experiences. Or there are educators listed in the appendix as well. We can call them for one-on-one sessions.”

Her eyes ran down the list of names and phone numbers. She recognized some of the authors and sex educators. “These are all people you know personally?”

“In some cases, quite personally.”

“Huh.” She set down the papers. “I have to say, you seem pretty established in the world of kink, Mr. Gold. What do you need a novice like me for?”

He straightened the cuffs of his suit jacket. “Well, you’re local, for one thing. Confidentiality is a small concern compared with the hassle of driving to Boston several times a week.”

Wait a second--several times a week? Belle flipped over to the clause about frequency. There it was: Three evenings a week, with the option of staying overnight, and at least four eight-hour sessions per month broken up between Saturdays, Sundays, or bank holidays. It wasn’t quite a full-blown 24/7 power exchange, but it was a commitment. Was Gold really going to need her this much? How much pain was it healthy to inflict on a person in one month?

“I’m, um, looking at the section on ‘expectations per session,’” she began. 

“I tried to keep that area open for now. Lots of room to experiment. We can learn how we want to do things. What’s best for us.”

She tried not to notice the lingering satisfaction Gold put on the word us. For all that he had most of the power in this situation--in every situation--Belle knew that he was actually a very lonely man. More than the money, that knowledge had influenced her choice to hear out his offer.

“Right. I just… it’s a lot of time,” Belle said. “I know BDSM scenes can be lengthy, but--”

“Oh, I don’t expect every moment of our time together to be a scene,” he said. “If that’s what you thought, I--I’m glad you brought up your concerns.”

“Okay,” Belle sat back a little in the plush chair. “So a session isn’t a scene, that makes sense. In that case, what is a session? Like, we have a scene and aftercare and what else?”

“I’d like to eat with you.” For the first time, Gold’s eyes weren’t on Belle. He stared at a nondescript spot in the center of the table. It was like this was the first part of their conversation where he didn’t have absolute confidence.

She leaned forward. “Do you want to go out to dinner with me?”

His eyes flashed toward her for just a second, the whites of them a blaze in this dim room. 

“That won’t be necessary.” Gold cleared his throat. “Confidentiality clause.”

The clause he’d set up for her protection, not his own. How much did he really want this to be a secret?

“We wouldn’t have to eat anywhere in Storybrooke. You could take me out of town. Somewhere nicer than a diner.” 

 “Really?”

  It was a whisper, a breath, a half-spoken hope too small and weak to bear the crushing weight of reality. 

Belle waited until Gold dared to look at her again, then she gave him a slow smile. 

“Really.”

Something loosened in him. His posture relaxed by a hundredth of a percent. He wasn’t smiling, but the grim lines around his mouth had softened. 

All these minuscule reactions stirred something in Belle. It was clear to her now that Mr. Gold was wound up tight. If she signed this contract, she would be able to get him to relax.

“What else would you want to do?” she asked. “Like, not strictly BDSM stuff, though I’m sure we can find ways to incorporate the lifestyle into everyday things. I just--I’m getting the impression that you want some non-kink, non-sexual activities with me. What would that look like?”

Gold shrugged. “It could look like anything.”

“So… monster truck rallies?”

He winced at that. Belle snickered at her own joke. 

“If such events are your desire, Miss French, I would appreciate you indulging in them on your own time.”

She snorted. “Sounds good. But seriously?”

“Seriously?” He looked at her for a long moment. “Seriously, I would like to go on dates with you. I’m not much good at dancing and I detest modern movies, but, well… There’s theater, concerts. We could go to museums together. There are some beautiful parks and gardens in Boston that I’ve always wanted to show someone. I have a cabin out by the lake where we could stargaze. I could take you to every bookshop on the Eastern Seaboard.”

“See, if you had started with bookstores, you’d have me for all the kinky fuckery you wanted, no negotiation necessary.”

He shook his head. “That’s why I didn’t start with bookstores, Miss French. I’m not trying to turn your head with luxuries. I want you with your full faculties. Before we do anything, you need to understand what you’re getting into with me.”

The way he said it made it sound like he was secretly a monster. She didn’t think he was. Biting her lip, Belle looked down at the pages of the contract that outlined expected behaviors for the Dominant and Submissive.  

“The whole contract is opt-in, right? We’re doing this like Subway instead of McDonald’s?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Belle couldn’t help but smile. When was the last time Mr. Gold had gone out to a fast food restaurant? She explained the metaphor:

“Some restaurants make your sandwich to order. They have all the ingredients laid out, but they’ll only put on what you specifically ask for. Other places have a standard sandwich and  you have to ask for things not to be on there. You have to tell them you’re allergic to tomatoes or you don’t like mustard or whatever. Sometimes they put up a stink about making a special order. Me personally? I’m a much bigger fan of getting a custom order that gives me exactly what I like and nothing I don’t want.”

“Well, I‘m a fan of giving you what you like, Miss French.”

She could tell. 

“So only things that are in the contract are on the table, right? We won’t be dabbling with, like, age play, pet play, watersports?”

“No.”

He seemed definite, which was fine for Belle. The contract as it was included more than enough kinks to keep them busy, at least until the thirty-day renewal. 

“I’m going to insist on specific negotiations before every scene,” she said. “And that consent can be revoked at any time for any reason. Not just for the contract as a whole, but any particular act or attitude. Even if we’ve done something before, headspaces can change from day to day. Sometimes from minute to minute. This contract is extensive, but no piece of paper can cover every eventuality.” 

Gold shrugged. “The contract as written says everything I want it to. In my opinion, further negotiations won’t be necessary until the mandatory thirty-day renewal. That being said, your opinion on the subject matters. I’m willing to yield to your point.”

“Good.” Belle made a note in the body of the contract. “Specific acts to be negotiated at specific times before the start of each scene.” She set down her pen. “Cause listen, if one of us is having a bad day or is feeling sick or something, I don’t want to be held to the rules of a best-case scenario. You know?”

He nodded. “I understand your point, Miss French. Though I maintain it won’t be necessary.”

“But you’ll abide by the revision?”

“Of course.”

He had better. Especially while they were still learning each other’s tics and moods and limitations. Until they developed an unspoken dynamic, they were going to have to say things out loud, very plainly, every time. It was a matter of safety.

“I don’t see anything about safe words in all this.” She looked up from her pages. “Don’t tell me you’re the type that doesn’t use them?”

For a long minute, Gold didn’t say anything. He didn’t look at her. He just rolled his pen back and forth between his fingers. 

“I understand why someone like you would think safe words are necessary,” he said evenly. “And of course we can add their use into the terms of our deal. However, my motto has always been caveat emptor, let the buyer beware. If someone isn’t willing to be hurt, then why are they engaging in dangerous activities?”

“Because it’s simulated danger.” This should be obvious, especially to someone with as much experience as Gold. “You go to a haunted house to be scared, not to have your limbs torn off by a machete.”

He kept looking away from her. His voice was distant when he spoke. “For some people, the machete is the goal.”

Belle bit her lip. She was going to have to fight him on this, wasn’t she? Fine.

“Safe words are a must,” she said. “For everything. Especially pain. Because this section on pain play is, respectfully, insane. And sanity is another must in my kink.”

Gold made a dismissive face. “It’s not that bad.”

“There’s a sub-section here on wounds requiring stitches.” She held up the paper and pointed at the words. “Is this medical play? Are we trained nurses? Because I am not comfortable with that level of risk. If you’re not willing to back down on some of this, I’m gonna have to walk away.”

He took a deep breath, clearly trying to maintain his iron-clad composure. His thumb rubbed against his first two fingers. His mouth twitched with unspoken words.

 “You have every right to revoke,” he said stiffly. “But I must state my case: For me, this is the heart of the contract. Of the entire relationship. Even more than the sexual components.”

Belle read over his list of desired activities. “Spanking, flogging, even impact play is fine, but burning?” She knew how horrified she must look. “Are you serious about this?”

He waved his hand. “It’s temperature play.”

“I’ve done temperature play. I’ve done wax play. Those are fine. This is something else.”

Gold began to protest, but Belle found another objection.

“What can you even do with a sledgehammer?”

“That’s mostly for intimidation. A haunted house, as you said. BDSM is about bringing participants to the edge of their mental limits as well as physical.”

“But it’s not about hurting people!” Belle blurted it out without thinking, then waved away the obvious counter. “You know what I mean. The point is, I’m not comfortable with this much pain play. Especially three times a week and especially if you’re noncommittal on safe words. I’m not here for edge play, and I want it out of the contract.”

For a moment, Gold scowled. Then he seemed to give up. He gestured towards her pen and she took that as leave to start scratching out parts of the section.

 “Shall we go through it line by line?” he asked. “Or would you rather remove the entire section? We could replace physical pain with the psychological torture of attending amateur comedy shows.”

Despite herself, Belle snorted. You could tell a lot about a man by how he reacted to the word ‘no.’ If Gold was letting her remove a sizable chunk of his favorite kink and he was still able to have a sense of humor about it, that was a good sign. She wanted to do this with Gold, but she wouldn’t play with someone who didn’t respect her limits. 

“I’m just crossing out the stuff that’s too extreme for me.”

“Can we keep knife play?” Gold asked. “I’ve got this dagger I’m quite taken with.”  

“We can cut clothes but not flesh.” Belle wrote that down. “I’m not a complete wimp.”

His face was soft when he looked at her. “No, of course not,” he murmured. “I believe you’re very strong indeed, Miss French.”

Her cheeks went warm again. His confidence in her was flattering and encouraging. She did want to expand her kink experience. Gold seemed like a promising teacher. But they had to take things step by step. They had to build up to the metaphorical machetes and apparently literal sledgehammers. Eventually, both of them would get what they wanted. Both of them would give what they were comfortable giving. That was the whole point of having this conversation before they started.

“We’re using safe words,” Belle insisted. “Check-ins are absolutely mandatory during a pain scene, and tons of aftercare when it’s done.”

“Fine, fine,” Gold muttered as he wrote. “We’ll do it your way.”

“Since we’re on the subject of things I don’t like.” She pointed at the next section. “We need to talk about humiliation and degradation.”

“Don’t you like dirty talk, Miss French?”

“I don’t like the idea of kink being dirty.” She leaned back. “I mean, I respect the transgressive element, the idea that we’re doing what society thinks is filthy and taboo. But I hate the idea that anything is inherently, fundamentally Bad and that we’re Bad People for wanting it.”

“Interesting, considering your revulsion at pain play.”

“That’s about safety,” Belle had to keep herself from snapping. “And it’s about my preferences. If a consenting adult wants to deepthroat a cactus, that’s their prerogative. I just can’t be a part of it for my own reasons. But there’s nothing wrong about doing it or wanting to do it. You know how the saying goes: Your kink is not my kink and that’s okay.” 

“But humiliation…” Gold said. “That’s not okay?”

“In our specific case, public humiliation might interfere with the confidentiality clause. More broadly? I’m not interested in shame. I think kink should be a joyous thing, something you can take pride in. For a lot of people, BDSM scenes are where they feel like their truest selves.”

“Even if your truest self is a worthless, needy slut?”

As self-righteous as she was being, Belle couldn’t deny the red-hot streak of desire that flashed through her when he said those words. He was good at dirty talk. She put her palms on the table and took a breath.

“There’s a difference between playing something and really believing it,” she said. “Sometimes it’s a fine line. Point is, I don’t think anyone is worthless. I don’t think being a slut is a bad thing. And if someone is needy, it means they’re aware enough to know what they need and ask for it. Being brave enough to ask for what you really want--even when everything in the world tells you you’re not supposed to want it--that should be celebrated.” 

From across the table, Gold’s breathing was deep, and a fraction of a second faster than normal.

“Is that what you want from a scene?” he asked. “A celebration?”

“When I’m in a scene, I don’t want anyone to feel bad about themselves.”

He let out a dry laugh. “You may need to temper your expectations, Miss French.”

“No,” Belle said simply. “No, that’s a limit for me. I’m not going to play with degradation.”

Gold opened his mouth, then closed it. “Fine.” He drew a large X over the entire section. “It’s probably for the best.” 

Belle crossed out the text on her copy and moved on to the next section.

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t have a problem with the list of sex acts. Though there is some stuff on this list that I have not tried before.”

He looked up from the page. His dark eyes were on her, but there was a wariness in his expression. 

“Feel free to eliminate any acts with which you’re not one-hundred percent comfortable,” he said. “If you need to, we can eliminate this section as well. BDSM doesn’t have to be sexual--”

“Nah.” She cut him off. “I mean, yes, of course. BDSM doesn’t have to be sexual. But this is a detailed list, Mr. Gold. You want a lot of these acts, and I think you want them badly. And I’m not opposed, it’s just my inexperience again. Like, anal fisting? Don’t you need equipment for that?” 

“I have equipment,” Gold rubbed his thumb along the handle of his cane. “Really all one needs is lubricant and a willing spirit.”

“Oh I am willing.” Belle’s eyes glazed as she read over the list of orifices expected to be available for penetration, over the descriptions and dimensions of various toys, over phrases like forced chastity and deepthroat training. Hell, just the opportunity to have sex three times a week plus bank holidays was enough to entice her. “I just might need a little patience.”

“I am nothing if not patient, Miss French.”

After a moment’s further reading, Belle looked up from her paper. “The contract seems a little vague on whether or not this has to be part of a scene. Do you want to have sex in our non-BDSM time?”

The clatter of Gold’s cane falling to the ground rang out through the otherwise quiet dining room. Coughing, Gold bent out of his chair to pick it up. He straightened up to gather himself, but didn’t look Belle in the eye. 

“Miss French, I assure you, we can have sex as often and under as many circumstances as you’d like.” 

She snorted. “It’s been a while since my last round of STD tests. And I’ll have to get back on birth control.”

“Do you need me to compensate you for medical expenses?”

“No, I’ll be alright. Thank you.”

Gold picked up his pen. “We should add that to the contract. If you suffer any injuries during our time together, I’ll cover all the costs.”

“Can’t say no to workman’s comp,” Belle agreed as she wrote down the addition. “And all of the equipment listed in Appendix B, that’s all going to be stuff that you’ll buy or that you already own?”

“Yes. As well as any other expenses. Meals, travel, every book on the Eastern Seaboard--you’re not paying for any of that, Miss French.”

Belle tried not to smile too much at the thought of being showered with hardbacks. It was like he was offering to give her an entire library. 

“What about clothes? Do you want me to have a uniform or something? Dress code?”

“Yes.” His voice was thick. “I would dearly love to buy you a complete wardrobe, Miss French. Clothes, shoes, jewelry.” Gold licked his lips. “Lingerie. I could give you a stipend, or--or pick items out for you.”

Now she couldn’t keep herself from grinning. She leaned onto the table. “What would you pick out for me?”

“Skirts and heels seem to be your affinity,” he said with utter confidence. Clearly, he had put some thought into the subject. “Your style is loose and flowing, and that’s lovely for day wear. But I’d like to see you after dark, Miss French. Something risque, something tight. I want to see you wearing clothes that say fuck me.”

Belle swallowed. “Yeah?”

“You know Louboutin, the heels with the red backs? They have a style with a strap across the ankle. Might be a little taller than you’re used to, but I’m sure you can rise to the challenge. If you went out wearing those shoes with a short black dress, everyone who looked at you would want you.”

“And they’d know that I’m going home with you.”

“Yes.”

The word was a whisper, but it was the surest sound Belle had ever heard. Gold kept going.

“There’s a man I know in Boston who makes custom lingerie. He’s an artist with silk and lace, leather and metal. I would give you to him as a canvas, Miss French. I’d pay just to see how he decorates your body. How much beauty he can add to perfection.”

Belle knew her cheeks must be flaming red. The heat of self-consciousness was sharper, more stinging, than the warm glow that had gone through her at various points of the conversation. Being wanted was different than wanting something for herself.  

“Whatever happened to not turning my head with luxury?”

“Oh, I’m not trying to seduce you by giving you what you want,” he said in a low voice. “I’m telling you what I want, Miss French. I want to see the most beautiful woman in the world wearing clothes that are worthy of her. I want you to feel stunning, and powerful, and absolutely adored.”  

“Adored,” Belle breathed. She let the word sink in for a moment. Let it nestle in some hidden sweet spot between her libido and her heart. She locked eyes with Gold. “You want to adore me.”

“Yes,” he said. His gaze didn’t waver for an instant. “What did you say earlier, that kink was a celebration? I want to celebrate you. I want to worship you. I want to push you to your limits and help you realize your full potential as a sexual being. Miss French, I want to transform you. I want to help you become the best version of yourself--confident, radiant, a goddess.”

She couldn’t breathe. Even from across the table, the force of his desire was overwhelming. What he was offering her--he wanted it so much, wanted her to have it so much that she couldn’t keep herself from wanting it too. Forget turning her head with luxuries, he was turning her head just by wanting her.

Belle shook her head to clear it. Gold was still looking at her. His posture hadn’t changed, but his eyes were soft and dark. They were so full of longing--not pleading or demanding but longing--they reminded her of a hero from one of her books. 

Gold’s expression looked like there was a string somewhere under his left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string inside her own small frame--and if that cord was snapped, he had a curious notion he would take to bleeding inwardly. He looked like he had struggled in vain to repress his feelings, but that one word from her would silence him forever. He looked like he was half-agony, half-hope.

 She let out a long breath.

“Let’s move on to the final section.” Belle’s hands shook a little as she flipped to the next page of the contract. “Obedience and protocol.”

“I put a lot of thought into this section,” Gold said.

“I’m sure you did.” The words were flippant, but Belle meant them sincerely. “You put thought into everything, don’t you?”

“Into everything that matters, yes.”

Belle read out loud. “‘The Submissive is to wear a collar at all times during the duration of the relationship. Eye contact is restricted based on the preference of the Dominant. The Submissive is to begin every session kneeling at the Dominant’s feet.’” She looked up. “Are you sure about that? Did you mean to put scene instead of session?”

“I meant what’s written down. Even the most vanilla of dates should include a moment to remember what this dynamic truly is. Call it a sign of devotion.”

“Okay, but kneeling?” She looked at him. “There are other ways to show humility.”

“I like kneeling.”

“Okay.” Belle tapped her pen against the word, but didn’t make a move to alter it. Gold knew his own mind. It would be her task to give him what he wanted. 

She read on about the service and deference that would be required. 

“Foot worship is something new for me. Does that include foot rubs?”

“Oh absolutely,” Gold murmured. “Nothing but the best.”

There was some housework included on the list. Most of it seemed to be more for show than drudgery. Drawing baths, making the bed, keeping the sex toys cleaned and maintained. 

“This item about cooking, is that just dinners we eat together?”

Gold cocked his head. “As opposed to…?” 

“What about packed lunches?” Belle offered. “Definitely breakfast in bed on nights when I’m over here.”

“Would it violate the confidentiality clause to provide snacks to the workplace?”

“Oh that’s brilliant!” Belle wrote it down. “Maybe confidentiality could be maintained via anonymous or third-party delivery. That would turn a box of cookies into a dirty little secret.”

He grinned at her. A new light had entered his eyes.

“This is why I chose you,” he said. “Of course you’re beautiful and good-hearted and brave enough to seriously consider this opportunity, but this is what matters most to me. That you’re creative and collaborative. Our time together will be a true partnership. We will work together to create extraordinary experiences.”

They were silent together for a beat, then Gold cleared his throat. 

“That is, of course, assuming you agree with all the points we’ve discussed today.”

“Oh, I agree.” Belle turned to the last page of the contract, where there were two blank lines for signatures. “There are still some open points that need refining, but overall, I’m very happy to begin our new relationship.”

The pen danced over the paper as Belle signed her name. She pushed herself out of her chair and crossed the table to meet Gold where he sat. He had already signed his copy and was reaching for hers. They made the exchange and then it was done. 

The contract was signed. 

Belle took a breath. Her heart was fluttering. Gold looked like he had woken from a dream just to find that the dream was still happening.

“Well,” Belle said. “Do we want to count today as our first session? We’d still have plenty of time to do a scene. Or just fuck.”

“Whatever you like,” Gold said, a little breathlessly. He was staring into the middle distance, shell-shocked. “You’re in charge.”

“Now, now.” Gently, Belle reached out and brought her hand to his face. She held his chin and forced him to look at her. “You know that’s not true. Submissives have the real power.”

“I want you to have the power now,” he whispered. 

A wide smile grew across Belle’s face. It was one thing to top strangers at play parties in the dungeon in Boston. It was something altogether different to have Mr. Gold shaking like a leaf under her touch.

“In that case,” she said firmly. “The contract states that you have to start every session on your knees.”

“Yes,” Gold whispered. He slid out of his chair, used his cane to support himself as he got into position to kneel at Belle’s feet. For the first time that evening--possibly for the first time in a long time--Mr. Gold beamed. “Yes, Mistress.”

[hey-michael-young-history]

Modern AU

A while back, I was writing a subscorp AU where Hanzo and Bi-Han are lawyers. I mean, I guess I'm STILL writing it 🤔

ANYWAY, I stopped right at the point where Kuai Liang decides to go see Hanzo after aggravating Bi-Han but this is a scene that would have been in a future chapter. I really like it because I worry about my characterization a lot (ESPECIALLY Kuai Liang, since he's younger here, but I've accepted it) and I think I nailed Bi-Han's canon "Annoyed at Everything and Everyone for Existing" attitude, while also making him a little less flat.

