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marjansmarwani · 3 years

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like I was already brave enough to let go

7.2k || Chapter 1/2 || ao3

Enzo understands that leaving New York in the wake of everything is what's best for TK, but that doesn't make it any easier. Watching his stepson pack up all his broken pieces and move across the country hurts him in ways he can't describe, mostly due to the knowledge that there will be a distance between them that has never existed before. So he takes the time to check-in, to keep track of TK. To be there for him, no matter what.

He's just starting to wish that he had picked somewhere other than Austin, because he is quickly discovering he is not built for this level of stress.

After reading @futures-tense’s Enzo fic (that everyone should read, it is phenomenal) I couldn’t get thoughts of him and his relationship with TK out of my head, so naturally I wrote this. It fits into canon evetns and this is only chapter 1 of 2, because while I so have an outline for season 2 events, this was getting long so I figured I’d at least post what I had.

Massive thanks to @silvarafael and @justaswampdemon for all their help and support with this, you’re both the best!

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

He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting when TK opened his apartment door, but the sad shell of the boy Enzo had come to love as his own wasn’t it.

Or maybe it was, but it hurt all the same.

“Hey kid,” he said softly, stepping carefully around him and into the apartment. He looked around the small space, taking in all the boxes haphazardly labeled and partially packed. “So, it’s true. Your mom told me but I don’t think I believed her. Never thought I’d see the day TK Strand willingly left New York for Texas, of all places.”

“Who says it’s willingly,” he said dully as he shut the door behind Enzo.

Enzo turned and studied him more closely, taking in the downturned eyes and anxious fingers thumbing the seam of his hoodie pocket, “Do you not want to go? Because you can stay here. I’ll talk to your mom, you can stay with us if you…”

But TK cut him off with a shake of his head, “No,” he said, “I think I need to do this. Dad’s right, I need a fresh start. I can’t...I don’t think I can be here anymore. When I think of staying here, I don’t see a way forward. I think if I stayed here I’d…” he trailed off, but Enzo felt a chill rush through him at the implication of what TK hadn’t said. He tried to meet his eyes but TK looked away, casting his gaze downward and away from Enzo’s sympathetic eyes.

It hurt him more than he could say to see TK like this. For all his struggles he had always been a happy kid. He had always been someone who found the joy in life where he could and he had always worn his emotions on his sleeve, for better or worse. Seeing him like this and knowing what had happened hurt Enzo in ways he couldn’t fully describe because he didn’t know the right words. All he knew for sure is that this was not the TK he had known and loved for 16 years standing before him. This was a stranger; someone he had only seen once before during a time he had hoped to never revisit.

He hadn’t asked what happened because he knew enough and he wasn’t about to make the kid revisit it just so he could fill in some blanks. He might not know everything but he knew enough to feel hot anger course through him at the thought of someone breaking that too big heart of his. TK had always been someone who loved fully and completely, and to see that thrown back in his face so spectacularly made Enzo—a typically steady and calm man — strongly consider homicide.

He had every confidence that Gwyn could get him out of any charges too, but he pushed that thought aside to focus on the scene before him.

“This isn’t your fault, TK.”

TK turned away from him, absently picking up some books from the table and dropping them into one of the boxes. “I know I didn’t make Alex cheat,” he says eventually, “but the rest of it? That is completely on me Enzo, no one else.”

He could sense that the kid had more to say so he let him go, watching from the doorway as he listlessly picked up other odds and ends from around his apartment, tossing them into boxes without any real care as to what the labels on the side said. He knew TK would speak up when he was ready and it was only a few more minutes before he did.

“Eight years,” he finally said, his rough voice breaking the silence of the half-packed apartment. “Eight fucking years of sobriety, all gone. And that’s all on me. It doesn’t matter what Alex did, I’m the one who made the choice. I am the one who let him have that power over me and…” he broke off, meeting Enzo’s eyes for a moment before looking away and swallowing. “I do need to leave,” he said eventually. “I don’t trust myself to stay here anymore. I don’t know if I’d survive it.”

Enzo could feel his heart breaking for the kid. He wasn’t a kid anymore — now 26 and an adult — but in Enzo’s eyes sometimes he was still the 10-year-old who met his eyes shyly when Gwyn first introduced them, the 14-year-old who had admitted to him in a terrified whisper that he thought he might like boys, the 19-year-old who had come to him because he wanted to enroll in the fire academy and didn’t know how his mother would take it. The feeling he had now was just like the feelings he had had then. This overwhelming love and desire to protect him from everything bad in the world; from anyone that ever told him he wasn’t enough.

And just like he had then, he stepped forward, closing the space between them to pull him into a hug. He held him close, pressing his face into his chest and placing a kiss on the top of his head. “You’re making the smart choice then,” he said evenly. “And, as much as I’ll miss you, I’m proud of you for doing what you have to do. You’ve beat this once and you’ll beat it again, I have no doubt about that.”

He knew he wasn’t imagining it when the body in his arms sagged in relief. It made him clutch him that much tighter as he spoke again, hoping what he was about to say was a given but needing to say it anyway: “And I will always be here for you, no matter where you live. I’m always just a phone call away, you know that, right?”

TK’s voice was muffled by the material of Enzo’s sweater, but he could still hear the tears in it clear as day, “I do.”

“Good,” Enzo replied firmly, releasing his grip on TK and stepping back so he could meet his eyes. “Because I will be calling to check-in, that is a promise.”

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

Watching him leave was bittersweet, but he believed TK when he said it was something he needed to do. He took some solace in the fact that he wouldn’t be alone. Enzo and Owen Strand may have had their differences over the years (many, many differences) but if there was one thing Enzo had never doubted it was the other man’s love for his son. He knew that TK was in good hands, but that didn’t make it any easier.

He got confirmation they had arrived in Austin in the form of a text that included a picture of a shop selling cowboy hats that simply said, “turns out people actually do where these here. Yes, it looks as ridiculous as it sounds.” It is followed by another two days later that noted the crimes Texas has committed against pizza and though Enzo was still filled with worry, he allowed himself to smile and take it as a sign that he was healing, be it ever so slightly.

He gave it almost a week before he called. He wanted to hear TK’s voice; to have proof that he really was okay, but he also wanted to give him time. His patience was helped by the fact that Gwyn had spoken to her son but eventually, he decided that he needed to hear from him himself.

TK answered by the third ring, sounding out of breath. He greeted him warmly, and Enzo could hear the commotion of construction in the background. He raised an eyebrow, “What, did you decide to leave the fire department and become a contractor when I wasn’t looking?”

This pulled a laugh out of TK and Enzo took a moment to savor the familiar sound. It felt like far too long since he’s last heard it.

“No. Dad decided we should re-do the firehouse, to give everyone a fresh start. I figured I might as well help out. Besides,” he added with a shrug Enzo could almost hear, “demolition is the far healthier method of coping with feelings, right?”

“When done with permission,” Enzo quipped in response. “How are you doing kid, has the pizza chased you away yet?”

TK scoffed, “No, but it was a close thing. Honestly, I really haven’t had that much time to dwell. I’ve been helping with the demo and construction, as well as the candidate interviews and paperwork. I haven’t really taken too much time to think about anything.”

TK said it matter of factly and Enzo almost moved past it. But he knew TK better than most. “You don’t have to punish yourself, kid,” he told him gently. “All you need to do is heal.”

“I’m not punishing myself,” TK objected, “I’m just...trying to keep busy. To distract myself.”

TK might very well think that, but Enzo was pretty sure it wasn’t true. But he was willing to move past it, for now.

“Tell me about the new crew,” he said instead, and smiled as TK launched into stories about a daredevil from Miami and a possible psychic from Chicago. He seemed enthusiastic and Enzo didn’t realize how good it felt to hear that until he had. It was like there was a little bit of life back in his voice and though he knew TK still had a long way to go to make this better, he was relieved to see that he was at least on the way.

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

For a while, everything seemed to be going great. TK called and texted him from time to time, sharing anecdotes from calls and his new crew, and each time Enzo thinks he can hear just a little bit more of his old self returning to his voice. Sure he complains about one of them, for a while, but that too seems to sort itself out.

He could tell there is someone new in his life too, even if TK is hedgy about it at best. But Enzo was the first one to know that TK was gay at 14; he knew how to spot the signs.

“Why won’t you tell me about him?” he asked him one day, voice light and teasing as he stuffed his papers into his bag. “Is there something horribly wrong with him?”

“No,” TK countered emphatically, “there is nothing wrong with him. Absolutely nothing,” he added, almost an unconscious mutter Enzo was not entirely sure he was supposed to hear.

“So if there is ‘absolutely nothing’ wrong with him, why aren't you going for it?”

There was silence on the other end as Enzo slid his bag onto his shoulder, patiently waiting the younger man out.

“You know why,” he eventually said, voice low and sad. Enzo grimaced at how pained his voice sounded and he dropped back into his desk chair with a sigh.

“TK…” he began, but the younger man cut him off firmly.

“No, Enzo. I...I thought I could. I thought we could have something casual and that I could handle it. But then he wanted more and I hurt him. I don’t want to do that, he doesn’t deserve it. He’s too good to get dragged into my shitshow.”

“Have you asked him what he wants?” Enzo asked gently.

The bark of laughter TK gave at that was sharp and harsh, “Yeah, that should go well. Definitely won’t lead to me having to explain to this guy I’ve hooked up with a handful of times all the ways I’m fucked up right now.”

Enzo sighed again, leaning back in his chair, “It won’t always be like this, T. Someday you will be ready to try again, but only if you let yourself consider the possibility. Can you at least promise me that?”

There was silence for a long stretch and Enzo was about to ask him again when TK’s voice finally responded quietly, “Yes.”

“Good,” Enzo responded firmly, “because no matter what happened, you still deserve happiness. And someday you’ll be ready to let it in again — maybe sooner than you think.”

The sound of acknowledgment TK made sounded skeptical at best, but Enzo would take it. He knew he was right and he knew that someday TK would realize it too. Maybe even sooner than he thought.

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

It’s about a week later when Enzo’s phone rings, nearly making him jump as he is pulled abruptly from his stack of midterms. It took him a few moments of shuffling blue books to even locate his phone and when he did he frowned at both the time and the name displayed on the screen.

“Hey kid,” he said lightly as he answered the phone, “what’s up?”

He had hoped he was overreacting, that TK was just calling him late because he was on shift and had lost track of the time. He had hoped that maybe the universe was finally giving the kid a break.

The despair and fear so clear in TK’s voice quickly prove him wrong.

“Hey Enzo,” he said softly, “fuck, I know it’s late and I’m sorry to bother you, but I just really needed to talk to someone.”

“You are never a bother,” Enzo told him firmly, capping his pen and setting it down on his desk. “What’s wrong?”

“I…” TK began before stopping, taking a deep breath and trying again, “I don’t know for sure yet, but I know something is.”

And Enzo believed him. The fear in his voice is so raw Enzo could feel every ounce of it even from a timezone away. “I’m going to need more than that, kid,” he told him gently, leaning back in his chair as he waited TK out.

“I found something,” TK said eventually, “that I definitely wasn’t supposed to find. And it means something awful. Something I don’t know if I can handle. But it also means he doesn’t trust me,” TK continued, “and somehow that almost feels worse.”