You might be seeing this again when I pick it back up, but enjoy!

“You cannot afford this.”

Bi-Han couldn’t take his eyes off of the itemized plan of care in front of him. 

Root canals. Crowns. Replacements. Mouth guards. Follow up appointments. 

“$21,000,” he whispered. His heart was sinking deeper and deeper. That was more than his sign on bonus but if he crunched the numbers hard enough, he could have had all of the money. He’d survived on fake ramen before, he could do it again. 

Except. 

Except he’d spent that money. Breaking his lease, moving into the new place, furnishing the bedroom that Kuai Liang had abandoned. 

He swallowed hard, hot tears tickling his eyes. Fucking Kuai Liang. Why didn’t he say something about the fucking ice or his fucking teeth or anything?

He told Hasashi everything and naturally, Hasashi took him to the most expensive fucking dentist in the whole fucking city. Now, this smug asshole had pulled him out of the office for a lunch Bi-Han surely couldn’t afford and definitely no longer had an appetite for, to gloat over the fact that he couldn’t afford this bullshit. 

“There is something wrong with every single one of his teeth,” Hanzo explained. “Some require simple fillings, some have extensive structural damage. Your brother has been very uncomfortable for a very long time.”

“Okay,” Bi-Han snapped. “So— okay, I’m not on the insurance yet. The probationary period—”

Hanzo shook his head. “I have taken care of it. He is getting the final procedures as we speak.”

Bi-Han balled his fists and concentrated on keeping his ice contained. A week. He’d texted Kuai Liang and tried to call but he just wouldn’t answer. 

He didn’t mean to hurt his feelings. 

He definitely didn’t want Kuai Liang running off with some stranger. 

“No, I’m going to pay—”

“Lin Bi-Han,” Hanzo said sharply. “There is nothing to pay.”

Now he was being treated like a child. “You’re lucky I don’t press charges. You kidnapped my brother.”

“Kuai Liang consented to both staying with me and his oral treatment plan,” Hanzo countered. 

“Fuck you,” Bi-Han spat. 

Hanzo only smirked. 

“I want him back. Did you bring me out here to threaten me? Fire me. I don’t care. I’m not selling my brother to you, you perverted fuck.”

The disgust on his stupid face was almost worth burning this bridge. “I’m not interested in buying Kuai Liang. He is under an enormous amount of stress.”

“Oh, he’s stressed,” Bi-Han sneered. “Poor Kuai Liang. All he has to do is go to school, do his homework, clean up after himself. And he can’t even fucking do that.”

Hanzo sighed. “I can understand your frustration. It is not easy, being responsible for someone. But your anger is affecting him. There is a strong person waiting to come out of your brother.”

“Out of Kuai Liang?” Bi-Han would have laughed if he wasn't so close to crying. 

Hanzo raised an eyebrow. “You begrudge his presence in your life, yet cruelly scoff at any attempt for independence.”

“Going to you is not independence,” Bi-Han snapped. “And I want him back.”

He threw the papers down and stormed out of the dining patio. Hanzo sighed. 

[raincitygirl76]

Can you move aquarium fish to another country? And if so, how? I mean, I know they need a filtration system. So could you put their tank in a car/moving van/trailer hooked up to a car, and hook it up to a portable generator? And would you be able to get the tank through customs?

See, I’m working on an embryonic fic. My first in well over a decade. Damn, right now the fic is terrible, and may never see the light of day. But I have writers block because I’m stuck on logistics.

But in my fic idea, Wilhelm and Simon broke up during the university years. At 29 they run into each other again, perhaps at Felice’s wedding, perhaps at some other plot device to get them in the same room. And there are still sparks. They have a quickie in a closet and after that it’s really awkward. But eventually they start talking, texting, etc. And eventually decide to give it another shot.

But in this fic idea, Simon left Sweden as soon as he graduated from the Royal College of Music, because it was too painful seeing reminders of Wilhelm everywhere in Stockholm. He bounced around Europe for a few years before settling down in Berlin. Simon’s been working there as a singer, songwriter, and music producer. And he has a tank of tropical fish he adores and wouldn’t dream of just giving away.

After he and Wille have been doing the long distance thing for a while, Simon decides to move back to Stockholm. Wilhelm wants him to move in with him at Haga, but Simon is cautious, arranges to sign a 6 month lease on an apartment of his own. If things are still working out after 6 months, he’ll move in with Wilhelm in Haga.

But he has these fish, with a specially designed custom tank that was a present from Simon to Simon when he won his first major award. I’m pretty sure he can’t fly from Berlin to Stockholm with the tank in the cargo hold. Even if the airline would agree to take it, the unheated hold and the changes in air pressure during the flight might kill his tropical fish. I don’t know that for sure, but im thinking if air pressure on flights makes people’s ears pop, what coulf it do to poor innocent Nemo.

So I devised this plan for Ayub to fly to Berlin and help Simon drive from Berlin to Stockholm, with the fish and a portable generator.

They could drive from Berlin to Kiel, then take an 14 hour overnight ferry to Gotheburg. Did you know that on long ferry trips you can book a cabin so you can sleep during the voyage? So I’m envisioning Ayub and Simon checking on the fish on the vehicle deck every so often. And then in the morning they disembark.

They drive the car and trailer, or moving van they’ve hired or whatever, from Gothenburg to Stockholm. Where they can unload the custom fish tank and plug it in at Simon’s new apartment. And unload all the other crap they’d brought all the way from Germany.

But I’m not sure if that’s even possible. Would a ferry company agree to take a tank of live tropical fish on the vehicle deck, even contained? I know you can get portable generators that are electric rather than diesel. A good solar generator with the battery fully charged could keep the filtration system ticking along for a long time before needing more sunlight to recharge.

And now I have writers block because I’m stuck on the logistics of how to transport the fish. I have already considered (and discarded) the ideas of Simon not having fish as a 29 year old. Or of him giving them away to fellow fish fanciers in Berlin. An empty, unplugged custom fish tank would be much easier to transport. But I am stubborn.

This is the fish tank I had in mind, by the way. Because in my headcanon, future Simon also has a cat. Who he got after he already had fish.

The whole custom fish tank idea is a blatant ripoff of a ficlet written by….someone on Tumblr. There was this non-royal AU where Wilhelm lives in one of the fanciest apartments in a building, while Simon has a shoebox sized apartment in the same building. Wilhelm’s cat keeps escaping out the window to visit Simon, so he assumes it’s a stray and starts feeding it. He already has a tank of fish.

Simon and Wilhelm eventually meet in person (through “their” cat), and start dating. When Simon finally moves into Wille’s ridiculously large penthouse, Wilhelm orders a custom fish tank so Simon’s fish can be safe and have plenty of room to swim around. But Wille’s cat can enjoy aquatic observation.

I should note that the fic I’m working on stole ONLY the idea of a custom fish tank and a cat and a tank of fish coexisting. The rest is different. And if you’re the person who came up with the idea of Non-Royal Wilhelm’s cat deciding to set him up with Simon, please let me know. I can edit the post to link to your fic and credit your username.

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

So, I’m housesitting for some lesbians. They’re friends with one of my mother’s friends, and they both just retired so they’re going on a three-month vacation. Earlier in the summer they were looking for someone to look after their house and cats while they’re away. I said yes, because at the time, it looked like I might lose the lease on my own place, and I figured, I’d rather move in here than have to move in with my parents while finding somewhere new to actually live.

Then things worked out with my place, which I was really excited about, because I really love that house, and I love having my room and my space with all my stuff, and I love the location. And at the moment that location has bigger implications for my life, because I’ve been working on having more of a life in general again, seeing friends more and coaching and going out to see comedy and music. Did that this summer. Felt good about it, after isolating myself so much in the last few years (initially isolating myself at the direction of the government, but also remaining isolated for much longer than the government told us to). That place is right downtown, near everything. I knew that if I lost that place, I’d end up living with my parents in the suburbs until I find somewhere else, and even once I did the place would be in some shitty location because nowhere else downtown is affordable, and I knew I’d end up not doing anything again. Not seeing friends or doing sports or going anywhere. Not when I had to bus across the city for it.

But it worked out! That’s a whole other story, it’s been back and forth and up and down all summer, it’s been a fucking nightmare, I’ve been incredibly anxious and stressed about it for months, but finally, finally, it worked out. Just last week I signed a lease that says I can stay there pretty much until I decide to leave. And my best friend is moving into the other bedroom, which was previously occupied by my roommate, whom I found annoying while I lived with him but now fucking hate because he’s the reason I almost got kicked out of the place, it’s a long and complicated story. Anyway, the point is that I get to stay there! And things are even better than before, living with the guy I want to spend lots of time with anyway, instead of someone who annoys me. I’ve lived with this friend off and on since we were 19.

So it was perfect. Except that I’d already agreed to spend September 5-December 1 living in this other house, an agreement I made when I thought I might otherwise might not have anywhere to go during those months. If I’d known I’d get to keep my own place, I wouldn’t have signed on to this. I’d have stayed there and hung out with my friend and enjoyed knowing it’s mine (I mean, I’m still renting, it’s not great when getting upgraded to “proper tenant who can’t just be kicked out at the whim of my roommate – even though the place is still owned by the landlord”) is a massive step up in terms of agency in my life. But it does feel pretty good.

Having said that – this is pretty fucking good. It is way out in the suburbs, it’s a long bus ride downtown to actually do stuff. But it’s a half-hour walk to my work, while my own place is just over an hour on the bus from my work, so that’s convenient. Also, these people are fucking cool and so is their house.

I never met them before this summer, when I came over here so they could show me around the place before having me live in it for three months. But my mother told me they were the first people in our city to get gay married after gay marriage was legalized, so that’s cool.

Before meeting them, I thought, don’t mention the gay marriage thing. That’s the only thing I know about them, and I think it’s cool as fuck, but they’re just two women in their sixties who’ve been married since 2003 and together quite a bit longer than that, they’re going on a retirement trip, the fact that they’re gay wedding pioneers is just their past, it isn’t still some novelty. Don’t make a big deal out of it.

Then I arrived at their house, and was greeted by a rainbow welcome mat. Went inside. There’s a rainbow magnet on the fridge, next to a photo from their wedding, and a clipping from the local newspaper in 2003, about the fact that they’d just become the first gay couple in the city to get married. When showing me around the backyard, she pointed out the gazebo, and said, “We call it the gay-zebo.” So, I think I have permission to view them as inspirational pioneers for gay women everywhere. They seem okay with their status as that being acknowledged.

And for anyone who needs a little inspiration, the first gay couple in our city to get married has done fucking well for themselves. Like… ridiculously well. The house looks quite nice from the outside, nice suburban thing, but it doesn’t scream “incredibly rich”. Until you see the massive backyard, with the pool and hot tub and gazebo with lights and an outdoor fireplace and a huge amount of secluded space. Basement with a treadmill and stationary bike and other gym equipment. I’ve paid quite a bit of money for access to a hot tub and treadmill, shared with other people in a public facility. While living here, I have both those things in a house to myself for no money.

Also, you know, cats. Cats are fucking awesome. There are two of them here, and I love living with cats. This is the perfect situation. I don’t own a cat, because 1) I can’t afford it, and 2) pre-pandemic I was traveling almost every weekend to coach tournaments, last year I resumed some of the traveling, I do plan to be back on the regular traveling schedule as I get back into life. Cats aren’t like dogs, you can leave them alone for a day or so. But I can’t put myself in a position where every time I go away for more than one night, I need to get a catsitter. Because coaching at a competitive level involves going away for more than one night quite regularly.

I used to wonder how other coaches did it. Other people in the province, who are at all the same tournaments I am, and who also had to travel for them, sometimes talk about having pets. But I guess a lot of them are married, so their spouse takes care of the pet when they’re gone. They’re all in failing marriages, of course, since they’re out of town every weekend. Even the ones who aren’t using those travel weekends to cheat on their spouses in hotels with other coaches who are doing the same thing (please note: this is not a thing I know about because I’ve participated, it’s just a thing everyone knows about, but somehow it drags on for years anyway), which isn't all that many of them, are still in failing marriages due to always being away. But still, at least their spouse is there to feed the cat. If you’re going to travel a lot, the downside of being married is that you let someone else base their whole life's happiness and fulfillment on your promise to be there for them and now you're breaking that promise and thereby ruining their life, but the upside is someone to feed your cat. Or kid, for that matter. I definitely don’t understand how literally anyone has a kid, much less someone who travels most weekends for much of the year. But lots of those coaches have kids too.

I’ve never been at a point in life where I am so sure that for the 15-ish years (cat lifespan), I will be fine with being in my house at least once in the morning and once at night when a cat needs feeding, and I’m okay with the fact that if I won’t be, I’ll need to pay someone to do it for me. Even if my life’s at a fairly quiet point, I’ve never been sure enough that it’ll stay that way to think I could commit to 15-ish years of it or else an innocent creature will die. And, you know, that’s a cat. Who the fuck out there is so sure that they’ll be able to be much more present than just home once in the morning and once at night – actually they’ll be present and on-call 24/7 – for at least 18 years but really just forever, and they feel fine making such a strong commitment to that that they can never take back or else an innocent creature dies? Most people, apparently. I’m not that shocked that some people have kids, that the occasional selfless person decides to make that kind of sacrifice. What I don’t understand is why such a large percentage of people do it.

Anyway. What the fuck was I talking about, again? Right, I’m catsitting for lesbians. That was the point of this post. I'm catsitting for some very successful lesbians, and it's the perfect situation, because I get to live with cats for a few months but I don't have to pay for them, and I don't have to commit to caring for them long-term. These women in their sixties who have newspaper clippings on the fridge about their marriage and are off on their retirement trip right now... I have to admit, it's not a bad antidote to a little of my cynicism about marriage. I think these two probably did it right. Their cats are cool.

[finalgirleddiemunson]

Home is Wherever I’m With You (Steve Harrington x Reader)

summary: a collection of scenes from moving in with Steve. (wc 2.6k)

warnings: kissing, cursing, domestic steve, found family, you know the vibes. let me know if I missed anything!

a/n: I’m thinking of making this a multi-part series, one where you could just read any part you wanted out of order, but that all fit in with this reader and Steve. let me know if that’s something y’all are into or not :)

masterlist

-----

In typical Steve fashion, the question of, “Do you want to move in together?” is simultaneously the easiest question in the world to answer and an earth-shattering declaration. 

“So I was thinking…” Steve starts. He’s laying across your bed, arms hugging one of your pillows close as he watches you put away laundry. Sort, fold, put away, repeat. 

“Dangerous,” You hum.

“Not nice,” he quips without hesitation, used to you.

You giggle then prompt, “You were thinking…?”

“Well your lease is running out here soon…” He’s got this lilt to his voice, the kind that he puts on when he’s trying to seem nonchalant. He’s never been very good at hiding his real feelings though, not to you. “And those apartments on the other side of town just opened up. You know I’ve been trying to get out of my parent’s place for, like, ever, so I’ve been saving up. And now I’m sitting here watching you fold laundry and all I can think about is how I want to fold laundry and make up a bed and pick out dishes with you. I don’t know, that sounds stupid out loud, I guess it was just a thought I had. You can think on it or tell me to shut up about it or-”

“Steve,” you interrupt, not unkindly. “Are you asking if I want to move in together?”

“Well-” He makes an odd gesture with his hands. Drops them back down to his lap and shrugs his shoulders while looking for the right thing to say. He settles on, “Yeah. Is that…something you would want?”

You can’t hide your smile from him as you crawl across your bed until your faces are level to each other. You kiss him, a bright and quick kiss that makes his eyes soften, losing some of the nervous tension in his shoulders. “Yeah. That’s something that I would want.”

His answering smile is bright enough to fill the room. 

—

The easiest part of the process is getting the apartment. 

A leasing agent shows you around a staged space. You and Steve hold hands through the whole tour, even while he does things like open cabinets and check the faucets because he wisely informed you, “That’s what you’re supposed to do when you tour a new place, babe.”

“How would you know?” You’d responded with a giggle, but shut up when the leasing agent appeared to talk to you about the spacious kitchen with new appliances. 

It’s not actually very spacious and you’re positive the appliances aren’t new, but Steve’s thumb runs across the back of your hand and you wouldn’t care if it was the worst apartment in the world, so long as he was the one you’re sharing it with. 

—

A few days later, you’re signing papers- the trailing cursive of your signature touching Steve’s as you sign a lease together. 

“Okay, and this page is about the no pet policy. So, I guess Dustin can’t come over-” Steve snickers when you hit him. Steve signs at the bottom of the sheet, long fingers flipping to the next one in the stack of papers you both have to go through. 

Despite how certain you feel in your decision, you can’t help the galloping beat of your heart.

“Hey,” Steve’s voice is quiet, a soothing balm on your anxiousness, “We don’t have to do this. You can back out now, no hurt feelings. It won’t change anything.” 

His hand finds its way to the back of your neck, just holding there. A reassuring weight that conveys how genuine he is, how patient he is with you while he waits for your response. 

Your fingers find the bottom of his polo, thumb dragging across the stitching so you don’t have to look in his eyes. See the wide, unconditionally caring expression in his eyes that is undoubtedly mirrored in your own. 

It won’t change anything- meaning he wouldn’t hold it against you. He would drop the whole thing now, even when you’re so close to this new future with the two of you. Your Steve, always looking out for you, whatever you need. 

But you don’t need reassurances on this. 

“You just want the closet to yourself, you can’t fool me.” You sign the final page and push the paper across to Steve. You dare a look up at his face. 

He’s smiling- just a small upturn that he’s trying to hide. He shrugs, “It is a nice closet.”

—

Then there’s the moments in between. In the time before your old lease runs out and your new one with Steve begins, you both start to accumulate little things that belong to the two of you. 

Date nights are now spent at thrift stores, lovingly picking out mismatched plates that somehow work together. They’re what you can afford, and they’re not perfect, but you love them all the same for the simple fact that they belong to the both of you. 

Despite it being only the two of you living in the new place, Steve insists on picking out seven extra plates. And when he finds a mug with the Ghostbusters logo on it, collecting dust pushed back on the thrift store shelf, he handles it with care as he puts it in your cart. You pretend you don’t know why, but file it away to tease him about later. 

A few days later, Steve shows up at your apartment door, hauling a box full of things that clink together when he sets it on your counter. 

“Cups! And they’ve got cool designs on them.” He looks so proud as he unwraps the tissue paper from around a glass to show you. True to his words, etched into the glass are pictures of fruits, wrapped around the middle.  

“Where did you get them?” You examine the designs as he pulls out a set of wine glasses to show you.

“Dustin’s mom was clearing out her cabinets to get new stuff, she asked if I wanted them.”

“Dustin’s mom is offering you glasses now?” You bump your hip against his.

“Yeah, well,” He looks slightly sheepish, “When I went to pick Dustin up the other day she came out and started telling me this big story about how she heard we’re moving in together and she remembered the days when she first moved out of her parents’ house and not having anything and handed me this box.” He gestures to the cardboard like it’s a treasure chest. You suppose, to the two of you, it might as well be. 

A different part of the story sticks out to you. “You told Dustin we’re moving in together?” You step in close, arms wrapping around his waist as you peer up at him. 

“I think a shorter list would be who I haven’t told we’re moving in together.” He reciprocates your hug, wrapping his arms around you tight, and he doesn’t have the decency to look embarrassed. 

You giggle, press a kiss to his jaw. “I’m really excited to live with you, Steve Harrington.”

“You’re okay too, I guess.”

You feel his smile when he kisses the top of your head. 

—

The most difficult part of the process is the actual move-in. 

While you count your lucky stars that there’s no rain in the forecast, the sun beating down on the two of you is draining you quickly.  The heat makes your shirt stick uncomfortably to your back, and your stop every so often to wipe perspiration from your brow. 

You’ve hauled more boxes into the space of your new apartment than you care to count, Steve and you passing each other as you both go back and forth from your car and his to collect more things. 

There’s a recliner that you acquired from your parent’s storage shoved into the back of your car, and you’re not sure if you can muster up the strength to get it into the apartment. 

“Steve, let’s just live out here,” you call, leaning miserably against the side of his car. 

He looks equally as tired as he deposits the box he was carrying on the ground in favor of leaning next to you. 

He considers your proposal for a moment. “There’s no walk-in closet out here,” he eventually sighs.

“The world is our walk-in closet.” Your head thunks against the metal of the car as you wither a little more. 

“Oh right, obviously.” He rubs your shoulders soothingly, fingers scratching against the material of your shirt.

The jingle of a bike bell and the crescendoing sound of arguing voices catches your attention, spine straightening as you look towards the road leading to your apartment complex. 

“What the hell?” Steve sounds properly mystified as he spies the source of the noise. 

Nothing could have prepared you for the sight of your favorite rag-tag group of high-schoolers coasting down the hill and screeching into the parking lot, pulling their bikes into a space a few spots down from you and Steve.

“I told you taking Ellington Road would have been faster,” Lucas grumbles as he kicks the stand on his bike. Max kicks her skateboard up so she can grab it, appearing to have been riding along on her board while Lucas pulled her with a rope tied to the back of his bike. 

“Well we’re here now aren’t we?” Dustin throws his arms up.

“Yeah, but if we took Ellington we could have been here five minutes ago,” Mike points out, not bothering with the kickstand as he lets his bike fall. 

“Oh my god, shut up about Ellington or not Ellington,” Max sighs as she ties her hair back. 

“Henderson!” Steve calls, arms up in exasperation. For a moment, he and Dustin are mirroring each other, and you chuckle at the picture. All of their heads snap towards you, as though just now noticing you and Steve. “Guys, I told you I can’t give any rides today, we’ve got a lot of moving to do.” Steve’s hands go to his hips as he jerks his head to the boxes spilling out of the back of his car. 

“That’s why we’re here!” Dustin’s grin takes over his face. Mike looks a special kind of miserable as he squints from the sun, dark hair even messier than usual from riding his bike. 

Steve’s brow furrows, confusion across his face. Lucas elaborates, “Yeah, we’re here to help you move stuff.”

“And to see the new place. They’re already planning on how to get you and Steve to let them crash here whenever they want.” Max smarts as she struts over. She reaches to the Walkman on her hip and she pops out the tape in it, passing it to you. “I liked it,” she says simply, giving you the tape you had let her borrow a few weeks ago. From Max, those three words are a glowing, five-star review and you preen just a bit. 

“We are not scouting a new hang out spot. We’ve got Mike’s house for that.” Dustin good-naturedly slaps Mike’s shoulder. Mike rolls his eyes and hits him back. 

“I don’t know, you could probably fit at least six sleeping bags in the living room. Maybe more.” You say casually.

Dustin stops. “Are you shitting me?”

You shake your head, trying to disguise your smile, “I’m not shitting you.”

“Well before we do sleeping bag configuration, we have to get all this inside.” Steve cocks a hip, pointing a finger at the group. You’re gaining a much clearer understanding of why he begrudgingly calls himself their babysitter. “So if you shitheads aren’t kidding, grab a box.”

“Aye, aye,” Dustin gives a little salute that Lucas joins in on. The group disperses, Lucas and Max grabbing totes from Steve’s car while Dustin and Mike attempt to brave the recliner in yours. 

“Jesus, guys, you’re going to break your backs that way- hold on,” Steve rushes over to Dustin and Mike, already swooping in to help them when they struggle lifting the chair. 

Watching them bicker playfully with each other about the best way to get the furniture into the apartment has your chest filling with an aching fondness. 

But you have no time to linger in the feeling as Lucas calls out over his shoulder, “Should we take these straight to the kitchen?” and then you’re hurrying inside to show him where to drop the boxes. 

—

With the help of your impromptu moving crew, the rest of your and Steve’s things take no time at all. But all of the lifting and moving is still exhausting, which is how all of you end up sprawled across the floor of the living room. You try to cool off in the air circulating from the ceiling fan. 

“Yeah, I bet we could totally fit more than six sleeping bags in here,” Dustin muses. 

Mike shakes his head. “You’re not accounting for when they get a couch. That could be, like, two sleeping bag spaces gone.”

“Yeah, but then two people could sleep on the couch, you know? No real estate lost,” Lucas points out. The others consider this, eyes focused up on the ceiling, before nodding in agreement. 

“Are you guys paying rent now too?” Steve groans, throwing his forearm over his eyes. You roll over a little so he’s within arms length and pat his chest placatingly. 

“I’m starving, what do you guys have to eat here?” Dustin lazily pushes on your ankle, the only part of you he can reach from where he’s laying. 

You take in the boxes scattered around you and laugh loudly, “Absolutely nothing.” Steve giggles with you. 

—

You end up finding two boxes of mac and cheese and a half-eaten bag of candy, squashed in the bottom of a box labeled Kitchen in Steve’s handwriting. 

“Only the essentials, right?” You tease, shaking the bag of candy.

“That’s our saving grace right now, I don’t want to hear any backtalk about it.” Steve snaps a dish towel at you as he pulls it from a box and you laugh in delight. 

You rummage until you find a pot to cook in, and Steve digs around for bowls and silverware.

Eventually you present your findings to your little house of workers and they let out cheers not befitting of the actual meal you’re giving them.

“A feast for kings,” Dustin praises as he takes a bowl from you. You ruffle his hair in response. 

Your scattered belongings get pushed to the edges of the room to make space for everyone. You sit together, making a circle on the floor, and eat your first dinner- scavenged as it may be- in a place that belongs to you and Steve. 

You’re listening to the kids argue over something they won’t remember ten minutes from now. You soak up the sounds of having your little family all gathered here, the crinkling of candy wrappers and the quiet scrapes of forks against bowls and the ebbs and flows of their conversation. The apartment is earning the name home. 

From where you both sit cross-legged on the floor, Steve bumps his knee against yours. “First meal in our home,” he says, pushing a spoonful of mac and cheese around in his bowl. He grins like it’s a secret. Our home rattles around in your chest, then grows roots and decides to plant itself there.

You kiss his cheek chastely and clink your bowl against his. “Not too shabby for some broke kids.”

“Not too shabby at all,” he agrees. His free hand guides your chin up so he can kiss you properly, a slow drag of his mouth against yours. It’s a lazy, soft thing that promises a million more to come so long as he gets to keep kissing you for right now.

He tastes like home. 

[arrowflier]

i wish you would write them househunting 😏 🍅 🐕

"Don't see why we gotta move anyway, man," Mickey complains again as they hop off the L near their destination. He shoulders past a woman staring at her phone who doesn't move fast enough, flipping her off when she shouts after him. It's hard enough keeping up with Ian's long damn legs without people getting in his way.

"You're the one that doesn't like our place, Mick," Ian reminds him, and Mickey scowls. There's no way Ian can see it, still being a step ahead, but somehow he knows.

"And don't scowl about it, you big baby, you know it's true," Ian adds. They're separated again before Mickey can respond, a gaggle of teenagers wandering obliviously between them.

When the space clears again, Ian is there waiting for him, hand outstretched with an expectant look in his eyes. Mickey sighs.

"I'm not a fuckin' toddler, man," he grumbles, but he takes his husband's hand all the same. "And I like our place just fine."

Ian snorts as he starts walking again, pulling Mickey along at a pace more friendly to his shorter stride.

"Sure," he agrees, "You love it. And I definitely didn't catch you throwing pebbles off the balcony at our neighbors the other day."

"Ey, that was one time!" Mickey protests. "And that douche moved out, so we're cool now."

"Uh huh," Ian says knowingly. "Totally cool, Mick. But hey, I think you'll like this place a little more."

"Why's that?" Mickey asks suspiciously. He looks around, notes some familiar houses. He hadn't been paying attention to where they were going, too preoccupied with trying to convince Ian that they didn't need to move; really, he was just getting used to the Westside, he didn't want to end up somewhere he didn't know the streets again already.

But it didn't look like that was going to be much of a problem.

"Whoa, wait," he voices, coming to a halt. Ian stops just ahead of him, still connected by their clasped hands, and watches him realize what's happening.

"You're bringin' us back Southside?" Mickey asks. He knows he sounds a bit awed, but he can't help it. "Thought you wanted out, man. Wasn't that the whole point?"

But when he looks at Ian, all he sees is his smile.

"The point was us being happy, dipshit," Ian says, and okay. Mickey can give him that one.

--

The first place they see isn't quite what either of them expected. It's a new development on an old plot, and apparently the pictures Ian had seen online weren't quite so...trendy?...as it came off in person.

"The yard is nice," Ian offers as they stand in the middle of the wide open space that serves as kitchen, living room, office, and guest space. Strangers milled around them, other couples and even a few students that showed up for the free food advertised in the open house flyers, all raving about the 'open concept' style.

"You mean that tiny patch of astroturf out there?" Mickey replies to Ian's attempt at optimism. He laughs. "Yeah, good luck transplanting your fucking tomatoes in that, moron."

"Wait, that's not grass?" Ian asks, peering harder out the floor-to-ceiling windows that were letting in way too much heat.

"You ever seen grass that green around here?" Mickey asks back, and Ian grimaces.

"Come on, man," Mickey prompts him, walking back toward the front door. He grabs a doughnut from the kitchen counter on the way, taking a bite and calling back to Ian with his mouth full.

"Not enough walls in here anyway, nothin' for you to hold me against while we fuck."

He ignores the shocked gasp of the realtor and a few muffled snickers from the younger members of the crowd, but Ian turns bright red and rushes over to usher him out.

--

The second place they see has the opposite problem. It's in decent shape for as old as it is, probably one of the last original houses in the area, but it's...a lot.

"How many fucking rooms are there in this place?" Mickey wonders as they wander through. They're the only ones there this time, having let themselves in with the key from the lock box on the front door, and Mickey can see why. The house is like a labyrinth, doors everywhere, and none of it makes any fucking sense.

"Thought you wanted lots of rooms to fuck in, remember?" Ian says from behind him. A second later, Mickey finds himself shoved up against the wall of the tiny third bedroom, Ian's hands on his sides and mouth nipping just behind his ear.

He groans and tries to push back into it, but then Ian is cursing and pulling back. Mickey turns to see him rubbing his elbow where he obviously hit it on the edge of the door, which sticks way too far into the room.

"Lots of room, yeah," Mickey snickers as Ian glares at him for the lack of sympathy. "This place just feels like lots of closets, and I've had enough of those."

--

The third place is better. It's something in between, a spruced up two-story with decent yard space and, if not grass, at least some real dirt to work with.

"Hey Mickey, come up here!" Ian calls from the second floor, and Mickey stops poking through the kitchen cabinets to search him out.

He finds him in what must be the master bedroom, laying on a huge pillowtop bed.

"Hey, check this out," Ian says when he sees him enter, and Mickey rolls his eyes.

"The bed doesn't come with the place, Ian," he points out. "Or did you forget what we learned last time?"

Ian laughs. "Nah, not the bed Mick. Just come here."

Mickey gives in to his beckoning and sits next to him on the high mattress, and Ian abruptly pulled him down to lay beside him.

"Up there," Ian says softly, pointing to the ceiling with one pale hand.

Mickey looks. Then he looks harder, because painted on the ceiling above the bed is a mural of silver stars against the dark blue of a night sky, weaving between faint white clouds and a bright crescent moon.

"It's nice, isn't it?" Ian remarks, rolling over to watch Mickey's reaction. He strokes Mickey's arm where it lies on the silky duvet.

"Yeah," Mickey manages. "Real pretty. A little gay though."

Ian laughs. "Think we're that gay yet?" he questions. It sounds like a joke, but Mickey is pretty sure there's nothing joking about it.

That assumption is confirmed when Ian continues.

"I like this place, Mickey," he whispers. "It's got good bones, a nice yard for Basil--"

"We can't pick a fucking house for the dog, Ian," Mickey interjects, but Ian ignores him.

"And I think it would be a big step, for us." He sounds so earnest, and something in Mickey's heart twinges.

"Yeah? You sign the lease already?" Mickey asks, just to be a little shit.

"Fuck off," Ian answers immediately, but without heat.

"I'm serious, Mickey," he says after a moment. "I think we'd be good here." He reaches over to place a hand on Mickey's face, turning it toward himself. "But I want you to agree with me this time. No more doing things on my own. If we're gonna do this, we decide together."

Mickey isn't sure what's brighter--the stars on the ceiling or the love in Ian's eyes.

"Yeah, okay, you soft fucker," he murmurs, relishing the grin that lifts Ian's lips and stretches across his whole face. "Let's do this."

"Yeah?" Ian breathes, leaning in closer.

"Yeah," Mickey confirms. Ian goes in for a kiss, and Mickey let him get in a soft peck before pulling back and swinging his legs off the bed.

"But you get to mow our new yard and pick up all the dog shit, Gallagher, nobody's gonna do it for ya here!"

Mickey grins as he takes off to finish exploring the rest of the house, Ian shouting "Hey, not fair!" from behind him.

[watchmegetobsessed]

Keys of truth - Harry Styles

❄️ FANFICmas 2020 ❄️

Read more about FANFICmas here!

hiya loves! this was a very sudden idea of mine that i really wanted to write so i made it to be the last fic of fanficmas! thank you for reading my works through the month, i hope you all enjoyed all the content and i hope you’ll stay with me in 2021 as well! this is an exlovers to lovers fic, kind of very emotional so... yeah!

word count: 3.4k

masterlist

You stay in your car for so long the heat that warmed you on your way here has completely disappeared, your fingers are like ice as they still grip the steering wheel. The snow blizzard  outside is raging, warning you that if you don’t go inside anytime soon you might get stuck here and that’s the last thing you want: trapped with your ex who you still dearly love.

You can barely see out of the windshield, it’s covered in snow, another sign that your time is ticking, you need to get back home before all roads get snowed in.

“You can do it. It’s just Harry,” you tell yourself, but that’s the problem. It’s Harry who is currently inside, kind of waiting for you to arrive, pack the remaining of your stuff from his house so your breakup can be official.

The burning regret has been making your life miserable in the past few weeks, ever since you said the words and instantly wanted to take them back. But upon seeing his reaction, you decided to be stubborn and don’t show your weakness.

“Can’t this conversation just wait a little longer, please?” he sighed, clearly annoyed that you brought up the same thing for the hundredth time in the past two months. But you just couldn’t help it, you were feeling like you were running out of time and Harry didn’t seem to realize it.

“How can you ask me to put it aside when my lease is ending in January? I need to know how to plan. Why is it so hard to decide if you want me here or not?”

The thought of moving together had come up a few times, but it became a burning question when your lease was nearing its end. You wanted to move in with Harry, something you’ve been planning on for a while, and you thought he did the same. But when you first mentioned it to him, he seemed hesitant, as if he didn’t want it wholeheartedly and that hurt you like Hell, but thought he might had had just a long day. So you agreed to have the conversation another time, but it seemed like no time was suitable for him. He had been dodging your question instantly, trying to get out of it as fast as possible, giving you the feeling that he doesn’t want you around after all.

But it was now the beginning of December, leaving you very little time to look for a new place if he decided he needed his own place. It wouldn’t have bothered you that much, you understand his need for privacy, but at least have the courage to tell you, right? But he didn’t. He kept brushing it off, building the tension in you until one day… you snapped.

“It’s not that easy, Y/N, alright? I asked you to have this discussion later, why can’t you wait a little more?” he snapped right back, growing frustrated as well, but you didn’t think he had the right.

“Wait for what? To make up your mind if you want a future with me or not? If you are hesitant about it, then I think we have a bigger problem on your hands here, Harry,” you retorted, feeling all the rage you’ve kept bottled up erupt from you.

“What does that supposed to mean?” He looks at you with a hard stare and you stand his piercing eyes, not looking away.

“What it means is that… your behavior is making me think that maybe we aren’t heading in the right direction. I thought it was evident that we would move in, but your hesitation is kind of ruining the picture for me.”

“I’m not hesitating, I just asked for some time to smooth some things out!”

“What things? Do you have someone else living with you and you need to get rid of them before I can move in or what?”

“For fuck’s sake, just give me some damn time, Y/N!”

“Well, I don’t think I have any more time.”

He stared at you in disbelief and the words burned your tongue, but there was no turning back now, it was out there.

“For the moving or for me?” he simply asked, no emotion showing on his face and that hurt you more than you expected. You wanted him to panic, to fall to his knees and beg for your forgiveness, but his reaction was so cold and empty, it completely broke your heart.

“I think we both know the answer,” you whispered, feeling the tears building in your eyes already.

You stormed out of his place after a few insults were thrown at each other and now it has been three weeks you officially called it quits. The worst three weeks of your life, if you are being honest. Not one night went by without you crying yourself to sleep, deeply missing Harry. You still love him more than anyone or anything and there were so many times you just wanted to go back to him crawling, but your pride didn’t let you. He seemed just fine to let you go and that was like a stab in your chest, see him so in peace with you walking out. You just couldn’t believe two years went right out the window just like that, after such a ridiculous little thing. You still haven’t been able to figure out why he couldn’t just give you an answer. It would have been painful to hear him tell you he doesn’t want you living with him just yet, but you would have gotten over it eventually. Would have been a lot better ending to the story than this ugly breakup you won’t be able to forget about… ever.

Swinging the door open the cold wind slaps you right across your face, earning some pretty creative curses from you as you lock the car. Snow is everywhere, threateningly falling with no mercy, and you know you need to make it quick.

Marching up to the front door you push the button to the doorbell a little too forcefully, eyes squinting from the blizzard and it feels like your eyelashes are now covered in snow completely.

Then the door opens and there he is, standing tall and just as handsome as always, wearing a pair of grey sweatpants and a knitted sweater, curls a little messy but in the cutest way possible. He looks so cozy and warm, you just want to wrap yourself into his embrace, but you remind yourself that you no longer have the right to be that close to him.

“Hey, come on in,” he greets you with a small smile, holding the door open as you walk inside and he finally shuts the door, keeping the cold outside.

You haven’t seen him since your fight and now it’s like another slap across your face, seeing him in the flesh, looking… fine. As if nothing has happened while you’ve been a nervous wreck these past weeks and it makes the whole situation even more painful.

“Hi. I’ll be quick, I promise,” you tell him clearing your throat as you get rid of your coat and boots, leaving them by the door so you don’t get any mess on any of his rugs. He nods his head quietly following you further inside the house before taking the lead. You’ve thought about this place as a second home for some time now, but now being here as just some kind of guest is heartbreaking, but you try your best not to think about how painful it really is.

“Most things are in the wardrobe, but I think you have quite some books in the study as well,” he says, awkwardly clearing his throat as he walks you into his bedroom he has shared with you oh so many times before.

“Thanks,” you mumble.

“Do you fancy a cup of tea? I can also help you if you want,” he offers, clearly not certain about how he should act now and that makes the two of you, it seems.

“Tea sounds great, but I’ll be fine on my own,” you tell him with a faint smile and he just nods, shuffling out of the room, leaving you alone.

You start going through his spacious wardrobe, collecting all your items you’ve left here through your time with him, and pack them away into the bags you brought with yourself, knowing well you have a lot to take home. You hear Harry starting the kettle outside in the kitchen and you need to take a deep breath so you don’t start crying. You miss him so much. You miss having him around, talking to you, touching you… kissing you. It’s killing you to know that you’ll never have him the way you want and it feels like you can do nothing, but to suffer quietly.

While packing, you find some of the shirts he always gave you when you spent the night, even though you had your own clothes to sleep in. There was just something different to have his shirts on, smell his scent and he also never failed to tell you how much he loves seeing you wear his stuff, so you shamelessly borrowed anything that caught your eyes. For a moment, you debate if he would notice if you took one of his shirts, but then you tell yourself it would be a stupid idea, so you force yourself to leave there everything that’s not essentially yours.

“Here. With a dash of honey, just like how you always drink it,” he smiles at you warmly as he reappears with a steaming mug in his hands.

“Thank you,” you mumble shyly taking the mug from him to have a breather from all the packing.

He stays standing there, just a few feet from you, looking around a little lost, his hands on his hips, as if he is trying to find something to do, but there’s none. It’s the first time you see something in him, something you are not used to, but it’s so masked that you can’t put your finger on it.

“Alright, um… I’ll be in the kitchen if you need any help,” he then says with a tight-lipped smile before walking out and leaving you alone again.

You need a breather once he is gone, you let yourself sit on the edge of his bed, sipping on the tea and you can’t ignore how he used your favorite filter, the one you always made him buy so he had it at his place as well. These thoughtful little things always make your stomach churn, especially now. Because you just can’t put it together with how it all ended. Why would he be this caring and loving man towards you, when he doesn’t want you anymore?

Swallowing down you tears you just sit there until you finish the hot drink and force yourself to stand up and bring the mug out for him. Your feet tap against the hardwood floor quietly and as you are about to turn the corner, you stop hearing his quiet voice coming from the kitchen.

“I can’t, Gems. I can’t fucking do it,” you hear him, his voice muffled and something odd lacing through it. “But it’s so fucking hard!” he snaps after a short silence and you assume his sister told him something through the phone. “I don’t want this…” he breathes out and you realize that he is crying.

He lets out a quiet sob and you dare to step forward and look in his way in the kitchen. He is hunched over with his back facing you, a hand gripping the edge of the counter while the other one his holding his phone to his ear. He looks so broken, like just a ghost of himself, nothing like the unbothered man you saw just a little while ago. Seeing him like this breaks your heart even more and you don’t even know what to do or say, so you just stand there, eavesdropping on his conversation with his sister.

“I don’t know how she would react. You really think it’s a good idea?” he asks, sniffing his nose and his hand flies from the countertop to his face, wiping his cheeks harshly. “I don’t… Fuck, this is so bad, Gems.”

You feel your throat closing up, you are dying to know what Gemma is saying on the other end of the call.

“I know,” he replies to something. “Of course I do. How can I not? This was never supposed to happen.” Another silence. “I fucking know, Gems, but I felt so dumbfounded, I literally couldn’t think straight!”

You suck on your breath, trying your best to put the bits and pieces together. If he is talking about what you think, you are about to break out into sobs any moment.

“Alright,” he sighs, head falling back a little as he is probably blinking away his tears. The urge to just go up behind him and hug his waist, pressing your cheek against his shoulder blades, like you always do whenever he is washing the dishes or making breakfast for the two of you, is getting hard to fight.

He ends the call and before you could even realize, your feet are taking you forward in his direction. Your knee cracks when you take a bigger step and it makes his head snap around. You freeze right where you are, a few feet away from him, holding your empty mug in your hands, staring back at him at a lack of words. Now that he is facing you it’s clear that he was indeed crying, the redness around his eyes and glistening cheeks of his give him away instantly.

“Oh, um, hey. You need help with anything?” he asks, wiping his cheeks again, though there’s no use in trying to hide the signs.