Enzo frowned, pondering all the non-specific details in his mind. He didn’t know all that much about his stepson’s life in Austin, but he knew enough to know that while he was close to his new crew, he wasn’t close enough to be this upset by an omission from one of them. That left him with two possibilities: the mysterious man he was not seeing, or Owen.

And Enzo knew which option was more likely and it made his heart sink. TK might not be sharing but Ezno knew both the Strand men better than most. If there was something Owen felt strongly enough to keep from his son that TK was this upset about, it wasn’t good news.

“You don’t have to tell me what it is,” he said cautiously, “but is it something about your dad?”

There was a deep, shuddering breath before TK responded, “Yeah.”

And Enzo shut his eyes, the hurt and fear in TK’s voice telling him all he needed to know.

“I don’t know what this is about,” he said eventually, “and you don’t have to tell me. But I do know you, and I know whatever it is you are going to want to be there for him, because that’s who you are. Let him know that, and the rest will follow from there.”

There was silence again, but Enzo waited TK out. He was familiar with this rhythm; when something was bothering TK he often took his time to make sure he had the words right before he spoke. Over the years Enzo had learned to wait him out knowing that he would get to his point when he was ready.

He did a few moments later, “I do want to be there for him,” TK agreed, “I just know why he didn’t tell me. He doesn’t think I can handle it — and he’s right,” TK confessed softly, “I don’t know if I can.”

“You can,” Ezno assured him firmly, “you can do anything you set your mind to. You always have.”

He let his words sink in for a moment before he added, “And I would talk to your dad before you make any assumptions. Let him know he can rely on you, let him know you want to be there.”

“You make it sound so easy,” TK said dryly, and Enzo huffed a laugh.

“In a way it is. It’s just words. It’s the actions behind them that are hard.”

There was silence again before TK spoke, his voice so quiet Enzo almost missed his next words, “I’m scared.”

“It’s okay to be scared,” Enzo reminded him, “sometimes fear is the appropriate response.”

But even as he said it, he could feel his heart breaking. He didn’t know what was going on and while he was sure he would find out soon enough, he couldn’t help but hate whatever it was. TK deserved some time to find himself, to heal and simply exist. He didn’t understand why the universe kept throwing such curveballs at him, but he wished with every fiber of his being it would stop.

“Sometimes it is,” TK agreed in a tone that made Enzo wonder even more what this was all about. But he didn’t ask; TK would tell him when he was ready. For now he would just be here for him. Sometimes that was all he could do.

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

As much as Enzo couldn’t help but worry about the younger man, sometimes the updates were a sign that things were getting better for him, slowly but surely.

One such time came as he and Gwyn were sitting on the couch together, Enzo making a case for watching Jeopardy with Gwyn adamantly refusing.

“No,” she said again with a firm shake of her head, “it always ends the same way.”

He shrugged, “I can’t help that you’re too competitive, or that I’m better at it then you are,” he added, giving her a sly grin.

“We can’t all have PhDs in history,” she said wryly, “some of us need to work for a living.”

He opened his mouth to fire back a retort but was interrupted by the ringing of his phone. “Saved by the bell,” he said instead with a shake of his head as he dug his phone out of his pocket. He frowned when he saw the familiar name on the screen and turned it so Gwyn could see.

“Hey T,” he said cautiously as he answered, “everything good?”

There was a lot of noise in the background but he could hear TK’s voice clearly as he answered, “Yeah, I just had a question for you. These people don’t believe me so I need your cred as a Columbia history professor to back me up.”

Enzo raised an eyebrow at Gwyn, who had leaned closer to hear. She bit her lip against a laugh and he shook his head fondly, “I’ll do what I can. What’s the question?”

“Hang on,” TK said, “I’m going to put you on speaker.” There was the sound of fumbling before the background noise grew louder and TK’s voice returned. “Okay guys,” he was saying, “this is my stepdad Enzo. He’s a history professor at Columbia and if you don’t believe me maybe you’ll believe him. You want to ask him the question, Paul?”

“Man, you didn’t need to…”

“No, this is a point of pride now.” TK objected indignantly and Enzo glanced at Gwyn to see that she had fully pressed a hand against her mouth to stop any laughter from slipping out and giving away her eavesdropping. “Ask him,” TK prompted and there was a sigh before a new voice joined the conversation.

“Sir, we are so sorry to bother you. TK’s just being a sore loser.”

“Paul, right?” Enzo asked and got a sound of confirmation in return, “You don’t have to tell me that, I helped raise him.” There was an indignant noise in the background, likely from TK, but Enzo ignored it. “What’s the question?”

“Who invented the first movie camera?”

“Louis Le Prince,” Enzo replied without hesitation, unable to suppress a chuckle at the sound of TK’s triumphant ha! In the background. “You guys thought it was Edison, didn’t you?”

“Well, yeah,” Paul admitted sheepishly and Enzo chuckled lightly.

“That’s understandable. Edison was the first person to mass market it and the first to get recognized for it, but Le Prince was actually the first. But he mysteriously disappeared in 1890, right before he was set to take a trip to the US to talk about his invention. So he never got a chance to market it.”

There was silence for a moment before Paul spoke again, “So is there any proof Edison had him killed or…?”

“No,” Enzo admitted, “but that is one of the theories for sure. Another is his brother did it over the family will. Either way, Edison was not the first.”

“Huh,” Paul said thoughtfully, “that’s actually fascinating. Dude, I’m sorry for doubting you.”

“It’s fine,” TK said evenly, “I am more than a pretty face you know.”

There was a collective snort from the other end of the phone and Enzo glanced at Gwyn to roll his eyes. She shook her head fondly and he returned his attention to the call, “Any other burning history questions or was that it?”

The background noise lessened as TK took the phone off speaker. “No, that’s it. Thanks, Enzo.”

“Anytime kid,” he told him, “you know I love to flex my random history facts.” That got another laugh out of TK, but Enzo could still hear the background noise of a group in the background. The sounds of easy comradery set his mind at ease in a way not much else had since TK had left for Texas. “Why don’t you get back to your friends and I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Okay, thanks again.”

“Don’t mention it. I love you kid.”

“Love you too. Say hi to mom for me?”

“You’ve got it.”

With that the call was over and Enzo was left back in their silent living room, Gwyn looking at him with a soft smile.

“He sounds happy,” she said after a moment, her voice warm but thick. He nodded.

“He does. As much as I do hate to admit it, I think going to Austin may have the best thing for him.”

“You just hate that Owen was right.”

“And you don’t?” he asked her with a raised eyebrow.

“Well that’s a given,” she quipped, leaning closer to him. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed them as she rested her head on her shoulder. “I’m just glad he’s doing better,” she said softly after a moment, “I’ve been so worried about him.”

“Me too,” he admitted, pressing a kiss to the top of her hair. That sat in silence for a few more moments, each lost in their own thoughts before he spoke again.

“So is that still a no to Jeopardy or…?”

She swatted at him and he grinned, ducking away from the light hit. Things seemed to have returned to their equilibrium, and that was a relief.

He just hoped it stayed that way.

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

When he was wrested from sleep by the shrill sound of his phone ringing cutting through the late-night silence of his bedroom, Enzo groaned. He swore under his breath as he fumbled for the device, blinking the sleep out of his eyes as he did. But when he managed to grasp his phone and saw the name on the screen, all thoughts of annoyance fled his mind. Owen Strand calling him was rarely a good sign. Owen Strand calling him at 2 am promised nothing short of disaster.

“Owen?” he said as he answered, skipping any and all attempts at pleasantries. “Is everything okay?”

He could afford to give the universe the benefit of the doubt, he decided; even if only for a moment.

When Owen’s reply came it was in a voice Enzo didn’t recognize. It was shaky and uncertain in a way that the other man never was.

“Enzo, hey. I’m sorry to bother you but Gwyn’s not answering her phone and…” he broke off with a shaky breath, “I really need to talk to her.”

“She’s in Beijing,” Enzo replied, sitting up and switching on the lamp beside him. “And given the time difference, probably in a meeting.”

He heard Owen swear distantly before he felt fear rise up in him. Owen calling him at 2 in the morning looking for Gwyn and out of sorts only added up to one thing, but Enzo so hoped he was wrong.

“Owen, did something happen to TK?” he forced himself to ask; the stress of not knowing was worse than anything else.

He could hear Owen take another breath, deep and shaky and filled with something else Enzo couldn’t identify on a phone call from half a country away.

“There was an...incident,” Owen said softly, voice still unsteady, “on our last call.”

Enzo’s mind was already spinning, stumbling from one horrible possibility from another.

“There was a man with dementia who broke into his old house and a homeowner who had a cardiac event and TK broke down the door and….he was shot.”

Enzo heard the words, he knew he did. But he couldn’t have. If he had heard them that would mean that TK had been shot and that was not something that could be true. His stepson was a firefighter. It was a profession that came with enough risks of its own. He had spent countless days worried and fearful at the thought of rescues gone wrong, of untamable flames and unstable buildings. Never once had he even entertained the thought of a bullet being a risk to watch out for. Bullets were supposed to be the problem of other people with other jobs — not his stepson, who already had so many dangers to face.

But it was true. The fear and pain in Owen’s voice told him it was true. There was an edge of both hysteria and despair in his words and that more than anything scared Enzo more than he could say.

“Where?” was the first coherent thought he could form.

“Just below his left shoulder” Owen repeated mechanically. “His...his lung collapsed before we were even out of the hallway. Enzo, he couldn’t breathe. He kept trying but he couldn’t and there was so much blood....” Owen trailed off and Enzo could hear the unmistakable sound of a sob in the background even as his own hands trembled and his eyes watered.

“Is he…” he started, but he couldn’t make himself say the words. He couldn’t speak the awful possibility into existence.

“He’s headed to surgery,” Owen replied. “I don’t know anything more than that, we only got here about 15 minutes ago. I just...I just hope it was fast enough.”

There was silence then as the two men allowed the same fear to consume them from opposite ends of the country. Enzo felt a morbid camaraderie with the other man in that moment. In the 16 years they had known each other it was safe to say that they had never exactly gotten along. They had always been polite and cordial for the sake of Gwyn, TK, and family gatherings but they were too different in too many ways that mattered to ever truly be friends. They had only ever agreed on one thing, and now that was the thing that tied them together — loving TK.

“You got him there as fast as you could Owen,” Enzo assured him without hesitation because there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that it wasn’t true. “You did everything you could. Any chance he has is because of you.”

“I think the credit lays more with the paramedics,” Owen objected, “but I appreciate the effort all the same.”

Enzo opened his mouth again, not quite sure what he was going to say but feeling the overwhelming need to say something, but he was interrupted before he got the chance to figure it out.

There was a noise on the other end followed by the sound of shuffling as Owen attended to whatever it was. When his voice returned, it was tight.

“That’s Gwyn on the other line, I’ve gotta take it. But listen, Enzo…”

But Enzo just shook his head, “Don’t worry about it Owen, talk to her. Just, keep me updated?”

“Of course,” he replied without hesitation, “as soon as I know anything.”

Then with another hurried goodbye, the call was over and Enzo was left in the dark and quiet bedroom, alone. It wasn’t long before the tears he had felt threatening began to fall in earnest as he wrapped his mind around this reality and allowed himself to dwell on it. There was a chance — a very real and terrifying chance — that they could lose TK. That Gwyn and Owen could lose the son they had brought into this world and loved for 26 years. That Enzo could lose one of the people he loved the most. The thought of TK not existing anymore was too horrible to dwell on.