“Harry, what was that about?” you softly ask as he keeps his eyes fixated on the tiled floor in front of him.

“Just… Gemma.”

“What was never supposed to happen?” you ask ignoring how he tried to dodge your question. He draws a shaky breath, looking anywhere but at you and you hate it. You need to see those green eyes on you. So stepping closer you turn his head by his chin so his glassy gaze meets yours.

Harry opens his mouth two times, but closes it until he finally speaks up for the third time.

“There’s something I want to give you,” he tells you, caching you by surprise.

“You didn’t answer me.”

“Just…” he breathes out in defeat. “Let me give it to you, okay? And I’ll answer all your questions after that.”

Silently you nod and watch him shuffle into his bedroom, hearing him open a drawer and then he appears with a tiny box in his hands. It’s deep blue, with a pretty little white bow on top. He gestures for you to sit on the couch with him, so you silently obey and the two of you sit on each sides of his plush couch.

“Here,” he whispers handing you the box. Glancing up at him you try to put the picture together, but you fail to see what this is about so you go ahead and take off the lid.

At first you don’t realize what it is that you are looking at. There is a set of keys on a chain along with a little silver heart, your name engraved into it. A second passes by, then another and you gasp when realization hits you.

“Harry, what is this?” you ask, not really meaning that what’s in the box, because you figured it’s the keys to his place, but you can’t figure out why he just gave this to you.

“I’ve had them made for over two months. Wanted to give them to you on Christmas as a surprise. This was my plan all along and this is why I tried to push the conversation back. There was nothing to talk about, I wanted you here, I just wanted it to be a surprise for you. But then we had that stupid fight and I knew I should have just told you the truth, but I was shocked and couldn’t think properly. I never wanted us to end up like this and when I realized what I did you were already… gone.”

The tears start soaking your cheeks within a moment as you clutch onto the keys for dear life, listening to Harry.

“I was an idiot. I wanted to call you and tell you why I didn’t want to talk about the moving, but then I thought you wouldn’t believe me and say that I was just trying to save what was left of us. Fuck, that was my biggest mistake ever. I haven’t stopped beating myself up about it and I’ve been so miserable without you, Y/N. You can’t even imagine.”

“I think I can,” you choke out with a bitter laugh. “I regretted it the moment I said those words. But I was too proud to admit it and you seemed just fine with it.”

“Oh I was miles away from being fine,” he breathes out, his body falling forward as he leans his elbows onto his thighs. “I didn’t stop crying until like six in the morning, Y/N. After you left, I felt like I had nothing left.”

You sob at his words, putting the keys aside as you crawl into his arms, swinging a leg over him so you can straddle him and sit on his lap. His strong arms curl around your frame instantly, an instinct he has had for a while now and three weeks wasn’t enough to get rid of it, luckily. He pulls you close as you bury your face into the crook of his neck, sobbing and crying uncontrollably.

“I’m sorry I ever made you think I’m not planning my future with you. You are my future, Y/N. All of it.”

“Stop!” you choke out laughing. “I can’t cry any harder!” you say, making him laugh as well. His hand slides to the back of your neck, threading his fingers into your hair.

“Oh baby, I don’t want you to cry at all,” he chuckles softly, pulling you to his chest once again. “I want you to be happy, preferably with me, but if you tell me to fuck off, I still understand.”

“Don’t you dare say that,” you smack his chest gently. “I love you way too much to ever say that.”

“Fuck, you don’t know how amazing it is to hear that,” he breathes out as his hands move up to cup your face and he finally pulls you into a sweet, i-missed-you-so-fucking-much-don’t-ever-leave-me-again kiss that makes the whole world spin around you. Just like that, the universe falls into perfect balance and all the suffering and pain you had to go through, it vanishes the moment Harry’s lips touch yours again, something you truly thought would never happen again.

“So, have you found a place yet?” he asks, a little out of breath from the kisses you two just shared. Resting his forehead against yours he looks into your eyes with his piercing green ones that you missed so dearly.

“I was supposed to move to my sister’s temporarily, but I guess I can give her a call that she won’t have to put up with me after all,” you chuckle making Harry laugh as well. “When do you want me to move?”

“Like right now,” he replies instantly, making your heart flutter. “But whenever you want to, it doesn’t matter as long as you don’t change your mind about it.”

“Then how about after Christmas?”

“Perfect,” he breathes out pecking your lips again.

“I guess we have to rearrange our Christmas plans too. Unless… you don’t want me to go home with you.”

“None of that shit anymore, baby. I want you with me all the time,” he blurts out making you smile. He will never hold anything back from now on, this mishap taught you both a lesson about communication and honesty. He turns to look out the window and you follow his gaze realizing the blizzard has completely snowed the two of you in. “I think we might be trapped here for a while,” he states, a small smirk tugging on his lips.

“Oh no, what a disaster!” you moan, voice still shaky from the crying, but your comment makes the both of you laugh.

“Luckily, you still have all your stuff here,” he huffs looking back at you.

“Mhm, luckily,” you breathe out before pulling him down for another kiss.

Thank you for reading, let me know what you thought about it!

[troubatrain]

tis the damn season - m. tkachuk

a/n: as we all know, i am an absolute whore for a christmas fic and when i listened to evermore yesterday i knew this needed to be done. i literally haven’t written anything this fast in forever but i hope you guys like it!! (also tagging @igor-shestyorkin​ @blueskrugs​ & @fenwaynightlights​ for reading this last night and telling me it was good so i’d actually finish it ily)

The second you walked into the party, Matthew’s eyes didn’t leave you. He knew you were coming, but watching you step into his parent’s house with a plate of your famous chocolate chip cookies and a smile that made his heart skip a beat, was almost taunting him. You dated forever ago, the last real relationship Matthew had ever been in, and by the looks of it - it was staying like that. You greeted everyone, down to the biggest hug to his grandparents who swore you were going to be Matthew’s wife one day. That was because that’s just how you were, kind and smart and constantly impressing anyone who Matthew introduced you too. Every teammate he had at the time loved you, and he knew if you were in Calgary his team now would be the same. Brady adored you, even admitting to his brother he still called you for girl advice because if Matthew fumbled the bag when it came to you there was no way Brady should take his advice. Matthew couldn’t even think about your relationship with his sister, or how crushed she was when you broke up. Then there was his parents, his mom swore it would be okay. That it was just Matthew’s first love and eventually he’d find his forever but he knew she was lying. Matthew found forever with you, and he let it implode because his dream was just more important at the time. Now, he could be at the top of the world and none of it mattered because you weren’t by his side.

Matthew just felt dumb now, because you were on to bigger and better things and you weren’t hung up on your high school ex-boyfriend. You went off to college, crushed it, and moved back into St. Louis with a near perfect job offer and success practically radiating off of you. He was standing in his kitchen in the worst Bud Light Christmas sweater like an eighteen year old frat boy and you looked every bit like the goddess Matthew knew you were. The perfect Christmas red dress you were wearing sat on your frame flawless, and it was obvious that red was still your color.

“I can leave if you want me to?” You ask, leaning into Matthew when you finally made your way over to him. Your voice was low, mouth close to Matthew’s ear while you hugged him so no one could hear you ask. You were an infinitely better person than he was, so of course you asked him if it was okay to stay.

“You’re always welcome here, you know that,” Matthew answers, sipping his beer for some liquid courage he desperately needed.

“Just because your mom invites me doesn’t mean I need to be here,” You shrug, “Maybe you’ve got someone here…”

He would never. Matthew had never even considered it, what it would be like to bring someone home that wasn’t you. There wasn’t one person in Calgary who could measure up, and despite the fact that his family loved him and would accept anyone with open arms, deep down Matthew knew you would always be on their minds.

“I don’t,” Matthew says, trying to stop himself from wrapping his arm around your waist while you stand with your chest still pressed against his from your hello hug, “I mean what would be the point? They don’t make cookies like you do.”

Matthew had to joke, cover up the fact that he was never able to let go of what you had and choke it down with beer he was drinking. He liked seeing you, the same times he did every year. Thanksgiving, Christmas, and the occasional summer BBQ was something he looked forward to, sometimes he even hoped for an extra reason for you to both be somewhere. He knew you’d come, because you wouldn’t dare deny his mother’s invitation.

“Of course you noticed I made them,” You rolled your eyes, pushing Matthew back jokingly, “Remember when you used to beg me to make them-”

You stopped yourself when you noticed where this was going, you never brought up the before times. The times when Matthew would give you his best puppy dog eyes for you to bake him something, followed by a plea to just look the other way when he devoured the entire plate.

“Maybe it’s best we broke up, I probably never would’ve gotten drafted by eating these,” Matthew teases, sliding past you to grab a cookie off the counter and taking a big bite, “Because fuck these are good.”

Matthew’s moans in delight sent a chill up your spine. You hated that he could still do that to you, because it was the same thing every time. You’d see him, and for a moment you’d think that this would work itself out. You could get back together, and falling in love would be just as sweet a second time, but it wouldn’t work. You were settling into your own, a fresh lease signed in your new apartment you were going to move into after New Year’s, and Matthew was going to go back to Calgary where he was a big deal. That was always the dream, to make it big in the league and make his parents proud. Matthew was doing it, not that you ever doubted him, but you were proud nonetheless.

The thing was, because Matthew was doing the damn thing, he gave up you. It was like a deal he made with the devil when he was seventeen, he could have everything he ever wanted if he didn’t have you to hold him back. You always knew that was why he broke up with you, it was the right person at the wrong time.

“It’s nice to see you Matthew,” You muse, biting the inside of your cheeks to hold back the grin on your face. You stopped the conversation before it started, constantly trying to make this as painless as possible, but it wasn’t always easy.

“Wait, uh, you’re going to be here until Christmas right?” Matthew asks, grabbing your attention before you slipped out of the kitchen. Matthew was hopeful, catching a flight a few days earlier than he usually could and landing before Christmas gave him more time to see you.

“I’ll be at my parents house,” You nod, thinking about your childhood bedroom that was currently covered in moving boxes while you waited to settle into your new place.

“Oh sweet,” Matthew takes another swing of his drink, trying to keep his cool because you were the only person who made him completely uncool.

“Yeah, sweet, I’ll see you around,” You wave, disappearing into the kitchen. Matthew takes a deep breath, collecting his thoughts for a minute until Brady stepped in front of him. His little brother scoffed, a stupid smirk on his face when he finally spoke.

“Dude that was painful to watch.”

***

Matthew had no idea what the fuck he was doing. His feet were just carrying all two hundred and two pounds of his body in the exact direction of your house. He was drunk, well over the limit of how many whiskey shots he could even handle. He looked at his watch, it was almost three in the morning but if he didn’t get it out now when would he ever. He loved you, and all he could think about is what would happen if he could have just had one more night with you. Maybe you’d feel it, you’d always been pretty intuitive with his feelings, because he was awful with them. He had to make his case, did he even have one?

Oh hey Y/N, I know I’m hammered and it’s three in the morning the day before Christmas Eve but I want you to know I’m still in love with you.

That wouldn’t work, and he was going to have to do better than that. He could turn around and go home, but if he had to watch another one of your Instagram stories and pray that whoever was in them wasn’t your boyfriend again - he would lose his mind before he made it to the holidays next year. He snuck past the gate into your yard, not surprised to see your whole house was sleeping quietly. He picked up a few pebbles from your mother’s garden, shaking them in his hand and hoping you remembered the way he let you know he was outside when you’d sneak out in high school.

One.

Two.

Three.

You were woken up by the sound of three pebbles hitting your window, and you rub your eyes in disbelief by what you were hearing. Matthew wasn’t outside your window at three in the morning looking for you, why would he even think about it? 

“What the hell are you doing?” You ask, poking your head out the window and crossing your arms to battle the cool air blowing through.

“Come down?” Matthew asks, wiping his palms on the back of his jeans and giving you his best smile. A real one, because you’d always been able to tell when it was fake.

You should’ve closed the window, and pushed Matthew to the back of your mind until you found yourself creeping on his Instagram again. You were always a good listener, and you always tried to do the right thing but Matthew was your vice. He’d always been a little bit a bad boy, but never enough to stop you from coming back for more. So you opened your window a little more, slipping down and scaling down your house just like you used to.

Matthew could have pretended like he didn’t notice, his last name faded on the back of the hoodie you were wearing, but he couldn’t. You looked just as cute in it as you did all of those years before, “Seven was such a good number on you, I wish I could have kept it.”

You could feel the heat on your cheeks, hoping Matthew couldn’t catch it in the moonlight, “Why are you here?”

“I want one more night,” Matthew takes a deep breath, standing his ground, “I, uh fuck-”

Matthew Tkachuk had never been good with words. He put his foot in his mouth, all the time, but his plea was something you never thought you’d hear. It was Christmas, you were lonely, and a part of you wondered the same thing. So you said fuck it and decided that this was your problem later, pressing your lips to Matthew’s. Your hands gripped his shirt, trying to get as close to him as you could. Matthew was dumbfounded, wrapping his arms around your waist, his fingers digging into your sides.

“Can you be quiet?” You ask, pointing at the back door. It was the middle of the night and your parents room was on the first floor but if Matthew was quiet enough you could get him upstairs easily - you used to do it all the time.

Matthew nodded eagerly, following you inside and tip-toeing up the stairs. He was doing a terrible job, either he’d gotten bigger or the floors in your parents house had gotten creakier.

“You said you could be quiet,” You tease, letting Matthew push you against the door, he twisted the lock, smirking at you.

“I’m a lot bigger than I used to be,” Matthew declares, fake puffing out his chest.

“I noticed…” You muse, running over your hands over his shoulders. He’d gotten broader with age, and it wasn’t something that was lost on you. You press your lips to his, throwing your hands around his neck and pulling him closer. Your fingers crept up to his curls, tugging on them slightly. Matthew smirked against your lips, “I missed that.”

“I missed you,” Matthew mutters, wrapping your legs around his waist to bring you to your bed. You squeal, tucking your head into shoulder to stop the noise, “Who’s the loud one now?”

“Well don’t stop kissing me then,” You tease, grabbing Matthew and pulling him on top of you. You worked quickly, a pile of clothes in the corner of your that was going to be addressed later. Matthew’s lips were on your neck, his finger circling your clit while you bit your lip hold back a moan, “Matty please-”

The nickname slipped your lips so easily it was like you never should have stopped calling him that. Matthew took notice, and it was like music to his ears, “Anything you want babe.”

“Fuck me,” You breathe out, desperate for as much of him as you could get. Matthew slipped out of his boxers, pumping himself a few times before he gave you a look. You nodded, giving him the go ahead and pulling his lips back to yours. Matthew slipped inside you, and it’d never felt better.

Matthew was better now, much much better. His hips were snapping into you, a near perfect pace while grunts left his lips. The pleasure was almost too much, and you could feel your nails scratching into his back while you bit into his shoulder to keep yourself quiet. His hand snaked down to your clit, “Cum for me babe, c’mon.”

You clenched around him, the sensation was enough to send Matthew over the edge, spilling into you. He dropped to his elbows, placing lazy kisses on your skin while you basked in the post sex glow. Matthew’s skin was glistening against the moonlight from your window, his breath in your ear while you caught yours and it all felt right.

“You know you have to go now,” You remind him, “My dad will murder you if he catches you up here.”

“I know,” Matthew bumps his nose against yours, pressing one more kiss to your lips, “I’ll see you tomorrow? Or later?”

Later. It had completely slipped your mind that in just a few hours you were going to be forced to run an annual day before Christmas Eve 5k with the Tkachuk’s like you did every year. The idea was somehow worse than doing it on Thanksgiving, and now you had to see Matthew after you let him fuck you in your childhood bedroom. You watched Matthew dress himself, hopping out your window and back to his own house.

Now you just needed some sleep.

***

You felt like shit, and you were missing the iced coffee you didn’t have a chance to get while you trailed behind your parents to meet the Tkachuk’s. You greeted everyone, stopping at Matthew last, you were unsure of how to even greet him after what you’d just done a few hours before. He didn’t think anything of it, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you into his chest.

“Here,” Matthew says, nudging his cup towards you. You assumed it was coffee, but then the taste of a mimosa hit your tongue.

“Jeez,” You choke, coughing while you take down the champagne with just a hint of orange juice.

“Do you think I was going to run this sober? You wore me out last night,” Matthew teases, and he could feel Brady’s gaze on him.

The wheels in Brady’s head were turning. He was suspicious, catching Matthew sneak back into the house early in the morning, and now watching the two of you - it was clear. It became even clearer when they started running, because Brady knew Matthew wasn’t that slow and he didn’t wasn’t going to let Brady beat him. He was though, jogging behind Brady with you and laughing at whatever you said. There was one thing that was clear, Matthew got over his dumb fear of talking to you and finally did. His brother was happy, but he couldn’t help but feel like he was going to watch this explode in your faces in a few days. Matthew would go back to Calgary and just the first time you broke, it was going to be ugly.

***

The winter in St. Louis was brisk, but Matthew’s warm body next to you was enough to fight it. Your head was on his chest, and you were snoring softly. Matthew picked you up a few hours after you got home, driving up to the same lake you snuck off to in high school. He stole Brady’s truck, driving off with a bunch of blankets without giving Brady an answer as to where he was going. It was supposed to be romantic, but you’d always been prone to falling asleep when you were with him.

Matthew didn’t have a complaint in the world, you slept the same way you used to. Your head on his chest, a leg tangled with his and your hands clutched to his shirt so he couldn’t move. He wasn’t going anywhere. Matthew would let you sleep the entire day away if he could have. He carded his hands through your hair, a content sigh leaving his lips.

Matthew often wondered what would have happened if you never broke up. If you’d followed him to Calgary and what that would have been like. Maybe you’d still be together, and after all these years he’d start looking for a ring. If you’d buy a house together, maybe even be that family that houses wayward hockey players just like his parents did. You’d be the person he got to share looks with across the room when he was forced to have conversations he didn’t want to have. He’d get to take you family skates and you’d get to see him play and you’d live happily ever after.

Reality was always much more cruel, and it wasn't pretty. You had a life in St. Louis, one that didn’t include him. You were moving along in your life just fine without him. You didn’t need Matthew and it was dumb of him to think you’d drop it all for him. You never asked him to stay, and it would be unfair to ask you to wait around.

“I can hear you thinking, you might start to malfunction soon bubs,” You whisper, your voice still laced with sleep. You meant to run a hand through his hair, but the palm of your hand just hit his forehead while you moved it back down slowly. Matthew chuckles, the silly nicknames you gave him seemed to come out without a second thought, and it felt good to be called any of them by you.

“Just thinking about you,” Matthew breathes, and you pick up your head. Matthew shoots you a smile, but you knew he was faking it.

“Matty-” You take one deep breath, “Don’t ask me to come with you, you know it’s not fair to me.”

Your voice was cracking, pleading Matthew to just not have this conversation. You weren’t ready for it, because it meant accepting defeat. The universe wasn’t going to allow you to be together, and that’s just how it was going to be.

“I don’t want to go back to Calgary,” Matthew whispers, more to himself than you. He did want to go back, but he wanted to go back with you.

“You have to,” You sit up, a chill running through your body from the loss of Matthew’s body next to yours. You rub your arms to warm up, “You have to because we’re just not going to make it work Matty.”

Matthew nods solemnly, like his heart just broke all over again. You were right, you always were, it just seemed naïve to think you’d both be any different now than you were the first time, “Let me take you home.”

The car ride was awkward. The only thing cutting through the silence was the Christmas music playing on the radio. You sat with your head pressed against the window, counting down the streets until you finally hit yours. Matthew halted the car, and you gave him one more look before you stepped out of the car, “Tell your parents I said Merry Christmas.”

“I will,” Matthew nods, and those were the last words you heard him say before you walked up your stairs. Matthew waited for you to be inside before he drove off, a small part of him hoping you’d run back to the car and tell him you wanted him too. You didn’t, and that was just how it was going to be.

***

Christmas was awful, the past two days seemed to pass were pure agony. You were sad, and knowing Matthew was about three blocks and four houses away wasn’t helping. You were counting down the hours until he was back in Calgary, away from you and you could finally grieve him for the final time. The last nail in the coffin of what was once your first love had yet to be hammered in but once he was gone that would settle it.

You had two more hours until you knew his flight would leave, and you were so close to the finish line you could taste it. You were home alone, your parents still making their way to a few neighbors' houses to spend the last few moments of the holiday with their friends. You were sulking, a wine bottle stolen from your mother’s collection and the Grinch on your TV. 

A doorbell was the only thing to interrupt you, and you could see a tuft of curly hair through the window. Matthew was standing outside your door, pacing back and forth while he waited for you to open it. You thought about acting like you weren’t home, maybe he’d leave and never come back. You opened it, not even having a chance to open your mouth before he spoke.

“Come with me,” Matthew pleads, “I love you, I still do and I always have and we’re meant to be together. There isn’t anyone I want more by my side than you, and I know it’ll be hard but I’m not ready to let you slip through my fingers again.”

“Matthew-” You interrupt grabbing his arm to stop his pacing, “Listen to yourself.”

“I am, and I want this, I never wanted to give up you and I just can’t fly back there with people who don’t know when I’m faking a smile or when I don’t want to be somewhere,” Matthew explains, running a hand over his face, “You’re the best I’ll ever have and I want to spend the rest of my life proving that to you.”

“I’ll come until New Year’s,” You agree, Matthew’s face breaking out into a very real smile, “We need to talk about this Matthew.”

“You talk, I’ll listen, you can have whatever you want,” Matthew agrees, because he’d move the sun if he could for you. His lips pressed against yours, pushing you against the same front door he kissed you in front of on your first date. The porch light still flickers the way it used to while Matthew’s hands gripped your face because he was afraid to let you go. You both finally pulled, Matthew mumbling his next words against your lips.

Tis the damn season huh?

[celestial-fucking-weeb]

WINTER WARMTH

__________________

Hi, everyone!! This is a part of the Citrus Dome Snowed In collab! I’m so thankful to be a part of this round and super grateful for @lemonlordleah-shinzawa-kitten and @tomurasprincess for letting me be on the masterlist! I’m so excited, but I’m not super proud of this one, so please feel free to give feedback.

Masterlist Here!

Go see everyone’s super awesome fics and art pieces they worked so hard on!!

ART BY @brttpaige on Twitter🖤 Go check out her artwork, she’s fantastic!

Warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, AGED UP (mid twenties), fluff, insecurities, smut, body worship, chubby kink, marking (hickies), Papi kink

Pairing: Sero Hanta x reader

The local news station hailed it as “the storm of the century,” and they weren’t wrong. You’ve watched the snow pile up beyond the window, building from a light dusting on the grass to literal knee-high drifts. And it shows no sign of stopping.

The place you’re stranded is stocked up on groceries, you’d charged every electronic device to your name, and you’d cranked the thermostat as high as it would go until the inevitable happens —

The power goes out.

So now you’re stuck indoors, with only a certain someone for company. The same someone you’ve been pining after for ages. Snow stacks up higher and higher outside. As the cold seeps in, and you both drift closer, you realize this was somehow the one thing you hadn’t thought to prepare for…

The snow outside was pretty at first, but now with the doors and windows to your small cottage-type home half covered, it seemed almost oppressive. With the power outage, there was no television to drown out the quiet, only deafening silence and the movement of your new roommate, Sero Hanta.

It didn’t start this way, you hadn’t always obsessively paid attention to his mannerisms. At one point in time, he was just a hero working for the same agency you provided medical care for. You were just support staff, until a dumb villain thought you were “important” and kidnapped you, leaving the heroes you saw as coworkers to rescue you. After that, the agency wanted you to live in the adjacent apartments, but you refused. Magically, two days later, Sero Hanta approached you asking about your spare room under the guise of his lease running out. You thought it seemed a bit suspicious, particularly that this gorgeous man had “nowhere else to go”, meaning no significant other to take him in. Of course, you agreed, being a nice person and maybe bit naïve. He moved his stuff in, didn’t make much of a fuss, and mostly left you to your own devices. That is, until you noticed some... abnormalities. The lingering glances, the newly installed security cameras, the not-so-subtle ideas to spend time with you of having meals together or watching movies, making sure you’d eaten or slept... He cared too much. He was so perfect- gorgeous, tall, easygoing, had similar goals as a rescue hero, funny, and he cared. He cared for you, which made living with him so much harder. You found yourself enjoying nights with him, wanting to sit a little closer, wanting to impress him with new dishes to make for dinner, ditching your ex’s sweatpants for cute sleep shorts, relishing in fantasies of his protective nature and dominating stature with your hand between your thighs... You thought you were going to choke when he started walking around in only gray sweats or a towel after his shower. You tried your best to keep eye contact, not stick around too long, not encroach upon his comfort in his own house. You failed to notice the smirk on his face when you quickly excused yourself or when you turned away too fast after being caught staring.

Sero had originally taken this as an assignment, although he did have a bit of a crush on you from the times you’d patched him up after rough shifts. He thought of himself as your own personal hero, but that mindset soon turned into more than just an assignment. He was protective over you, and he found himself getting defensive if you even mentioned another guy. He had tried flirting within reason, just making dinners and watching movies, but he got cocky when he had walked past your door one night and heard your little whimpers. He decided to test his theory, wearing his sweats lower than he normally would and walking back to his room in a towel, and delighting in strolling past your room to hear your muffled moans and the vibrations of the toy you never used to use. You were getting desperate, and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t boost his ego to hear his name through the walls. This, however, was NOT something he’d planned on.

Everything was fine, being stuck in the house together was nice, until the power went out. The heat somewhat remained in the house until night, when you curled up on the couch under every blanket you had and he layered on an extra hoodie and lounged next to you. He looked cold...

“H-Hey... Sero? Um... You look cold. Do you want a blanket?”

“Hmmm, but then wouldn’t you be cold too?” He chuckled and scratched the back of his neck.

“Well... Maybe... But that’s okay! You need to be warm too!!” God, you’re so sweet.

“I mean... You could always come over here, we can be warm together!” He stretches out his arm and beckons you over, inviting you to curl up next to him. You shift over, spreading the blankets over your roommate and hiding your blushing face under the pile of softness, keeping at least 3 inches of space between you before he rests his arm behind your head.

“Thanks, y/n, this is uh... nice!” He hides his disappointment at your perceived rejection, going back to look at his phone.

After 20 minutes of scrolling, you can’t take it anymore. He smells so good, and you can feel the warmth radiating from his body.

“I’M GONNA GO TO BED NOW. Uh, goodnight!” You basically shouted, too loud to be natural. You abruptly stood up before slightly shrinking from the frigid air. When did it get so cold in here?

“Hey, it’s really cold... We don’t really have a ton of blankets, and I’m worried you’re going to freeze, so maybe we could sleep in my room tonight? Just for, ya know... body heat?” He sounds nervous, like he expects you to freak out and reject him completely.

“Well... I-I guess that’s smart... You’re right. So... Let’s go?” Holy fuck, you are so nervous. You were originally escaping to your room like you normally do, too horny to continue hanging out with Sero and retain your sanity, but now you’re sleeping with him?! What the fuck are you thinking?!

He gathered the blankets and lead you into his room, holding the door for you before plopping down your nest of fabric. You stand awkwardly in the center of the room, waiting for something you have no idea what. Sero unceremoniously strips himself of his hoodies and sweats and climbs into bed, seemingly out of habit, before turning his attention to you and holding the blankets open.

“Are you coming?” He smirks, putting on a confused voice that doesn’t quite match the mischief in his eyes.

“I-...” FUCK, he’s beautiful. Lean muscles flexing with every movement, shaggy hair falling over his face, and holy... The tight black boxers are NOT helping the whole “too turned on to function” situation.

“Oh... Sorry, I read somewhere that skin-to-skin contact is better for warmth. You’d probably know better than me, I guess.” He grins, as though this entire thing is nonchalant and completely normal. “I can help you if you’d like~”

“Uh nope, yeah, you’re right!! I’ll uh just... Can you close your eyes?” You are panicking. Every insecurity you’ve ever had is coming to bite you in the ass. You’re suddenly hyper aware of how much space your body takes up, remembering everything those stupid bitches in high school said about you.

“Y/n, you’ve seen me in that skin tight hero suit and you’ve patched up most of my body. It’s totally fine! PLUS, you’re sleeping in my bed, am I gonna have to close my eyes the whole night??” He jokes, not knowing that your shyness isn’t rooted in principle, but fear. Upon seeing your face, his smile falters and he autocorrects, “You know, I think you’re beautiful, but if you want me to turn around, I promise I will.”

“No, it’s-it’s fine. It’s okay. Wait- did you just call me beautiful?” You try to cover your shocked expression as you take off your sweater and slide off your fuzzy pajama pants. Sero is thankful your head is stuck in your sweater as his jaw practically drops. Oh fuck, he’s screwed. His eyes follow your curves from your chest, down your sides, to the pouch of your tummy and the plump fullness of your thighs... If he thought he was having trouble focusing before, there’s no way there’s gonna be enough blood in his brain when you’re half naked next to him... Speaking of... Shit, he’s hard... Okay, it’s fine, just tuck it in your waistband like you did back in school...

You climb into bed as quickly as you can, still keeping a few inches between you and Sero until he wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his chest. You squeak in surprise and he chuckles, “You can’t be warm unless you’re over here! C’mere.” He nestles his face into your hair and splays a hand across the curve of your lower back. Feeling very naked and very nervous, you shift in his hold and snuggle closer to the heat he gives off, but halt your motions when you feel him twitch against your thigh. Neither of you are breathing, praying the other didn’t notice the rock hard length pressed between your bodies. Somehow, in the time you spent essentially playing dead, you both fell asleep cuddled together.

Over the course of the night, you had shifted to straddle your leg over his torso and he had turned on his back with his hand resting on the space between your thigh and your butt. Sero was the first to stir from his slumber when he felt you move against him, a small whine escaping your parted lips as your hips rolled against his. Oh... OH... Is y/n-? oh fuck y/n is dreaming... and grinding on me... fuck, this shouldn’t feel so good... He tries his hardest to go back to sleep, but the feeling of your sleeping body brushing up against his cock keeps him wide awake. He was trying to stay perfectly still until he heard your tiny whisper “Hanta~”... His hips involuntarily thrust, drawing out the most sinful moan from your throat as the head of his dick added friction on your clit that woke you up. You start to move away, embarrassed and hoping to check that he’s still asleep, but Sero’s grip tightens around your thigh and presses you harder onto him.

“Good morning to you, too~... If you needed my help getting off, you could’ve just asked, babygirl~” The lust and sleep clouding his voiced, combined with the steady roll of his hips makes you whimper and tuck your face into his neck.

“Awww so shy~ You were moaning my name earlier. Why don’t we see how loud I can make you, princess?” He speaks lowly as he flips you onto your back, hovering over you.

“I- I... Please.” You breathe wrapping your legs around his waist and stare up at him, wiggling your hips and sliding your hands up his biceps.

“Can I- Can I kiss you? Are you sure you want this? I’ve had feelings for you since before I moved in and I just... I never want to hurt you.” Cupping your cheek and searching your face for any hesitation, Sero starts succumbing to his own insecurities. He never wants to hurt you, and he knows he isn’t the flashy hero some of his friends seem to be... He needs to hear you say it.

“Sero... Yes~. I want you, please kiss me... I feel the same way. Please~...” Upon hearing your confession, Sero slotted his lips against yours. The kiss was sweet, gentle. Breathing each other in felt so right, so natural, and you followed his lead when he slid his hold to the back of your neck to deepen the kiss. His hand drifted down, following the curve of your breasts, tracing your sides and resting on the pouch of your tummy. Just as you were starting to feel self conscious, Sero groans and moves to kiss your neck, mumbling “You’re so beautiful, y/n. Fuck, so perfect. You feel so soft, I need you so bad~” The whimper he draws from you when he sucks a deep mark into the column of your throat is absolutely lewd, you can barely believe it came from you. He kisses his way down your body, leaving hickies along your skin and squeezing every inch he can get his hands on. You look down at him, his eyes dark with lust and admiration as he leaves opened mouthed kisses along your inner thighs, making you more needy than you thought possible. He strokes his thumb along your clothed slit and moans at your wetness.

“Fuck- you’re so wet for me, angel. I want to taste you, you’re so cute like this. Let’s take these off, yeah?” He looks to you and hooks his fingers under the waistband of your panties, asking for permission and grinning like an idiot when you lift your hips to help him. Before you can say anything, he’s prying your legs open and diving in, moaning as he laps your slit and sucks your clit into his mouth. You run your fingers through his hair and grip him, pulling him into you and grinding against his face. His groans send vibrations straight to your core, pinning your hips with one arm and sliding two fingers into your dripping cunt.

“M-more!! Oh god, please Sero, just like that- I want more!” You moan so prettily for him, but he wants something more. He releases your clit with a pop and leans up, stilling his fingers inside you and wrapping his free hand around your neck. The pressure and dominance has you clenching around his fingers, and he takes notice.

“You either call me Hanta or Papi, nothing else. You understand? I want you to say my name when you cum.” He commands, and sends a shiver down your spine. “Oh you like that, huh?~ I can feel you squeezing my fingers. Why don’t you tell me what you want, baby?~”

Your brain goes hazy when he leans in and places little love bites on your neck and collarbones. “PAPI~! Yes, I love it! Please fuck me, I want to feel you, I need moreee~” You pant as he pulls his fingers out of you, leaving you unbearably empty.

“Oh baby, I’ll fill you up, don’t worry. But first, why don’t you suck my cock?~” He strips himself of his boxers and flips the two of you, pulling you on top of him. He’s so long, just thick enough to stretch you and reach every amazing spot inside of you. The sight of his hard length has you drooling, anticipating feeling the weight of him on your tongue. You give the head a few kitten licks, relishing in the way he groans and twitches in your hand. He laces his fingers at the base of your head and lets you set your own pace, wrapping your plush lips around him. Bobbing your head up and down, running your tongue along the vein on the underside of his dick and swirling it around the head- you love seeing his reactions. The way his breathing increases and his hips buck when you hollow your cheeks. He looks so pretty like this, you can’t help but rub your thighs together for some kind of friction. Luckily, he notices how desperate you’ve gotten and pulls you up to straddle him with one hand still on your hair and the other gripping your hip, calloused fingers digging in and massaging the fat there.

“As much as I want to cum in that perfect little mouth, I think my baby needs to be filled, yeah?” He fists his cock and strokes the head through your wetness, gathering your slick and making you involuntarily grind against him. “Beg for my cock, babygirl~, tell Papi what you want.” The smirk on his face is utterly sinful, teasing you and enjoying the fucked out expression on your beautiful face.

“PLEASE I want your cock, I wanna be full, just fuck me already!!! Please stop teasing me Hantaaa~” Just as you grind your hips down onto him, he thrusts into you, cutting off your pleading with a needy moan. “Ah~ fuck- so full, so full, oh my god! Yes Papi~!”

“Oh shit angel, fuck- you feel so good.” Hanta grabs your hips and helps you slowly fuck yourself on him, “Just like that, baby, just like that. Ride my fucking cock. Fuck- you’re so tight...”

The dirty talk pouring out of Hanta’s mouth, combined with the stretch of his hot length stirring up your insides, you find yourself embarrassingly close to climax already. Your first orgasm hits you like a train, completely knocking the air out of your lungs and causing you to collapse onto Hanta’s chest. He seizes the opportunity to flip the two of you, holding you underneath him and fucking you into the mattress.

“Ah ah ahhhhh~ Hantaaa~ I can’t! I can’t, I just came, it’s too much!!! oh FUCK Papi!!!” You feel the tears welling up in your eyes from the overstimulation and pleasure.

“Yes you can, babygirl. You’re taking me so well, you’re such a good girl. I know you love it, I can feel your pussy flutter around me. So honest, angel. You’re so perfect like this- fuck.” Hanta grips the back of your thighs and pushes your knees to the bed, hitting even deeper within you. The head of his cock kisses your cervix with every thrust and makes you scream out, nails digging into his back, and egging him on.

“Come on, mi amor, cum with me. I know you can, I can tell you’re so fucking close... Cum on my cock, that’s right. Cum for me.” His long fingers reach down and rub quick circles on your clit. He leans in to sink his teeth into the junction of your neck and your shoulder, sending you over the edge into your climax. Your vision goes white and you clamp down around him, cunt spasming as you squirt all over his thighs and abs.

“F-fuck!!! That’s so fucking hot~ I’m gonna- Ah~” He fills you to the brim with his sticky release, the warmth spreading through your core and coating your walls. Hanta releases your legs and lays on top of you, sweaty bodies pressed together until he comes down from his high.

“That was so amazing, angel. You were so good for me. Such a pretty baby, all mine...” He pulls back to kiss your temple and rolls over, petting your hair and lightly scratching your back.

“You have no idea how happy that makes me... I always want to be yours.” You giggle, bubbly at his claim on you and still buzzing from your high. You curl up into his chest, wrapping your arms around his waist and holding him close. “Mine.”

“Mmhmm, all yours.” He breathes a chuckle and places a kiss to your hairline. “I’m glad I can warm you up, lovebug.” He smiles as your breathing evens out, falling asleep with you in his arms.

[quickspinner]

Oops - Part 2

Part 1 | Part 2 | AO3

(See part 1 for summary and warnings)

Marinette was having a hard time keeping her mind on girls’ night. Rose and Juleka had just signed a new lease to move in together in the coming month, and it should have been exciting, but somehow she just couldn’t get into the discussions about decor and whose couch they should keep and how many dishes they really needed.

Marinette had other things on her mind. 

Her phone buzzed in her hand and she glanced at the others quickly before turning it over. 

Sorry, babe, I’ve got a gig that day. Wish I could.

Marinette bit her lip, trying not to be upset. She started to type a reply, when another set of messages came in. 

You could come if you want We could go home together after Just go easy on the drinks this time ;)

Marinette giggled, but sent back You sure? I won’t be in the way?

I’d want you there even if you were. You’re small, we can stick you in an instrument case if we need to

Marinette laughed aloud at that. 

Should I dress up? she typed.

Anything you wear looks good on my floor. Do what makes you happy 

Marinette pressed her legs together, bouncing her knees, and then sent, before she could rethink it, Doing you makes me happy.

There was a long pause before his next message, and then it was just an address and a time, followed by Can’t wait to see you Friday . And Saturday morning. Don’t make lunch plans. 

Marinette gave a little squeal, hiding her face in her hands. 

All of the girls were looking at her with varying expressions. Juleka and Alix looked amused, Rose excited, and Mylène just looked happy for her. 

Alya was looking at her with a slow spreading grin. “Well weeeeell,” she drawled, leaning on the counter between them. “Let me guess. Setting up your next booty call with your new boytoy?”

There was enough truth in that to make Marinette blush deeply. Alya cackled. 

“Details, girl,” she said, slapping the counter. “You’ve been doing this guy for weeks now, what’s the story? He must be good to still put that dopey look on your face after all this time.”

“What—n-no!” Marinette spluttered, looking at the rest of the girls. Juleka was rolling her eyes while Rose and Mylène covered giggles. Alix had that same amused expression as she shook her head slightly. “I’m not gonna talk about that,” Marinette insisted. “It’s none of your business!” 

“Come on, Mari, spill,” Alya said, leaning forward again. “It can’t be that embarrassing. Does he fuck you up against a wall with all your clothes on and call you a naughty girl?” 

Marinette choked, and Alya laughed. 

“Oh, Marinette, you’re such an innocent,” she chortled, sitting back with a smirk like she had gained some kind of victory. 

Marinette’s face burned with both shame and...anger. How dare Alya dismiss her just like that? Like they were still silly teenagers and Marinette couldn’t even talk to a guy, let alone take him home and—suddenly she realized she was tired of Alya’s patronizing, and on top of that, she felt insulted on Luka’s behalf. Taking a breath, Marinette straightened her shoulders and put on the best air of nonchalance she could manage despite her red face. “He probably would, if I asked him to,” she said airily. “But he really likes to take his time for that part.” Summoning up every ounce of the boldness Luka inspired in her, she blurted, “If he wants to make me come fast and hard, he uses his hands.” 

The entire room went silent as they all stared at her. Pretending like she didn’t feel like she was going to throw up from nerves and embarrassment any second, Marinette added dreamily, “He has amazing hands.” 

Alya raised her eyebrows, clearly amused and at least half disbelieving. “Not his tongue?” 

“He’s a great kisser,” Marinette smiled, deliberately misunderstanding. Alya grinned wolfishly. 

“No, girl, I mean when he e—“

“Oh, he’s great with his mouth on me too,” Marinette interrupted, eyes widening innocently. “It’s just, when he uses his hands, he can still use his voice. Mm, he has such a sexy voice.” The shudder that went through her was entirely real. “It makes me so…” she couldn’t quite bring herself to say it, and took a sip of her wine instead.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng, I can’t believe that you like this guy dirty-talking you,” Alya accused, narrowing her eyes as she set her cup down with a slam. “Little miss sweetness and light. You can’t even handle it when we talk about fucking.”

Marinette shrugged as if she was completely indifferent to what Alya believed. “You don’t say it like he does,” she commented, and took another sip of her drink, staring off into the distance as if she’d completely forgotten Alya was there. She was stretching the truth a bit, she knew. It wasn’t dirty talk, not really, not the way Alya was thinking. Luka didn’t have to be filthy to work her up; he could recite phone listings in that hot, growling voice, and it would be enough to put her over the edge, so when he told her she was beautiful, that he loved the way she smelled or tasted or felt or sounded, or asked what she wanted, or suggested something he wanted her to do for him, or panted out how close he was…

She shivered again. 

Alya didn’t need to know that though. Marinette flicked her eyes around the others, a little nervous about their reactions. Mylène was smiling, Juleka was smirking, and Rose had her hands clasped together and was practically vibrating with excitement. Alix was snickering behind her hand.

“Aw, did Marinette just shatter all your illusions, Alya?” Alix laughed. “You just can’t handle that your oh-so-innocent bestie has a hot side piece.”

Marinette frowned. “Can you have a side piece if you don’t have a...a main piece?”

Alix patted her shoulder. “You can be your own main piece.” 

“Marinette,” Alya said, putting her drink down, suddenly serious. “This isn’t like you. Just who is this guy, anyway? Does he even have a day job?” 

“Yes,” Marinette frowned. “He’s a teacher.” It wasn’t a lie; Luka did teach private music lessons in addition to his performance work, but with Alya giving her that judgemental look, Marinette didn’t intend to give her any details. 

“Ooh, hot for teacher, nice.” Alix reached over and, though feeling a little foolish, Marinette met her high five, but Alya looked unconvinced.