Enzo was a religious man. He had been raised by a small Jewish family in a large community and his faith had been something that he had always had. It had seen him through so much. But now, with this, he had to wonder. It didn’t make sense that TK — his wonderful, caring stepson who had dedicated his life to helping people — should have to suffer so much in such a short time on earth. It went against everything he had ever believed about putting good into the world. Why should TK — who had never done anything to hurt anyone — have to suffer so? Why should he? He didn’t want to know what life without TK looked like.

More than anything, he hated that he might find out.

When Gwyn called him a few minutes later he pushed his own tears aside. He murmured soft reassurances as she sobbed in a quiet corner of a Beijing office building, consumed with fear and grief a world away from her child who was slipping further and further from them with every passing moment. He gave her empty platitudes, reassured her the best he could.

But all the while the fear was drilling a hole straight through his chest. This, he decided, was the worst fear he had ever felt.

The worst part was there was nothing he could do but wait, and hope desperately for the best.

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

The next several days were some of the longest of Enzo’s life. Each day he woke up and went about the day. Each day he kept his phone volume on, not wanting to miss any news either way. Each day an update came from Owen and each day it was the same: no change.

He debated going out to Austin — he had been halfway through buying a ticket online half a dozen times — but each time he stopped himself. Logically he knew that being there wouldn’t change anything. He would still be waiting, he’d just be waiting there. He told himself he was needed here, that he couldn’t just pick up and go across the country with no warning. It was the end of the semester and he had students to help to finish the course or their dissertation. He told himself staying was the responsible option, but he knew that it was largely just a distraction. But he would take any distraction he could get and so he pushed the guilt of not being there to the side

He taught his classes, he went through the motions. He fielded calls from Gwyn, still stuck in China and frantic with worry. Each day he reassured her; reminded her that TK was strong, young, and healthy. Above all that, he reminded her, he was stubborn. No bullet or coma was going to take him from them before he was ready.

Of course there was the private fear, the one he didn’t want to share, that he didn’t want to hang on anyone else. The one he was afraid to say out loud.

It was the thought that maybe, after everything, that was exactly what he did want. That maybe this was an out and that maybe, he would take it. That maybe he didn’t want to be alive anymore.

But that was a possibility too horrible to accept. Maybe it was selfish, but Enzo knew that even if that was the case, he wasn’t ready. He doubted he ever would be, but he certainly wasn’t now. He knew both Gwyn and Owen would agree. No time was a good time to lose your child — step or otherwise — but now, after this — after everything — was not the time.

So he waited, and hoped.

Time seemed to blend together and before he knew it one day had become two, which had stretched into four. Each moment passed the same way — tensely, with no news.

He knew he had been distracted too — keeping his ringer on during class and checking in throughout his lectures and office hours. He had apologized to his classes after the second telemarketer had caused him to drop everything and lunge for his phone, citing a family emergency and word had slowly gotten around. Soon it wasn’t just him hoping for the best, but most of the Columbia history department as well. Their well wishes were touching, but nothing short of good news was going to make him feel any better.

So when his phone did finally ring on a Thursday afternoon, 5 days after the fateful call, he picked it up with trepidation. The name on the screen sent his heart racing and he nearly dropped his phone in his haste to answer it.

“Owen?” he asked tersely, “Any updates?”

Because since that night they hadn’t spoken. All updates had come in the form of texts and the thought of Owen finally having something to tell him one way or the other simultaneously thrilled him and nearly froze him with fear.

But it wasn’t Owen’s voice that answered.

“Hey Enzo,” TK said, the sound of his voice rushing through Enzo’s body like a current of electricity. He sank back into his seat with a wobbly laugh, feeling nearly a week's worth of tension fall away as he listened to the miraculous sound of TK breathing on the other end of the phone.

“Hey kid,” he said warmly. “You have no idea how good it is to hear your voice. How are you feeling?”

“Okay,” he answered, “I really don’t feel too bad at all. A little sore, a little tired, but overall not bad.”

“I hear getting shot will do that to you,” Enzo retorted drily before sighing and running a weary hand down his face. “You scared the shit out of me, TK,” he admitted.

“Sorry,” TK replied softly, “I didn’t mean to worry anyone.”

“It’s not your fault,” Enzo rushed to reassure him, “I know you didn’t ask for this to happen but...shit TK, I am not built for this. Do you think you could avoid getting shot in the future, for my sanity at the very least?”

“I’ll try,” TK responded with a chuckle, “I don’t remember most of it but I don’t think it’s anything I want to revisit.”

“No, I’d imagine not,” Enzo retorted wryly. They lapsed into a comfortable silence, each lost in their own thoughts and taking comfort from the presence of the other even if it was only over a phone call from half a country away. “So,” he finally said, leaning into normal conversation for the sake of normalcy, “is your dad driving you nuts yet?”

“Yes,” TK responded emphatically, “he has been hovering non-stop, and he brought a date.”

Enzo could hear indignant sputtering in the background and Owen muttering something about him not bringing a date, that his date had simply come to visit him to see how he was doing and, maybe because of all the fear and stress of the past week, Enzo could only laugh.

“That sounds like your dad,” he retorted once he caught his breath, “and I wouldn’t count on that changing anytime soon.”

“She seemed cool at least,” TK allowed, voice teasing, “I don’t know why he was trying to keep her a secret.”

“Excuse you,” Owen’s voice objected from the background, “I am not the one who had a hot cop sitting by my bedside. You don’t get to talk about keeping secrets.”

“Dad,” TK groaned and Enzo’s eyebrows shot up.

“Oh, so the mystery man is a cop,” he teased, “and the plot thickens.”