“Well, just be careful,” Alya cautioned her. “You’re still on the rebound—” Am I? Marinette found herself wondering. It didn’t feel like it, actually, when she thought about it. “—and I know you’re feeling pretty vulnerable right now and I don’t want this guy taking advantage of you. If you wanna have fun with him, whatever, but be careful what you tell him and don’t loan him any money.” She sighed. “And especially, don’t fall in love with him. He’s a good time, and that’s it, and he’ll only break your heart if you start wanting more.” 

Marinette just stared at her, mouth hanging open slightly, as Alya turned away. There was a tense moment and then Rose piped up, “All right, are we ready for the movie? Let’s get started!” The girls all murmured agreement and began moving toward the living room.

Marinette put her drink down, 

“Hey,” Alix said, leaning over her shoulder. “Alya’s just trying to look out for you. She didn’t mean it how it sounded, you know that. If you say this guy is cool, I believe you, but it never hurts to watch out for yourself, right?”

“Y-yeah,” Marinette managed a weak smile. “I get it. Sure.” 

***

Marinette was having a shit day. One of her underlings had screwed up at work, which meant, to the bosses, that Marinette screwed up, and then she had to smile and take in the teeth from her bosses while soothing her horrified intern and trying to deal with the problems he’d caused. She’d complained about it to Alya when she got home, and stupidly, she’d mentioned that knowing she had a date with Luka tonight was the only thing that got her through the day. That earned her another well-intentioned condescending talking-to about being careful and not getting invested in something that was clearly only temporary. “I know you, Marinette,” Alya insisted. “He’ll say something sweet just trying to get you naked and you’ll get infatuated and start planning your whole future while the whole time he’s got one foot out the door.” Nino, who’d showed up to pick up Alya in the middle of it, had grudgingly sided with Alya over the whole thing. 

“It’s not really like you, Nette,” Nino said with an uncomfortable shrug. “I mean, I don’t want to be all judgy and weird. I just…well, you’ve...” He’d trailed off and hustled Alya out the door when he saw tears in Marinette’s eyes, leaving her at least with the dignity of breaking down in private. 

She flopped over the arm of the couch and sobbed until her phone beeped a reminder at her. Luka , she thought, touching her swollen face. She couldn’t go out like this. Honestly, she wasn’t sure she wanted to anymore. She just wanted to crawl into bed and pretend the rest of the world didn’t exist.

But she had this date, and…

Alya’s words flooded back and fresh tears fell down her face. Maybe Luka wouldn’t care if she canceled. Maybe…maybe she shouldn’t be feeling so sick about that thought. Maybe Alya was right and she was on the road to another heartbreak. Luka had never said anything, after that first day, about wanting anything more. They weren’t always having sex when they were together, they did other things, but they did always end up in bed eventually. But that didn’t mean anything! Right? Maybe—Marinette sighed. Maybe she didn’t need anything else to spiral about tonight, thanks so much, Alya. Why wasn’t she allowed to just have fun without Alya telling her what was best for her? She enjoyed spending time with Luka, and yeah, he made it clear he enjoyed all the... intimate things they did, but that didn’t mean— 

Focus , she reminded herself, wiping her eyes again. She still had a date tonight that she was in no condition to go to, and if she didn’t call soon Luka would already be on his way to meet her. 

She took a couple of deep breaths to steady herself and called him.

“Hey, beautiful, what’s up?” Luka asked, his smooth voice light and cheerful.

“Hi,” Marinette squeaked, and then gulped down a sob. Shit, she should have texted, she sounded awful.

Luka’s tone shifted immediately. “What’s wrong?” he asked. 

“N-nothing major, I just...I had a really bad day and...I don’t think I’m up for our date tonight. I’m so sorry, I know it’s really last minute, I hope you haven’t left yet, I just—” She caught a tear on her hand and wiped it away, trying not to sniffle into the phone.

“Of course it’s okay,” Luka said, his voice low and soft. “Don’t force yourself, it’s fine. Do you want to talk about it?” 

“No,” Marinette choked, her throat tightening again. 

“Okay. Well, how about if I grab some takeout and bring you dinner? I can pick up something for your roommate too if you like.”

“Oh, you don’t—you don’t have to do that. Alya’s out with her boyfriend, I’m not sure she’s even coming back tonight. I mean, you don’t have to pick up anything at all, I can just scrounge something, I'll be fine, I think we have some...some ramen or something I can make…I’m not very hungry right now anyway.” Ugh, she was a babbling idiot, why hadn’t she just texted him.

“Late lunch?”

“No…” Marinette frowned, trying to think. “I don’t think I ate lunch.”

“Thought so,” Luka chuckled. 

“B-but—I—“

“I don’t have to stay if you’d rather be alone,” Luka told her, his voice so full of sympathy that she wanted to cry all over again. “But at least let me bring you something to eat. It’s not like I had other plans. What’s your favorite food to cry into?” His tone turned teasing. “I can at least bring you some real ramen instead of the instant stuff, if that’s really what you want.” 

Marinette bit her lip, picturing for a moment the congee she used to get at the shop by her old office. She loved it, because it reminded her of her mother’s, but she hadn’t had in in ages because they didn’t deliver to this part of town, and—

“Anything you want,” Luka told her softly. “Come on, what are you thinking about?” 

“It’s out of your way,” Marinette said, shifting on her couch. “I...give me just a second, I’ll think of something, um…” 

“Marinette,” Luka said, a touch of amusement in his voice. “Just tell me what you want. I’m all over this town for gigs all the time, a few extra subway stops won’t kill me.” 

She told him, and gave him directions. 

“Okay. I’ll go pick it up and be there as soon as I can. You take a nice long bath or a shower, or at least wash your face, okay? Get comfortable for a night in.”

Marinette smiled a little at his prescription, and whispered, “Okay.” She sat there a few minutes longer after they hung up, trying to gather enough caring to get up and do as he suggested. Finally she made it up off the couch, and drifted into the bathroom.

She cried more in the shower, but she did feel better after standing in the hot water, which at least relieved some of the stiffness and stinging of her face and eyes, and helped her breathe easier. She sat on her bed wrapped in her towel for a long moment, feeling limp and languid, but if she was sitting here naked when Luka showed up, he’d probably think she wanted some other kind of comforting, and she just wasn’t sure she felt like it tonight. She dug out one of her more modest nightgowns, made of thin, soft fabric that fell to her calves, with wide straps and a shallow scoop neck that covered most of her chest. It was still pretty, because Marinette liked pretty things, but it wasn’t seductive or anything like that. 

Not that she was in any condition to seduce anybody, she thought, as she pressed her fingers below her aching eyes. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to let Luka come over. Would it hurt his feelings if she made him leave the food at the door?

Marinette had almost decided to do just that when she heard him knock. She paused with her hand on the doorknob, and then sighed. Well, if her puffy, blotchy face and stuffed up nose grossed him out and he didn’t want to see her anymore, then at least that would be one less thing for Alya to bitch at her about, she thought as she opened the door.

Luka’s expression shifted from concern to sympathy as soon as she came into view. “Aw, come here,” he said, reaching for her as he stepped inside. Marinette let him wrap his arm around her and leaned into him as he squeezed her. He kept her under his arm as he walked to the table, where he put the bag of food down and then turned to embrace her fully, folding her in a tight hug, as he swayed slightly and rubbed her back. It felt amazing, actually, and Marinette pressed her face into his chest, inhaling his scent and enjoying the firm feel of him, warm and solid. 

“You want to eat at the table or somewhere else?” he asked. 

“Couch?” she mumbled into his chest, and he steered her over to it. 

“Sit down then, and I’ll get it all ready.”

He brought her the bowl a few minutes later, sitting down next to her as he made sure she had a grip on it before he let go. “Do you want me to go?” he asked, tucking a damp lock of hair back from her face. “Or would you rather have some company? I won’t be offended, if you’d rather be alone.” 

Marinette looked up at him and opened her mouth, and then changed her mind, looking down with a blush. “Actually some company sounds nice,” she mumbled. 

Luka smiled, and leaned forward to kiss her temple gently. “Let me grab my food then.”

When he returned with his plate, he sat next to Marinette and put his arm around her shoulders. Marinette cuddled against his side, tucking her feet under herself. She admired the ease with which Luka balanced his plate on his knee as he ate, but then from some of the stories he’d told her she supposed he was probably used to eating in weird places

The congee felt good on her raw throat, and she ate almost the whole bowl before she sighed and set it on the coffee table to snuggle more firmly against Luka’s side. He’d already finished, and he put both arms around her. She told him a little bit about her day, leaving out the details of the argument with Alya, and Luka made sympathetic noises and kissed her forehead. 

Alya’s wrong about him , Marinette thought, tucking her face against his neck. He’d never treat anyone the way she thinks, even if it was only physical. He’s too sweet. And I don’t...I don’t think that’s what this is. I think...maybe he really meant what he said at the cafe. Maybe he still does. She took a shaky breath, and Luka’s face turned a little closer to hers, so she knew he was listening.

Marinette chickened out. “Could we...maybe get in bed and watch a movie?” 

“Sure, I’d love that.” Luka smiled. “What’s your favorite thing to watch when you feel crappy?”

Marinette blushed. “You’ll laugh.”

Luka grinned. “So what if I do? If you like it, that’s all that matters. Be selfish tonight, Marinette.” 

Luka followed her to her bedroom, and his eyebrows shot up when she produced a dusty old DVD with a picture of a bus on it. “Speed?” he said, sitting on the bed, and then bit his lip. He held up a finger, turned away from Marinette, and buried his face in her pillow as he laughed. Marinette grabbed her other pillow and whacked him with it. 

“I told you you’d laugh,” she pouted as Luka pushed himself up and leaned over to kiss her cheek. “I love Keanu Reeves.” 

“Give it here, and get comfy,” he told her, getting up. Marinette gave him the movie, and he put it in as she tossed the blanket back to the bottom of the bed and got under the sheet. Then she had an internal panic attack as Luka kicked off his shoes and socks and shimmied off his jeans. Oh, maybe she should have—but he’d never have been comfortable if she made him stay dressed, and it didn’t mean they were going to…Stupid, they could have stayed on the couch, why did she invite him to bed?

Barely thinking, Marinette caught the hem of his shirt just before he went to pull it off. “Can you...leave it on?” she asked, and blushed when he looked at her quizzically. “I really like cuddling with you but I...I just—”

“Just?” Luka asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Never mind, it’s stupid,” Marinette sighed, letting go, and feeling like an idiot. “You should be comfortable.

“So should you,” Luka said, sitting back down on the bed. “I can wear a shirt if you want, it’s no big deal.” He reached over and smoothed back her hair—now mostly dry, thankfully. “Is something wrong? You know you can tell me if I ever make you uncomfortable.” 

Oh, she was the worst. He was so kind to her and she was the worst , and how could she admit anything like this to him? Marinette hung her head, and told a truth that wasn’t the truth. “I just...don’t like it when our skin sticks together,” she confessed, and then put her hands over her face. “I’m so sorry. Forget I said anything. I’m being stupid.”

“I’m not forgetting anything,” Luka laughed, sliding under the sheet beside her. “Why are you acting like you did something wrong?” 

“It’s...not very romantic,” Marinette sighed, wrinkling her nose. 

Luka rolled his eyes. “I’d rather you be comfortable than preserve some imaginary aesthetic that no one but us would even be aware of. I don’t mind wearing my shirt or keeping the sheet pulled up if it makes you more comfortable.” He slid down a bit, and stretched his arm out towards her.  Marinette snuggled up next to him again, and sighed contentedly as she rested her cheek against his chest, glad that he wore a soft, slightly worn t-shirt instead of a crisp dress shirt. 

“Comfy now?” he asked, his hand sliding up to massage the back of her neck. 

“Mm,” she agreed, and leaned into his touch with a hum. Eventually they slithered down to lay flat in the bed, Luka curling against her back with his head on her pillow, murmuring sly comments about the movie every now and then that made Marinette giggle, and occasionally reach back to elbow him when she thought he was getting too far out of line. No one, she told him, dissed Keanu in her bed. 

“Yes ma’am,” he agreed, laughing into her hair before he kissed the top of her head. Marinette smiled. 

It was nice, having him snuggled up against her, his teasing voice in her ear, and Marinette’s mood was lifting with each passing moment. She found herself focusing on his broad hand resting on his stomach, his breath tickling the back of her neck, and the warmth of him behind her, the brush of his chest against her back when he breathed. Heat began to pool low in her belly, and her breathing quickened. She pressed back a little, just enough that her back was resting against her chest now, and Luka nuzzled her neck, placing a little kiss below her ear before settling again. Marinette sighed, annoyed with herself. Here she had been worried about giving him the wrong idea, but now that she was comfortable and relaxed, she was starting to change her mind. 

Marinette sniffed experimentally, and found she was breathing much better. She shifted slightly, biting her lip, and then rolled over to face Luka. He blinked at her a little sleepily, and then he smiled. “I’m glad you didn’t revoke my bed privileges. I’m really comfortable right now,” he murmured. “You look like you’re feeling better.” . 

“I am,” she said, and wiggled a little closer, her body already warming at the thought of his touch. She leaned up and kissed him, and any hesitation she’d still been feeling vanished at the soft feel of his mouth against hers. It seemed to wake Luka up too, because his hand went to her face and he returned her kiss with equal enthusiasm. Marinette caught hold of his shirt, and tugged him closer when he would have leaned back. “Can I be selfish, Luka?” she breathed, and felt him shudder as she kissed him again. “Even after all you’ve done for me? Can I ask for more?”

“Always,” he rumbled, rolling up onto his elbow to follow her as she kept tugging on his collar, wiggling to get beneath him. She gasped as he pressed against her, and arched her body up into his, suddenly feeling desperate. Had he been turned on this whole time and said nothing? Alya is so wrong about him. 

“Comfortable , huh?” she teased, and Luka grinned sheepishly.

“I was,” he defended, “Mostly. I can ignore it when I have to, and you didn’t seem like you were up for much.” He kissed her softly.  

“I wasn’t,” she admitted, and then rolled her hips up into him. Luka groaned, his forehead dropping to her shoulder as he grabbed at her hip, and her own eyes closed in pleasure. “I am now,” she sighed. “Please, Luka.” She shivered as she felt the fabric of her nightgown bunch under his big hands, the hem sliding up her calves and over her knees. 

Alya was wrong about him, Marinette was sure, looking up into his eyes as he bent down to kiss her gently, but thoroughly. He only broke the kiss when he finally found the hem of the nightgown. “Can I take my shirt off now?” he asked teasingly as he dragged the nightgown up over her head. Marinette made a muffled sound. “What?” he laughed, but his laugh cut off when she pressed her hips up into him again. 

“I said, yes please,” she told him smugly as he reached back for his collar.  

Marinette settled her arms around his neck and pulled him down into her, eager now for the press of his skin against hers. Luka’s hands carded into her hair, tipping her face to the perfect angle as his mouth descended on hers again. She spared one fleeting thought fr Alya’s warnings before she gave herself up to the moment.

Alya is wrong about Luka...but she might be right about me. Maybe I am falling in love with him. 

***

The movie menu screen had been playing for a while when Luka finally picked up the remote and turned the tv off. “I’m going to grab a drink,” Luka said, kissing Marinette’s jaw. “You want something?” 

“Yes, please,” Marinette sighed. “I don’t think I can move yet.” 

Luka chuckled and kissed her again. “Be right back.” 

Grinning to himself, Luka stopped to pull his boxers and jeans on and made his way to the refrigerator, leaning down to find the water bottles he knew were tucked into the back for him. He’d gotten picky about water on the road, so Marinette, thoughtful as always, kept a few bottles of his favorite brand for him. He grabbed one and cracked it open, taking a long gulp, and then bent to reach in and grab the filter pitcher to make a glass for Marinette. 

“Excuse me?”

Luka jumped and straightened, and turned around to find a woman standing in the apartment doorway, lit from the hall behind. She had one hand on her hip and the other on the doorknob, where a set of keys was still hanging. 

“Hey,” he said, shutting the refrigerator door. “You must be Alya. I’m Luka. I’m Marinette’s—ah—” He’d almost said boyfriend, but he wasn’t, technically, and he suddenly realized he had no idea what word to use. “Friend,” he finally finished lamely, acutely aware of how the word hung between them as he stood there half-naked and disheveled. He lifted the water bottle to his lips again, still parched. “Sorry, we didn’t realize you were coming home tonight.” 

He turned to get a glass from the cabinet, and felt Alya’s eyes on him as he poured the water for Marinette and put the pitcher back. He glanced up and, as he suspected, the look she was giving him was not one of appreciation. Luka had seen that look before and knew that she was seeing the dye and the piercings and the tattoos and not much else. He waited for her to say something, but when she didn’t seem inclined to, he shrugged. “Well, it’s nice to meet you,” he said quickly, and then made his way past her and back to Marinette’s room. “I’ll let Marinette know you’re home.” 

He shut Marinette’s bedroom door behind him, blowing out a breath, and then looked at the bed. 

He forgot about Alya for a moment when his eyes fell on Marinette, looking relaxed and blissfully happy, one lovely shoulder and her feet peeking out of the sheet she had tucked around herself. He could still see the marks of her earlier breakdown on her face, but she looked at peace now. 

If he hadn’t already been sure he loved her, he didn’t think anything on earth would have saved him from falling in that moment. 

Luka brought the water over and set it on her nightstand, then leaned over her to set his on the other one. Marinette smiled dreamily up at him, and he bent down and kissed her gently. She smiled against his lips.

“Your mouth is cold,” she told him, and giggled. 

“Yours is hot,” he teased, kissing her again, a little deeper. Then he sighed. “Your, um...your roommate is home,” he told her, half-regretting it as Marinette stiffened instantly. “I kind of ran into her in the kitchen.”

Marinette bit her lip, looking up at him as a blush lit her face. “Oops,” she murmured, and then giggled in a way that said maybe she wasn’t all that sorry. Laughing, Luka all but tackled her, pressing her back into the pillows as he kissed her messily, moving his lips to her neck and collarbone when she tried to squirm away from him. 

“What was that for?” Marinette giggled, pushing lightly at his chest until he propped himself up on his arms. 

“You are criminally hot,” he told her, smirking when the red tinting her cheeks darkened. “Especially when you blush.” Always when she blushed, but especially now, looking so ravished and yet so sweetly pretty, shy and shameless at the same time. 

He leaned down and kissed her again, more gently, and she hummed against him, kissing him twice more when he would have pulled away. 

When she finally let him sit back, he asked, “Do you want me to leave?” 

“No,” she said with determination, slipping her hand around the back of his neck and pulling him back down into another kiss. “Come get back in bed with me.” 

Not at all unwilling, Luka shimmied out of his pants and crawled over her, slipping under the sheet and tucking it around his front before laying an arm down in invitation. Marinette shifted over to him, and Luka shivered when she moved the sheet away from between them. Instead of settling her head down on his shoulder, she kissed his chest, and his neck, and pressed herself up against him. “I don’t think you’re as done as you led me to believe,” she whispered with a teasing smile. 

“Well not anymore.” Luka grinned up at her, shifting onto his back in answer to the press of his hands on her shoulders. “Feel like scandalizing your roommate?”

“Believe me, it’s her turn,” Marinette huffed, climbing on top of him, and looking up at her pretty face with smiling lips bruised from his kisses, haloed by mussed black hair he couldn’t wait to tangle his hands in again, Luka promptly forgot anyone else even existed. 

Later, he was nearly asleep, curled around Marinette with the sheet tucked between them, when she whispered, “Luka?”

“Hmm?” he blinked his eyes open, though he couldn’t see much. He felt her tense, though, and moved a hand to her arm, rubbing his thumb along her skin. 

“I think I’m falling for you,” she finally said, the sentence half a sigh as the air rushed out of her. 

Luka froze for an instant, completely awake now, and he felt Marinette flinch and tense. Quickly he pressed his lips to the back of her neck, and slid his arm around her waist. “Let me know when you’re sure,” he murmured against her skin. “I’m waiting at the bottom to catch you.” 

He felt her sigh and relax, and then she rolled, scooting up close against him and pillowing her head on his shoulder. Luka held her, rubbing her back softly, and turned his head to bury his face in the pillow to keep himself from screaming. 

On his way out in the morning, Luka gave Alya a broad grin and a two-fingered salute.

***

“Girls, we have a problem,” Alya announced, plopping into a chair and slamming her to-go cup down on the table.

“Good morning to you too, Alya,” Alix muttered, face propped on her fist. “What the hell is it that you needed to talk to us about this early?”

“I met Marinette’s boytoy last night.”

Blank stares from around the table. Alya sighed. “The one night stand? The guy she’s been fucking every night she had free for the last month and more?” 

Alix raised her eyebrows. “Still not seeing the point. So Marinette’s getting laid. A lot. Good for her. Wasn’t it your idea for her to get back out there in the first place?” 

Alya slapped the table. “That’s just it! She’s not out there! She’s hung up on this dude and my point is that this isn’t like Marinette. You know she can’t just do random hookups. This has been going on for a month straight and you know she’s going to catch feelings, if she hasn’t already. And that guy, he—he’s not Marinette’s type . He’s got tattoos and piercings and dyed hair and his clothes are practically rags!” 

“Sounds hot,” Alix observed, and Alya rolled her eyes. 