Now it was TK’s turn to splutter, “Nope, we are not doing this. That is more than enough from both of you,” he declared and Enzo could hear Owen chuckling at his son’s indignation from the background. It was a slice of normal that he had feared he’d never get again. To be sitting here hearing TK’s voice, teasing him about something so simple as the guy he had a crush on seemed like a miracle and Enzo was grateful for it.

Everything was normal again, at long last.

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

Sometimes he thinks that turning on news alerts for Austin was the worst decision he had ever made.

It seemed practical, at the time. An easy way to stay in the know, to have an idea of what kind of calls TK may have seen on any given day. But now he was frozen in the middle of the hallway after one of his classes staring at a notification about a solar storm that had blasted through Austin, leaving devastation in its wake; regretting every decision that led him to this point.

He knew TK was still on medical leave. He knew that he should be home and resting after only being released from the hospital two days before. But he also knew his stepson and knew that whenever there was trouble, TK was usually not too far behind.

It was with that thought in his mind that he stepped out out the middle of the hallway and leaned against the wall as he waited anxiously for the call to connect. The sound of a pleasant robotic voice informing him that his call could not be completed filled him with dread, but he forced himself to take a breath. It didn’t mean anything. The grid was likely overloaded right now; Enzo couldn’t say he knew for sure what kind of damage a solar storm could do but he was willing to guess that it wasn’t great for the electronic infrastructure.

Left with no other options he went on about his day, the familiar anxiety he had only recently shed slipping back over him like a worn winter coat. He tried calling a few more times, trying to ignore how the dread in his gut grew each and every time the call didn’t go through. He resisted the urge to ask one of his science colleagues to explain the specifics of a solar storm; reasoning that dealing with his own uncertainty would be far kinder than having confirmed facts. At least this way, he decided, he could tell himself he was overreacting.

It was far too many hours before his phone rang; an unfamiliar number appearing on his lock screen. He frowned at it but swiped to answer. He did list his cell number on all of his course syllabi, but for the most part his students stuck to his campus email, or — in desperate times — text.

“Dr. Cohen,” he answered, mentally placing bets as to whether it was actually a student or a robot trying to inform him about the extended warranty of the car he didn’t own.

To his immense relief, it was neither. Instead, a familiar voice answered, sending a rush of relief through him at the sound, “Hey, Enzo, it’s me.”

“TK,” he breathed, setting down the paper he had been reading and closing his eyes as he took a deep breath. “Are you okay?”

“More or less,” he answered sheepishly and Enzo was about to push for more than that when he caught the distinct sound of a hospital intercom in the background.

“Tyler Kennedy Strand, are you in the hospital again?” he demanded and he heard a weary sigh from the other end before a quiet “yeah” was muttered.

“It’s not a big deal though,” TK rushed to explain, “I’m fine. I just pulled my stitches.”

There was another voice in the background that Enzo didn’t recognize and could barely hear, but what he could hear made it clear that the other voice was not impressed either.

“Well, what was I supposed to do?” TK demanded, and Enzo was not entirely sure who he was speaking to, “Let her drown in a burning bus?”

“You just got out of the hospital!” Enzo objected when he could form words again, “What were you doing somewhere where there was a burning bus?!”

“We just went out for boba,” TK retorted, “I didn’t expect there to be a solar storm that caused a bus accident.”

And Enzo forced himself to take a deep breath because that was fair, he supposed. There was no way anyone could control anything like that. Still…

“The next time you move we’re going to need to do some research,” he declared. “Because if it is anywhere as chaotic as Austin, I’m going to have to object.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” TK assured him, “I think I’ll be in Austin for a while.”

There was a smile in his voice and Enzo somehow had the feeling he was intruding on something, even though TK had been the one to call him.

“What number are you calling me from?” he asked, testing his theory.

“I borrowed Carlos’s phone,” TK answered in a voice that said he knew what was coming and he hoped it would at least be quick.

“Oh,” Enzo replied, “and Carlos wouldn’t happen to be the name of a certain ‘hot cop’ your father mentioned, aka the mystery man I have been trying to get you to tell me about for months?”

“Yes.”

“And when you say ‘we’ were trying to get boba…”

“Enzo…”

“And he wouldn’t happen to be with you right now, would he?”

“Are you done?” TK demanded, and Enzo only laughed.

“Not nearly, kid; I’m just getting started.”

And despite TK’s muttering, Enzo could tell that he sounded happier than he had heard him sound in ages. He marveled at the fact that somehow, despite everything, TK had managed to find the happiness and peace he had hoped for him ever since he left New York all those months ago. Between the disasters he had managed to take his broken pieces and fit them back together, maybe even stronger than they had been before.

It was all he had ever wanted for him, and he was relieved beyond belief that he had found it.

“You know, this means I’m going to have to come down there soon,” he said instead, “I’ve got to meet this mystery man for myself.”

He could practically hear TK rolling his eyes, but his voice was impossibly warm when he assured him, “You’ll like him, Enzo.”

“Do you like him?” he asked.

“Yeah,” TK responded without a moment’s hesitation, “I do.”

“Then I already do,” he assured him.

If this Carlos had anything to do with the happiness he could finally hear returned to his stepson’s voice, he couldn’t do anything but.

#911 lone star #911 lone star fic #my writing #tk strand #enzo #userkimmy #userjilly #userac #userbones #reyesstrand #reyeslonestartag #tuserpaige #tuserjamie #buckybarnesalways #laelipoo #I know for sure I usually tag more people but it's been so long I can't remember

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3rensgf · 3 years

Text

rent a gf - two eren yeager x reader

word count: 2.9k

warnings: mentions of sex, talks about "getting bitches", eren is an idiot, fuckboy!eren implied, tatbilb mention, uhh fluff idk theres not much to warn abt in here, not beta read

notes: chapter two is out! i'm really glad a lot of people are enjoying rent a gf. it really means a lot! i see some people commented on the previous chapter, and i would love to reply to them, but i'm not familiar with tumblrs commenting system D: if you wanna leave a comment for me to just read, that's fine you can still keep commenting here on tumblr. but if you would like me to reply to it, you can comment on ao3, and i will reply! happy reading :) p.s, waffles w whipped cream r so much better

[ read on ao3 ]

previous ✩ series masterlist ✩ next

In the early hours of Saturday morning, you felt a hand shaking your shoulder to wake you. Groaning and mumbling, you sleepily swatted the hand away and pulled the covers over your head. No one should be forced to wake up early on the weekends. It was Saturday, for fucks sake. Not to mention your hangover due to last nights mistakes was making your head throb.

The hand rested on your shoulder once more, shaking you gently. “(Y/N),” Mikasa said softly. “Your alarm has been going off for the past 10 minutes. Wake up. I have water and Advil.”

“Nooooo,” you moaned, snuggling deeper into your bed. “Don’ wanna.”

Mikasa stopped bothering you for a moment, and you let your guard down. Finally you could sleep. When it was time to wake up, you’d wake up.

Right as you were about to pass out again, your blanket was roughly tugged off of you. “Mikasaaa!” you whined, covering your face with your hands. “What was that for? I was trying to sleep.”

“Get up. You have to shower and get ready for lunch with Eren today. Breakfast is almost finished,” she explained, setting down the pills and water on your bedside table. “Go brush your teeth and wash your face so you can eat. Now,” she instructed sternly, moving to your window to open the curtains. The bright sunlight hit your still half-asleep face, making you hiss quietly.

She left the room moments after, probably to check up on breakfast. Honestly, you didn’t know how she could function this early in the morning despite having partied all night last night. Curse her and her inability to get hungover.

Grumbling to yourself, you adjusted your sleep clothes that had gotten disheveled overnight to make sure you looked decent. Your sleepy gaze wandered over to your nightstand to see two Advils on a napkin beside a glass of cold water. Thanking every higher power for sending Mikasa to you, you downed both pills and the glass of water. Even though you might bitch and moan to her constantly, you really weren’t lying when you said you’d die without Mikasa.

After sitting down at the edge of your bed for a few moments, you eventually shuffled into the bathroom to brush your teeth and do your morning routine. It took longer than usual thanks to your sluggish and tired movements, but you got done nevertheless.

A wonderful aroma came from the kitchen when you left, stomach grumbling in anticipation for the wonderful food you were about to scarf down. Mikasa was in the process of setting down both your breakfasts on the island, sitting down on the stools when you walked in. “Morning, Sleeping Beauty,” she greeted, resting her chin on her hands.

“Morning, sweet angel,” you replied, sitting at the stool beside her. In front of you was a plate of Funfetti pancakes with whipped cream instead of maple syrup (syrup was for pancakes only). There were a couple of cut up fruits beside them, too. “Where did you get these?” you asked, picking up your fork to take a bite of your breakfast.

Mikasa dug into her own breakfast of oatmeal as soon as you started eating. “Went grocery shopping and saw the mix in the baking aisle. I thought you’d like it,” she explained, taking a bite of her food. “Good?”

Your response was a moan, tilting your head back as you chewed. “Insanely,” you said, cutting up another bite. You stabbed the piece with your fork and guided it to Mikasa, keeping your hand under it to catch anything if it dropped.

She finished her bite and leaned in to take the bite, humming in satisfaction at the taste. “Good,” she nodded.

“They put like crack ‘n this shit,” you said through a full mouth, shoveling forkful after forkful into your mouth.

You could feel Mikasa's judging gaze for eating like a pig, but you didn’t care. All you cared about was eating these crack laced waffles as greedily as possible. “What time are you supposed to meet Eren today?” she asked to make conversation.

You remember drunkenly slurring to her that Eren was supposed to take you out for lunch today while she was trying to put you to bed. All she did was nod and dodge your flailing limbs while she tried to change you into your night clothes.

“Uhhh,” you trailed off, “I dunno actually. I think he’s gonna text me when.” The familiar notification from your phone indicated you had a text from Eren. “Right now.”

ren ᕙ(`▿´)ᕗ - 9:04 AM picking u up at 12 dont be late

you - 9:04 AM k

ren ᕙ(`▿´)ᕗ - 9:05 AM dont use k with me that makes me sad :(

you - 9:05 AM k

“He says 12,” you told Mikasa, setting your phone back down on the table. You went to go take another bite of your waffles, only to be met with stray bits of whipped cream and waffle crumbs. How disappointing.

“You have time to get ready then,” she said, finishing up the last bit of her own breakfast. Holding her plate, she got up to go put it in the sink, taking your plate for you as well. Literally an angel.

Suddenly, she leaned in to sniff you like the weird English professor you had your freshman year and cringed. “You’re gonna need all the time you can get. You stink.”

Never mind, not an angel.

Grumbling and cursing under your breath, you got off the stool to go take a shower. “And here I was about to offer to get you something for lunch while I was out.”

“A burger from the joint I like would be nice. So would a Coke and side of onion rings.”

“Size?”

“Medium for both.”

You would’ve caved in and bought her something, anyways. Might as well know what she wanted in the first place.

Showering took longer than expected. Most of your time got wasted by you standing under the shower stream and soaking in all the warmth. It wasn’t until Mikasa knocked on the door asking you not to use up all the hot water that made you actually start going through your routine.

The clock read 10:09 when you got out. You still had more time to kill until Eren came, so you elected to sit on your bed in your towel to scroll through social media. At 10:45, you started to get ready for real now.

Your makeup was just enough to cover any imperfections on your face, and your outfit cute enough for a lunch outing with your friend-fuckbuddy.