“It’s not Marinette , and he’s definitely not the type who’s looking to settle down with one girl. He’s going to fuck her until she starts wanting more and then he’s going to break her heart. If we’re lucky. If we’re not, he’ll string her along with a bunch of promises, probably cheating on her the whole time, and then really break her heart. This isn’t the kind of relationship Marinette wants!” She waved her hands around for emphasis. “Marinette wants a house and a picket fence and a—a hamster. She needs husband material .” 

“It does seem like Marinette wouldn’t be satisfied with a purely physical relationship,” Mylène said hesitantly. “But are you sure this man is no good? What if he does like Marinette?” 

“They could totally fall in love! Opposites attract, you know!” Rose added, hooking her arm through Juleka’s with a giggle. “Maybe all Marinette needs is somebody a little bit different to take her mind off...you know. Him .” 

“Rose, there’s different and then there’s different, ” Alya sighed. “Some different is okay, but picking up punk guys in nightclubs is a little extreme, don’t you think?”

“Mkay,” Alix sighed. “Even supposing we agreed with you, and I’m not saying we do, what would we even do about it?” 

“What we need is a distraction,” Alya said, tapping a finger on the table as her brow furrowed in thought. “Someone who can get her mind off of her fuckbuddy and back to thinking about kids and hamsters.” 

For a moment the girls sat in silence. 

“Well,” Juleka said slowly, as heads turned toward her. “There’s my brother, I suppose. He just got back into town a couple months ago.”

“Oh, that’s true!” Rose exclaimed, laying a finger alongside her cheek as she thought. “Ooh, that could work, Juleka. I mean, if Marinette and this guy are in love, then she’ll just be making a new friend, right? And if Alya’s right, then there’s no harm in just introducing Marinette to someone else.”

Juleka shrugged. “Hard to say with him though, whether he’ll be into Marinette. He’ll either get bored or fall hard. He likes creative types—“

“That’s definitely Marinette,” Alix said dully.

“People who are honest—transparent, even.”

Alix snorted. “Also Marinette.”

Juleka was looking even more thoughtful. “People who don’t back down, who think outside the box...yeah, we could try it.” She shrugged. “Don’t know what Marinette’ll think of him, though.”

“He is very handsome,” Rose pointed out. “Not much like— you know , but that might work in our favor after everything. He looks a little bit like Keanu Reeves, and you know Marinette loves him.” 

Juleka snorted. “He wishes he looked like Keanu Reeves.”

“They have the same vibe,” Rose defended. 

Juleka just shook her head. “Well, if Marinette’s into ink and piercings and the whole bad boy look right now, it shouldn’t be a problem, anyway. Dumbass looks like the rough type but he’s a total teddy bear. Best of both worlds, I guess.” 

“Okay, I’ve heard enough,” Alya declared, clapping her hands. “Plan A. Juleka and Rose are throwing a housewarming party.”

“We are?” chorused Rose and Juleka.

“We’ll invite Marinette, Juleka’s brother will be there, we get them together, and they hit it off, and she kicks her loser booty call to the curb. Problem solved.” Alya nodded firmly. 

Alix dropped her head onto her arms. “What’s plan B?” she mumbled. “Seems like this whole plan could fall apart if they end up not liking each other.”

Alya waved a hand dismissively. “We’ll figure that out after we see how this one goes. I’ll have thought of something before the party.”  

***

“This is a pleasant surprise,” Marinette said, tucking the phone between her shoulder and ear as she folded her laundry. “I didn’t expect to hear from you today. I thought you had plans tonight.” 

“I do,” Luka replied. “I just have a few minutes and I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Oh?” Marinette frowned. “What?”

“Well, I had a very interesting conversation with my sister today,” Luka told her, and she could hear amusement in his voice. “She invited me to a party later this week. Said there’s a friend of hers she’d like me to meet. Thought we might hit it off .”

“O-oh,” Marinette managed, dropping the shirt she held. “Really?” Insecurity flooded up and threatened to drown her. Aside from that one late night conversation, they hadn’t really revisited their relationship status. She hadn’t had the courage to bring it up again. If Luka wanted to meet someone else, he was still technically free to do so, but...but she’d thought...

“Yeah, maybe you know her,” Luka laughed. “She’s in your field, after all. Some hot-shot, up and coming designer named Marinette Dupain-Cheng .” 

“Oh. Oh. ” Marinette’s eyes widened, and then she frowned. “Wait, do I know your sister?”

“Well, that’s what I called to find out.” Luka snorted softly. “Know a Juleka Couffaine by any chance?” 

“Juleka?” Marinette shrieked. “You’re related to—how did I not know that? Why didn’t she ever say anything? Why didn’t you?” She racked her brains, thinking back. 

“Mm, generally we’ve been busy not saying other things. Gotta say Jules hasn’t exactly been on my mind when we’re together.” His low chuckle made Marinette blush. 

“Right.” Marinette blushed. “And I suppose I never mentioned your name to her, and Alya just calls you—” She stopped, embarrassed.

“What?” Luka asked, humor in his voice.

“My, um...boytoy.” Luka laughed uproariously, and Marinette began to giggle again. “Or sometimes things that aren’t quite so nice. She thinks you’re not good for me. Because...because of how we met, and all. Um.” She took a breath, hesitating, but then remembered that awful feeling just moments ago when it seemed like the floor had dropped out from under her, and decided it was time to put everything on the table. “She thinks you’re just in it for the sex, and I’m going to get invested and end up getting hurt.” 

“Oh, I see.” Luka drawled. “As if I haven’t been head over heels for you since the moment I saw you.” Marinette blushed, and bit her lip, but Luka went on before she could say anything. “I get it. Sounds to me like your roommate’s trying to set you up with someone who’ll take care of you. Get you away from that sex-crazed loser that’s seduced her poor little innocent bestie.” 

Marinette buried her face, phone and all, into the throw pillow next to her and giggled until her sides hurt and she was gasping.

“Are you done?” Luka asked, still sounding amused, when the giggling finally subsided. “Or do I need to send someone over there to administer oxygen?” 

“I’m fine,” Marinette snickered. “Listen, Luka, my friends are having a party next week and I’ve got this weird feeling they’re trying to set me up. Will you come be my date to Juleka’s party? Maybe—“ She steeled herself and took the plunge. “Maybe if I introduce them to my boyfriend , they’ll back off.

There was a moment of silence. Marinette forgot to breathe.

“I’m going to need you to say that again when we’re in the same room,” Luka said, voice deliciously deep and husky, “So I can kiss you properly. Can you come over?”

Air rushed out of her. “Aren’t you busy tonight?” she asked, and smiled at the sound of his laugh. 

“Not anymore.” 

“Are you sure?” she teased. “I thought you had plans.” 

“Consider them cancelled,” Luka told her, “Get your gorgeous ass over here.” 

She did, and after she had said it again, after the kissing and the other soft words, after the more-than-kissing, they cuddled close, happy, sated, and basking in their newly upgraded relationship. Marinette felt Luka stir and prop himself on his elbow.

“You know,” he said, his breath washing across her cheek. “I’m thinking about this party the girls are planning.”

“Do you still want to go?” Marinette asked, reaching up 

“Absolutely,” he said, and then his voice dropped, making her shiver slightly as he nuzzled her ear. “But why don’t we make things a little interesting.”  He whispered his plan in Marinette’s ear, and she began to giggle. 

***

Juleka sighed as she looked at their new apartment, cleaned and decorated without a scrap of cardboard left in the place, and gazed with exasperated fondness on all the little finger sandwiches and appetizers Rose had spent all day making. Luka had better appreciate this, she thought, as she pasted on a smile and started letting in the guests that began to arrive in ones and twos. Well, at least Rose was happy. Any excuse to bust out the glitter and craft paper and try out all these super cute recipes she found on Pinterest.

Juleka was genuinely happy to see Luka, though, when he finally knocked on the door. Her schedule had been packed lately, which was great from a career standpoint, but she hadn’t seen as much of him as she wanted to since he’d come back from his travels. She felt a little guilty that it had taken Alya’s plotting to get her to make room on her schedule to see him. 

Well, hopefully she was about to make up for it.

“Hey, Jules,” he said, kissing her cheek and then Rose’s. “Congratulations on the new place.” 

“Thanks,” Juleka half-smiled, all the admission she was willing to make that she was glad to see him. She was pleased to note that he’d listened to her admonishments and dressed up. He looked nice, in a black dress shirt open at the collar and jeans that were mostly intact. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing the tattoos on his arms, and the dye in his hair was bright and fresh. Good. Maybe he had half a shot with Marinette, if he didn’t open up his big mouth and screw it up. 

“We’re so glad you could make it, Luka!” Rose squealed, throwing her arms around his neck. Then she drew back with a dismayed expression. “Oh, but she’s not here yet.”

Luka shrugged. “That’s okay, I’m in no hurry. I meant to tell you, I’ve...actually been seeing someone, to be honest.” He had the grace to look sheepish, and winced at the way Juleka’s eyes widened.

“What?” she asked sharply, and then smacked his arm. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Luka shrugged, and Juleka’s heart sank at the stupid grin that spread over his face. “We weren’t really official until just a few days ago. After we talked about this. I don’t think I’ve put my guitar down since then except to pee, so…I kinda forgot.” 

“Gross,” Juleka muttered out of habit. 

“Oh,” cooed Rose, clasping her hands together, before grabbing Juleka’s arm and shaking her lightly. “Ohhh, he looks so happy!”

“I am happy,” Luka grinned. “Really, really happy. She’s amazing, I’ve never met anyone like her. It’s maybe too soon to say it, but...this could be it, you know?”

Juleka felt a little sick. She hadn’t realized she was so invested in setting up Luka and Marinette, but the crushing disappointment she now felt said she was. She liked Marinette a lot, and she loved Luka more than almost anyone else in the world, and the more she considered the idea of them together, the more she thought it could work. Even though she had told herself (and Rose) not to get her hopes up, she absolutely had. 

But Luka was practically glowing, so Juleka swallowed the sick feeling and told him she was happy for him. And she was, really. She had to be happy about anything that made him smile like that. As much as she would have liked to have Marinette for a sister, she wanted Luka’s happiness over all. 

She wasn’t looking forward to dealing with Alya, though. Focus. Luka was looking at her with a little hopeful half-smile on his face and Rose would kill her if she crushed his enthusiasm.

“Well, when you’re sure we won’t scare her off, bring her to dinner.” Juleka punched his arm lightly. “I have to meet the lunatic who would date you.” 

“Sure, sounds good. So, is there a tour?” Luka asked with a grin, and Rose bounced on her toes before grabbing onto his arm and tugging him further into the apartment. She gave Juleka one commiserating glance behind his back before she began introducing him to the small gathering of friends in their modest living room. 

Juleka sighed and stationed herself back by the door to head off Alya when she came in and warn her. 

The next person to show up, though, was Marinette, which was a bit surprising. She was supposed to be coming with Alya, and she wasn’t nearly as late as she usually was. Juleka felt like pouting as she looked over Marinette. She was dressed up too, in a chocolate brown dress that hugged her figure nicely to the waist, covered with a sheer lace overlay that ran up over her neck and shoulders. The skirt hung to her knees in sheer layers edged in scallops of pink lace that were piled thick enough to cover everything important, but thin enough to tease. Her hair was loose and flowing around her shoulders, and she was smiling so cheerfully, her blue eyes sparkling with excitement. She’d have been the perfect bait if the trap hadn’t already been sprung. Dammit, Luka , Juleka thought grumpily. You’re missing out, dumbass . 

“I brought cookies!” Marinette said breathlessly, holding up a cellophane-wrapped platter. “You can keep the plate, I got it for you.” 

Juleka mumbled her thanks, smiling at the combination of cookies shaped like roses and black bats on a platter that matched their new dishes. “Thanks, Marinette. That’s really thoughtful.”

“Of course,” Marinette grinned, bobbing on her toes a little. “I’m so excited for you guys!”

She looked so genuinely excited that Juleka had to smile. “Most everybody is here already,” Juleka told her, waving her on into the apartment. “Rose is in the back showing some people around, but she’ll be back up in a minute. Wine?” 

“Please,” Marinette said gratefully, and Juleka poured her a glass. “You did a great job of blending your styles, it looks so pretty in here, but, you know. Juleka pretty and not just Rose pretty. I really like what you did with the curtains—” 

Juleka let her ramble on, glancing at the clock now and again. Alya and Alix were due any minute and she had to head Alya off before she did anything...pushy. Luka didn’t like pushy. Marinette drifted into the living room to chat with some other friends—and damn, the front of that dress might be all sweetness and light but the back was really sexy. “Damn it, Luka,” Juleka muttered with a frustrated sigh. “This girl better be fucking incredible.”  

Luka was just following Rose back from the spare bedroom the girls were turning into a combination craft/music room, when he caught sight of Marinette chatting with a few other people in the living room.

Rose saw her almost at the same time, and gave a little squeal. “Marinette, you made it!” 

Marinette came to hug her, and Luka waited while they exchanged pleasantries, trying to keep his cool so he didn’t give anything away. Finally Rose remembered he was there and turned to him, tugging Marinette forward a little. 

“Oh, Marinette, this is Juleka’s brother Luka!” Rose chirped. “Luka, this is Marinette, the friend we were telling you about.” 

For a moment, they just looked at each other. Just long enough to give Rose pause. Then...

“Hi,” Luka said, grinning down at her. 

“Hi,” Marinette murmured, smiling up at him. 

 “You look good enough to eat,” he told her, settling a hand on her hip and tugging her closer. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Rose’s eyes widen and had to bite his lip to keep from laughing.

“Is that a promise?” Marinette winked, and the tremble in her voice said she was about to laugh too. 

He bent down and she pushed up and they met in a passionate kiss. Her arms went around his neck (she remembered just in time not to dump her wine down his back) and his hands found her back—which was mostly bare, he realized as he felt warm skin under his hands. The noise he made wasn’t very dignified but it would only add to the show; he slid his hands down her back and onto her ass. Just to really sell it, naturally. No doubt she was kneading his chest and shoulders for the same reason. 

Damn, she even tasted like chocolate, the little minx. He’d be willing to bet she did that on purpose.

Beside them, Rose practically had to stuff both fists in her mouth to keep herself from screaming. She looked around and grabbed Mylène’s arm, shaking her as Rose hopped up and down. 

“Rose, what is—oooohhh,” Mylène’s eyes went round as Rose spun her around to face the kissing couple. Rose leaned down and began to hiss excitedly into her ear. “Wait, slow down— what? ” Mylène slapped her own hands over her mouth and looked at Rose. 

“ I know!!” Rose whisper-squealed, reaching up to tug at her short hair with both hands. Both of them looked towards the door, where they could see Juleka letting in Alya and Alix.

“Marinette gave us the slip,” Alya said, rolling her eyes. “Something about needing to pick up a card or some nonsense. She’s looking good, though, which is a good thing for us, right? She’s got this cute little brown dress with pink and she looks like a chocolate strawberry macaroon.” 

“Wait till you see the back,” Alix grinned. “Just these two lace panels that meet between her shoulderblades and the rest is bare. Seriously hot. I’m totally begging her to make...” She trailed off as she looked at Juleka’s face. Juleka sighed.   

“Listen, Alya, I need to tell you—” Juleka began, but Alya interrupted her, her face scrunching up as she looked at something over Juleka’s shoulder.  

“Oh you’re kidding me, I can’t believe she brought him. What is she thinking?” Alya demanded, grabbing Juleka’s arm. “How could you let him in?” Juleka raised her eyebrows, but before she could say anything, Alix had leaned around them to see what Alya was looking at.

“What now?” Alix grumbled. 

“Marinette brought her boytoy,” Alya spat, frustrated. “I can’t believe her.” Juleka nearly laughed at the irony until connections started snapping together in her head. With a feeling of dawning horror, she paused and turned slowly to look behind her, just in time to see her brother sticking his tongue down her friend’s throat. I’ll kill him , she thought. “No wonder she didn’t give me any pushback when I suggested she dress up a little,” Alya muttered, but Juleka barely heard her. 

“Nice,” Alix said, still leaning around Juleka to see, eyebrows raising in appreciation. Then she frowned. “Hold on, isn’t that—” 

At the same time, Juleka blurted “Wait,” and Alix broke off as both she and Alya turned to look at Juleka, who had gone pale. “ That ’ s the guy Marinette went home with? The guy she’s been banging every chance she got since—”  A look of horror crossed her face. “That’s who she’s been telling us—oh, gross. ” She put a hand over her mouth, sure she was about to vomit. “Oh my God, I don’t know what I did to deserve this but I deeply regret whatever it was.” 

“Never mind all that, we have to find a way to get him out of here before your brother shows up,” Alya hissed. 

Juleka groaned and put her face in her hands. 

Alix began to laugh. “I do feel sorry for you,” she told Juleka. “I really do. I definitely wouldn’t want to know any of that about my brother.” She paused, and made a face, turning slightly green. “Oh God, did not need that mental image, and mine’s not even real.” 

“I’m gonna hurl,” Juleka mumbled. “I can’t believe I have to live with this knowledge.”

Across the room, Marinette broke their kiss long enough to ask, breathlessly, “Think they got the point?” Luka glanced up and began to laugh into her hair as she nibbled his collarbone. 

“Juleka’s face is priceless right now.” He dropped his head and licked her neck, before moving his face up to whisper in her ear. “If we don’t get out of here right now I’m going to bust a gut and ruin everything.” 

“Then by all means, let’s go,” she giggled. “Tell me the next time they look over.” 

Luka glanced up. “Now.” 

Marinette slipped her hand between his legs and squeezed, making him jump with a “whoa.” 

“Sorry. Too much?” Marinette whispered. 

“Not if we’re leaving right now,” he grinned back, and let Marinette take his hand, giving him her best bedroom eyes as she backed towards the door, tugging him along. He didn’t even have to feign the dopey look on his face as he stared back at her. As they passed the knot of her friends, all staring saucer-eyed at them, she waved at them.

“Thanks for inviting me, Juleka! Sorry I have to bow out early, but um...I have something to take care of,” Marinette giggled, handing her wine glass to Alix as she kept towing Luka towards the door. He smirked at Juleka and winked.

“I’ll text you about dinner,” he called over his shoulder, laughing, and then grabbed Marinette’s ass just before they stepped out of the door.

“Holy fuck,” Alix muttered, still gaping at the door. “Was that really Marinette Dupain-Cheng?” She began to laugh. “I am so fucking proud.” 

“This isn’t funny!” Alya hissed. “This is a disaster!” 

“Oh, it’s hilarious,” Alix gasped, barely able to breathe, and Rose and Mylène nodded, both giggling. Rose squealed, bouncing on her toes. 

“This is amazing, I can’t believe it, it’s like fate or something—”

“I’m not sure that’s how fate works.” Mylène was trying to hold in her laughter for Alya’s sake. “But they certainly seem happy together.” 

Juleka, still looking a little green, put her hand on Alya’s shoulder before Alya could retort. “Look, it’s fine. You don’t have to worry about her. Luka’s the only person on the planet who’s a bigger sap than Marinette. If he’s into her, he’s all in.” Remembering the way Luka had been glowing when he’d talked about his new girl—when he talked about Marinette —she managed a tiny smile despite her nausea. If Luka got his way maybe she’d have Marinette for a sister-in-law after all. 

It was wiped away a second later as Alix guffawed, “Oh, she loves him being all in,” and Juleka groaned. 

“I need alcohol now ,” she grumbled. “I am going to give him so much shit in the wedding speech to make up for this.”

***

Outside, Luka and Marinette got to the elevators, and then collapsed against the wall in a brief fit of giggles.

“That was brilliant,” Marinette laughed, squeezing Luka’s arm. “I’m so embarrassed but it was so worth it, did you see Alya’s face?” 

“Juleka’s gonna kill me,” Luka chortled. “I can’t wait. Come here.” He pulled her close and kissed her, softer and more carefully than he had inside, and Marinette hummed with pleasure. Not that she hadn’t been enjoying their sloppy makeout, but this was more Luka’s style, and since she loved Luka, she—Marinette paused, and pulled back to look at him, biting her lip as he blinked and smiled softly at whatever he saw in her face. Marinette took a breath.

“I love you,” she said, keeping her eyes on his, though her pulse hammered in her veins. She hadn’t thought his eyes could get any softer, but he looked at her as if she was the greatest treasure in the world as he cupped her cheek and laid a soft kiss on her lips.  

“I love you too,” he said roughly, and gathered her up in his arms, squeezing her tight, lifting her off her feet as he squeezed her hard. 

Marinette giggled into his shoulder. “Poor Alya,” she muttered. “So wrong and so right at the same time.” She pulled back and kissed him again. “Take me home, before someone catches us making out in the hallway.” 

“Too late, dudes.” 

They both looked up, and Marinette’s mouth fell open as she saw Nino stepping out of the elevator with a pained expression. “Does the phrase get a room mean anything to you guys?” 

“Oh,” Marinette ducked her head sheepishly. “Sorry, Nino. By the way, this is Luka. He’s...Juleka’s brother?” 

Nino blinked, and then groaned. “Oh, shit.” 

Marinette giggled. “We’re um...we’re leaving now. Uh...Alya might be a teensie bit—” She held up her pinched fingers. “...stressed?” 

Nino rolled his eyes, but reached back to catch the elevator door for them before it closed. “Guess I’m on damage control,” he sighed, but with a grin. “Come on, get out of here.”  Needing no further encouragement, Marinette pulled Luka into the elevator. “Bring him to dinner or something next time,” Nino called as he let the door close. “We can’t keep meeting like this.” 

In the elevator, Luka and Marinette looked at each other. “Oops,” she whispered, and they both broke down laughing. Luka hugged her close, and Marinette sighed. “You know,” she mused. “As far as mistakes go…” She smiled up at him. “You’re the best one I ever made.” 

[stevenbasic]

“Hi Dr J, I’m glad we finally get to chat…”

Holy shit.

——

Earlier that day, I’d been told at the front desk that there was a lady from Evolution Pharmaceuticals on the line, and that she’d like to speak with me. Aubrey had always been good about screening out the sales pitches, the irate patients, the people with whom I really never needed to actually talk. So that she was pulling me aside for this call told me that this one might be something I should probably take...

But - ugh. No. I didn’t want to. This had been a long day, a long week so far - and it was only Tuesday! God, the past few months had been more and more exhausting, humiliating and emasculating with each passing hour. And the more I learned, the more it seemed that this company was at the heart of my troubles. Yes, it offered the opportunities of great financial rewards for the practice with this clinical study trial in which we were going to be participating. Since Jeanette, my previous Office Manager, had left, the mismanagement of the business had us in dire straits. Without the money from Evolution’s study and the “Lean In” grant from the women’s advancement group, I’m not sure we’d still be afloat. So, yeah, maybe I should have taken the call.

“I’ll call them later,” I told Aubrey, and grabbed the films I needed for my next patient.

That had been three hours ago, before my little hallway meeting with Melissa. Since then Gianna - some woman who’d wanted to speak to me about the trial - had called two more times. Left messages. Really wanted just fifteen minutes of my afternoon. Needed to speak with me. I refused each call.

Finally done with patients, sitting in my office at the end of the day as darkness crept in from outside, I sighed as Brittni from the desk buzzed me. She said that Gianna was on the line again. “Can I transfer her?”

“No,” I replied on the intercom, noticing that a little green light had blinked to life on the camera I had clipped to my monitor. I hadn’t seen it before, this light. In fact...when did I get a camera on this computer?

“Tell her I'll call tomorrow...” I finished.

I had set back to finishing some patient notes on my desktop when, suddenly, my screen flashed to black. For a quick moment I thought - oh no, a crash - but then a new, unfamiliar window appeared, and my mouse pointer began moving on its own accord. What the…? The window went full screen and next thing I knew I was in a video chat with-

“If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were avoiding my calls…” the woman onscreen spoke, laughing casually as she tossed her hair...

“oh, uh…” I was immediately agape. This was who’d been trying to call me all day??

“Anyway...Hi Dr J, I’m glad we finally get to chat…”

Holy shit. This girl was gorgeous. Look at those tits.

As I stared, still shell-shocked and speechless from having my computer hijacked out from under me by a bosomy corporate careerist, she went on to introduce herself as Gianna Albertini, from the clinical trials department at Evolution Pharmaceuticals. She explained how excited she and her team was to get the study off the ground at the practice. Things had been fast tracked at the FDA, they were just waiting for some rubber stamps, and everything looked very promising for their product. She apologized for not being able to meet in person, at least for a while. “I’m on some new retroviral treatment, and they have me quarantined at home,” she explained with surprising nonchalance, “yadda yadda yadda…”

Finally, after a good several minutes of watching her talk - and she held my attention easily, her rack possibly rivaling Melissa’s - she let me get a word in edgewise. I was still confused by how in one moment I was working on my patient charts, and then in the next I was in a video chat. “H-how did you…?”

“Sorry,” Gianna laughed, casually waving away any privacy concerns I was currently about to voice, “I had to remote in, take over your desktop. I really needed to speak with you.” Beyond the blatant intrusions tactics she was obviously willing to employ, there was something in this woman’s eyes, her demeanor, that was making me more and more concerned as the conversation - such as it was - continued. She may have been acting relaxed and friendly, decidedly informal, but there was a seriousness just below the surface that even I could see, even through the screen, and even in the face of those enormous tits. “Plus, maybe it’s actually better we do it this way, rather than on the phone,” she said, as she sat up nice and straight, “So we can see one another’s...smiling faces.”

Gahh...

As she got down to brass tacks, this young woman went on to describe to me some of the details of the new wings in our building into which the office would be expanding, how much more space we and Evolution be acquiring to fulfill the needs of the trial, and when it would all be ready. “Construction is ultra-fast tracked,” she said, “should be done within a few weeks.”

Weeks?? I marveled, silently incredulous. I’d seen the plans; it was a huge project. I’d figured months, if it ever really got done at all. But, the teams did seem motivated, and there were a lot of them, working day-in and day-out, all through the night. Maybe, perhaps? Could they pull it off in weeks?

We also talked about the structure of the trial, what it would involve day-to-day, and the long-term forecast. Evolution seemed ready to set up permanent shop with a clinic in the building, by taking over much of the lease of the new space, with the study just the first step in the door.

“You’ll be listed as the lead investigator,” Gianna explained, continuing on to detail the ins-and-outs of the trial, “but don’t worry. We’ll have plenty of people in place. You really won’t have to do too much, or deal with anyone at the main office. You’ll be reporting just to me...”

“r-reporting to you?” I asked, trying to ignore the impressive bosom which filled the screen, cowed me. That had taken me back a bit...'reporting to her'? I had noticed something in this young woman’s tone, through our chat, that led me to believe that she and I possibly had different views as to the, uh, hierarchy of this whole thing. I was the doctor around this place, and had gotten used to expecting a little respect, being top of the food chain. She, on the other hand, maybe had other ideas.

“That's right,” she said, “we’ll do these chats once a week, more if I feel like we need it. I’ll expect a report from you every day, but again don’t worry. It’s basically something you just have to sign, the girls will do it all. Our other providers will be handling most of the work with the patients in the study, entering data, keeping the FDA happy, blah blah blah. Maybe we’ll ask you to go in and talk to, examine a few of the subjects, just to keep things interesting for you.”

If I hadn’t felt totally emasculated and marginalized, my authority crippled by the horde of women who’d apparently taken over my practice recently, this was the clincher. It would appear that for this study I was going to be not much more than a coddled figurehead, a token man of straw, expected to satisfy the whims of some half-rate pharm company and this woman, at her beck and call. No way!

“I’m going to have to insist on directing care for, uh, the trial subjects,” I asserted, finally getting a moment to exert my will, “they will, technically, be my patients.”

“Oh, of course!” Gianna replied, smiling and throwing her hair over her shoulder, “Allowing for some oversight from the other providers we’ll have in place, you’ll have lots of medical-decision-making to keep yourself busy!”

What did she mean, ‘oversight’?

“They’ll be different than your usual patients, the subjects that we’ll be bringing in for the study, but I think you’ll like them,” she continued, trying to reassure me, “maybe a younger crowd, and of course all female. But in general all you’ll have to do is sit back and watch the money coming in.” She sat, looked into the screen for a moment, in thought. “Though I guess we have some people there handling that for you, too, hm?”

That gave me pause, made me rethink the litany of arguments that were beginning to boil up in my throat. I’d seen some of the paperwork, quickly, as it had moved past my desk for my signatures. It involved a lot of money for the practice. Like, a lot of money. I thought of my bills, my expenses, what I still somehow owed on my student loans. If Sheryl wasn’t going to be there to provide for me, help me pay these things…

If any of it remained, there was obviously some pride I was going to need to swallow.

“S-speaking of money,” I began, “what's my compensation going to look like?“

Something about my question, something about how I was holding myself, made Gianna smile again and then sigh, a sigh that told me she knew something I didn’t, I couldn’t help but think. With that she leaned in, her eyes locked on mine through the camera, and a shiver went up my spine. “Oh don’t worry, Dr. J,” she spoke, “you’ll be well taken care of...“

===================================

Muchos Gracias to long-time friend, supporter of the story and behind-the-scenes ninja Antares for helping me assemble these clips.

Newer posts and other goodies at my Patreon

[starlightrows]

Something Sweet

Chapter 1 - Spring Festival Funnel Cakes

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Series Masterlist

Pairing: Modern!Paz Vizsla x fem!reader

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: None!

Summary: Spring has sprung and business is booming and the community is celebrating with a weekend long festival... that you get to spend attending a vendors booth next to the handsome baker from down the street

The depths of winter in a place where it snows is not the ideal time to be moving your whole life and business. But you didn’t have much of a choice, you had already gotten the business license taken care of, the storefront purchased, and suppliers lined up. And with the lease on your apartment being up, it’s now or never. So with a small moving truck full of your belongings all packed up, you set off towards the city to finally chase your dream of opening a flower shop.

Your new apartment is nice, a bit smaller than your previous one but that comes with living alone in the city on a tight budget. But still it’s a one bedroom and it’s enough for just you. The storefront is beautiful. It’s located downtown in what you had assumed was a historic district of the city, but somehow is not classified as such. The buildings are lovely red brick exterior with large open windows for passers by to peek in, with quaint awnings over every door. Your store is located on the corner, with plenty of space to set up floral displays and hang potted plants in the windows. Come spring time this is going to be amazing, and beautiful and everything you dreamed of. You just hoped that others would think so too and come shop there.

By the time mid February rolls around there is still snow in the mountains, and the occasional rain and snow storm that blows through the area but it’s not as bad as when you first moved. Your apartment is coming along nicely, and your store is looking pretty good as well. You’re hoping to open by March 1st, but that’s still two and half weeks away. You’ve got plenty of time to finish painting, assembling shelves, figuring out how to want to arrange your displays, and set up the black board you’re planning to use to decorate the wall behind the checkout counter. You thought it might be fun to use chalk paint to decorate it for the various seasons, write specials, and do holiday countdowns.

You’re a little frustrated with yourself that you weren’t able to get everything in order to be open this weekend. Valentine’s Day is the prime time of the year for a flower and botanical shop. But spring is coming and that means birthdays, weddings, prom season, graduations, date nights, Mother’s Day and spring decorating! But for today it’s just you, a pair of worn overalls and a sweater, and a little can of paint for detailing the floor boards inside the shop. No flowers or valentines dates for you this year. You did see that there was a nice looking bakery a little ways down the street, maybe you could pick up a little treat for after dinner or some nice bread for making fancy toast.

Just the thought of it makes your mouth water, and your tummy rumble. Maybe you could make it an afternoon snack instead. You cap the lid to the paint bucket, and wash off your hands in the sink in the back. It’s not actively snowing but it is freezing outside, so you pull your jacket on over your sweater and lock the shop up behind you. You steal a quick glance at it, admiring how well it’s coming along, before you tuck your hands into your pockets and make your way down the street to the bakery.

It’s getting on in the afternoon, and the bakery isn’t very busy at the moment. But you’ve seen the lines in the morning when the bread is fresh out of the ovens, hopefully there will be something left for you.

You pull the door to the bakery open and step inside, glancing up at the sound of the tinkling bell that alerts the man behind the counter to your presence. He’s probably the tallest, broadest, burliest man you’ve ever seen; and then he smiles at you. It’s a smile that takes up his whole face, and lights up his eyes.

“Hey, welcome in” his voice is deep and sweet. You can literally feel your heart skip a beat and you almost forget why you came in here.

“Hi, I was hoping you might have some pastries or baguettes” you say, approaching the counter. He seems to blank out for a second, because he doesn’t answer you immediately.

“Uh- no sorry no pastries. But I do have a couple of French baguettes left,” he says. You’re a little disappointed about the pastries, perhaps you needed to come in earlier in the day. He pulls a baguette from the bread counter and offers it to you in a long parchment bag.

While he rings up your bread, you take the time to look around at his displays and other breads. “What’s your specialty?” You find yourself asking, thoroughly impressed with the wide variety he has to offer.

“I’m really proud of my ciabatta rolls,” he says earnestly “but I’ve been working on a new roasted tomato and herb crusted bread that excited about,”

You smile at his enthusiasm, it’s great to see people who are passionate about their craft. “I’ll have to come back and try it when you’ve got it figured out,”

You thank the kind man, and step back out into the cold to make your way back to your shop. Instantly you regret not asking for his name, but then again he just works down the street you’ll find out eventually.

———

February passed by in an overcast and sometimes snowy daze. You are able to meet your deadline and open your new store on March 1st. It’s finally a little sunnier on your opening weekend and just that simple fact has people outside and milling about. People are anxious to usher in spring, and there is no better way to brighten up the tail end of winter than by having fresh flowers, lush green house plants and aesthetically pleasing succulents around to decorate your space. Your entire store front is practically picked bare by the end of your first day! Good thing you get fresh deliveries every day, and have a fully stocked back room to replace all your wares for tomorrow.

Business slows down just a touch, but you’ve still got steady foot traffic for most of the day all through the spring. The weather is warming up, and the days are getting longer. Prom season is coming up and you’ve already pre cutting ribbon and bulk ordering corsage boxes. Graduations will be coming up soon too, you make sure to mark on your calendar when the local schools ceremonies are so you can have bouquets and lei ready in time.

One warm afternoon in April it’s a little slow and you’ve already swept the store, washed the windows inside and out, and potted 15 new plants in the back; so you take a well deserved break by standing behind the counter and reading a book. The bell on the door chimes and you look up to see a woman wearing jeans and a polo shirt with the city logo embroidered on the chest.

“Hi my name is Jennifer I’m with the city’s Parks and Recreation department,” she introduces herself and offers her hand to shake. You smile and accept her hand, giving your name as well.

“I’m stopping by all the local businesses to give you this” she hands you a flyer “the city’s annual spring festival is coming up at the end of May. Traditionally we bring in food trucks and invite arts and crafts vendors from the area to come sell their pieces and get some exposure, in the last couple years we’ve been expanding it to other local businesses too. There’s more information on the website to sign up to get you a booth if you’re interested. I think having a plants and flowers booth would be perfect for the spring festival”

She stays to chat about the festival for a couple minutes describing how fun it is to see all the local artists showing their craft, children getting their faces painted, live music, picnicking, and coming together as a community to celebrate the change in seasons.

“This city really comes alive at community events,” she tells you “Free concerts in the park in the summer, cultural learning events, fun runs, around the holidays we have a big Christmas tree lighting ceremony and winter carnival, don’t even get me started on how much this city goes all out for Halloween!”

Jennifir leaves after another couple minutes of excited chatter about the various events put on by the city, and continues on down the street to invite your business neighbors to attend the festival as vendors too. The whole interaction leaves you thrilled at the opportunity to advertise your business, make some more money for the shop, and be part of the community! Your long forgotten book is tucked away in favor of pulling out your laptop to register yourself with the city planning committee to participate in the festival.

The next few weeks you work extra hard to get through prom season, and put in more hours than usual to get everything prepared for graduations as well. The days tick by in May. Mother’s Day is an amazing weekend, you put up a temporary photo shoot wall for mom’s, daughters, grandmothers, or really anyone to come in and take a picture with a flower wall backdrop. Another amazing success full of happy smiling people!

Finally the weekend of the festival arrives, people from the city have been cleaning up the park and working their tails off to get everything perfect for the event. A massive stage is erected in the park, the usual parking lots are lined with enclosed pop up tents for the vendors selling hot foods, extra trash cans are placed everywhere, and early Saturday morning the local businesses are arriving with their SUV’s and vans full of goods to set up their tables.

You are among that crowd. Busily working to get your table set up under a pop up tent for shade, your flowers and potted plants ready for display, making sure you have enough cash for making change in transactions, and cardboard boxes to help people carry their new plant babies home with them.

All around you other local businesses are setting up their booths too. You recognize a few of them that you’ve visited already, but you’re looking forward to seeing more of them. Beside you, you absolutely recognize the tall, broad, and exceptionally handsome man that owns the bakery down the street from you. Spending the whole weekend stuck next to eye candy, and artisan bread… even if you didn’t sell a single flower this weekend at least you’d have a good view.

The morning is warming up, people will be arriving soon, your coffee long since gone. You steal a glance over at the man carefully arranging his bread displays. He glances over at you too, and grins at catching you staring.

“Morning,” he says cheekily

“Good morning,” you reply, going a bit warm in the cheeks.

“Flower booth for a spring festival? I think you’re in the running for making the most profit this weekend,” he jokes looking at your pretty flower displays and cute potted plants. You laughed a little and eyed his selection of breads hungrily

“I dunno, people don’t want to carry around a heavy plant all day. But they do want to snack on some delicious bread,”

He laughs, and extends a hand to introduce himself. “I’m Paz by the way,”

You shake his large hand and tell him your name as well. It’s a firm handshake, worn hands and strong forearms presumably from kneading bread dough. The thought makes your tummy flutter, and your heartbeat quicken.

And so it begins. The two of you pull up chairs at the edges of your pop up tents, and spend the whole day laughing, talking, interacting with customers and making sales. At the end of the first day, he sends you home with a loaf of bread with Asiago cheese baked into the top, and you gift him a pretty green succulent and promise him they are almost impossible to screw up taking care of.

The second day of the festival is much the same, except this time he brings you a breakfast sandwich he prepared ahead of time.

“If you wouldn’t mind, I need a taste tester. I’ve been thinking about expanding my menu to add breakfast sandwiches,” he tells you with a shy smile. You gladly accept the sandwich and have to control yourself not to make embarrassing noises when you taste it.

“You made this from scratch?” You ask, taking another bite

“Well I made the bun,” he says, unwrapping his own homemade breakfast sandwich

“If you start selling this, I promise you’ll put places like Starbucks out of business,” you tell him “honestly, I’m gonna have to start coming down there every morning before I open,”

In his head, Paz thinks that would be an absolute dream to have you come see him everyday. But that’s not the kind of thing you tell someone you met 24 hours ago, so he settles for something else instead

“How far is your shop? Maybe you can have your breakfast delivered,”

“You didn’t know?” You ask “I just opened my shop on the far corner of the street your bakery is on. I actually came in to try your bread a couple months ago,”

Paz is a little embarrassed, he knew a business moved in down there but had no idea it was your flower shop. “No way! I remember you coming in to the bakery, but I had no idea you worked down the street,”

“To be fair the store wasn’t open yet, and I somehow managed to forget to introduce myself,” you tell him.

Just like the day before, the two of you spend the day laughing and chatting in between greeting customers and promoting your respective businesses.

In the early afternoon a man with shaggy dark hair, sun glasses, tattoos and a very cute little boy wearing a green bucket hat came over and started making conversation with Paz. He glanced over at you.

“Have you met Din yet?” Paz asks you “He owns the tattoo parlor across from the bakery,”

You smile and shake his hand, you see his little boy eyeing your selection of plants. “Do you want to pick one out buddy?” You ask the little boy, he nods enthusiastically and chooses a little pot with the beginnings of a strawberry plant in it.

“Shorty and I were just gonna go grab some funnel cake before we head home for nap, I just stopped by to see if you wanted some,” Din says

“Yeah, that would be great!” Paz says.

Din turns to you, and extends the same offer. You politely decline, claiming there’s no way you’d ever finish one on your own.

“You can split one with me,” Paz beams. Din nods and leads his son off into the crowd to acquire the sweet treats.

“I can’t believe you haven’t met everyone yet,” Paz says “We all get together on Tuesday nights after hours for beers,”

“Who is we exactly?” You ask, sitting back down in the folding chair the festival committee had generously provided.

“Most of the shop owners on our street, and a couple of others from around the corner. They actually convinced me to move out here and start my business a couple years ago,”

“I had no idea there was such a community amongst the business owners around here,” you admit.

“You’ve gotta come meet everyone next week,” he insists “You’ll fit right in!”

Your heart warms at the sentiment. One of your big fears moving to the city was not knowing anyone and struggling to find a new group of friends. This could be promising!

Din and his son make their way back and come sit behind the tables with you and Paz. You and Paz do split the funnel cake, and have a grand time chatting with Din and his little boy.

“You’re telling me you’ve been in business for three months and haven’t been dragged into the group? You’ve gotta start coming to Tuesday night drinks,” Din laughs

“So I’ve been told. I think you boys have convinced me, I’ll be there on Tuesday,” you laugh. Paz and Din give a little cheer.

“Everyone will be so excited to meet you! But until then I think the little stinker needs to get home for a nap,” Din says scoops up his sleepy son who’s been dozing in his dad’s lap for the last 15 minutes “I’ll see you Tuesday,”

Din gives a one handed wave and disappears back into the crowd.

The remainder of the afternoon is a bit slower, the last remaining festival

“I’ll come down and pick you up so you don’t have to show up on your own,” Paz offers “Besides I need to check out your shop!”

“Awe! Thank you, that would be great!” You reply, a subtle warmth blooming in your cheeks at the thought of him coming to visit your shop.

Your heart does somersaults in your chest. He’s so sweet and kind. And he’s inviting you to be part of his friend group. That has to be a good sign, right?

Taglist: @maybege @gallowsjoker @simping-for-clones @mxndoscyarika @hayley-the-comet

AN: This whole story, but this chapter specifically is very special to me. The city this story takes place in is based off of the two cities I have lived in, in my life. I grew up going to festival that takes place in late spring, that’s really important to the town I was born and grew up in... and the new city that I moved to as an adult is known for its public markets on Saturday’s where local vendors sell their flowers and their baked goods. I am just days away from moving back to my home city (temporarily) and due to covid I didn’t have the opportunity to attend the public market the last two years in a row. I don’t know if I’ll get to participate in the spring festival in my hometown this year.