At 11:50, you stepped out into the living room with your belongings in hand to lounge around while you waited for Eren. You would’ve gone to bug Mikasa, but she had just stepped into the shower minutes prior.

12 on the dot, a rhythmic knocking was rapped on your door, meaning Eren was finally here. Skipping over to the door, you opened it to reveal him while slipping on your shoes.

“Hey,” he grinned when the door opened. He leaned in to give you a kiss on the lips after you’d straightened up from putting on your shoes.

A grin found its way on your lips during the kiss. It only lasted a couple of seconds, ending with you pulling away with a quiet smack. “Hi,” you greeted back.

“Ready to go?” he asked, one hand leaving his jacket pocket to jut his thumb down the hallway towards the elevators.

“Yup, ready,” you said. Over your shoulder, you yelled into the apartment to say goodbye to Mikasa and locking the door once you closed. “Okay, ready for real now.”

There was a new hot pot restaurant near campus, Eren told you, that he so desperately wanted to try. He overheard some people talking about the place in his Stats class, and he’s been wanting to go ever since.

“So, about what I told you last night,” he said, leaning on the table close to you after giving your orders to the waitress. “You said you would help me get Mina.”

“I said it was a bad idea,” you countered, taking a sip of your drink.

“But you said you would help me. For a price.”

“That I… did say,” you sighed. “What’s your plan?”

Smiling, he opened up his jacket and dug into the inner pockets, getting out a small notepad and a pen. Your eyebrows raised at the sight of them. “Okay,” he started, flipping through his notepad. “So I was thinking about it this morning, and this is what I have down so far.”

Sliding it towards you, he waited impatiently for you to read what he had.

Your lips pursed to prevent giggled from leaving your lips. Well, it was a plan, alright. Written in Eren’s chicken scratch of handwriting were a few very simple steps.

eren yaegers fool proof plan to get bitches get mina aka operation rent a gf by eren yaeger 1. talk to mina to get her interested in you ✓ 2. get hot girl ((Y/N)) to pretend to be your gf and show you can be a good bf 3. get mina jealous so she wants you even more and not poopy thomas wanker 4. “break up” with (Y/N) and pretend to be sad 5. get mina to comfort you 6. get bitches make mina your gf 7. pay (Y/N) for her services 8. ta-da!

When you looked up from the notepad, you saw Eren waiting for your answer. “Well? What do you think? Is it any good?” he asked.

“Were you high when you wrote this?” was the first thing you asked him. Eren shook his head innocently. “You’re 100% serious?” He nodded.

You bit your lip, deep in thought about Eren’s supposedly fool proof plan. “What makes you think it’s gonna work?”

“I know girls and how they act. If Paradis University let me major in women -- don’t get smart with me I don’t mean Women Studies -- I would be passing all my classes with flying colors. I know it’ll work, trust me,” he said cockily, leaning back in his chair.

“No you don’t.”

“Yes I do. I know you. I know everything about you, (Y/N). I even know how to make you scream my name in--”

“Okay!” you cut him off, not wanting the strangers around you to know the intimate details of your sex life with Eren. “Okay.”

“I knew you were gonna do that. See, I do know women.”

A moment or two passed, both of you staring at each other. You with a deadpan expression, and him with a proud one. You were the first one to break the silence with a heavy sigh. “Okay, say I agree to this. What do I get in return?”

“Anything you want,” he said. “Within reason, of course. Please don’t ask me to like, hide a body or something.”

Ignoring his last comment, you continued speaking, “You’re not allowed to back out of whatever I ask you to, right? If this plan fails or succeeds, you still owe me whatever you promised.”

Eren nodded. “Of course. I swear on it.” He shifted a little so his elbow was on the table, holding out a pinky. Instinctively, you held out your pinky as well and intertwined the both of them. Pinky promises were something you and Eren had been doing for years now. It meant that the other was dead serious on their promise.

The waitress came back with your broth and dipping ingredients, setting them on the table for you right when your pinkes left each other. Thanking the waitress, the two of you talked some more while you waited for the broth to heat up.

“We should make it official. With a contract and set of rules,” he said. “Like that one movie you forced me to watch with you. The Boys I Loved or some shit like that.”

“To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before,” you corrected.

“Yeah, that. They’re kinda doing something like us, yeah?”

“Guess so,” you shrugged, picking up your chopsticks and a sice of pork belly when the broth started to boil. “After we eat though.”

Idle chatter was shared between the two of you as you ate. Even though you saw each other nearly every day, you never ran out of things to talk to. You could be talking about complete nonsense or how quantum physics made no sense, and you would still have the best time of your life.

By now, the broth had been drunk up and the table had been cleared out to be replaced with banana milk and ice cream. Eren brought out his notepad again to write down the set of rules for your fake relationship while enjoying your desserts.

Good progress had been written so far on the notepad. Both of you had given input and criticism on each rule made. In the end, you finally had a good set of rules written down.

(Y/N) and erens contract and rules for eren yaegers fool proof plan to get mina aka operation rent a gf by eren yaeger 1. act normally. eren and (Y/N) act like a couple already. just double the pda a little more 2. don’t tell anyone about the deal. the more people who believe in the relationship, the more likely it is for the plan to work 3. post each other on ig a lot. maybe add names and a date to bios to make it more believable 4. date night every saturday (go out or just hang out) 5. go to parties together 6. walk each other to class if you can 7. call each other cute pet names 8. after breaking up, the couple act has to stop including the sex 9. DON’T SLIP UP

payment for (Y/N):

Eren tapped a beat on the notepad, reading “payment” over and over again. Eventually he looked up at you, deep in thought. “Have you thought of anything so far?” he asked, clicking the pen to write what you wanted.

This was a tough decision. Eren was ready to give you anything to help him get Mina. You had to be wise and pick something big to take advantage of him. Something you were sure you wouldn’t ever regret getting.

“How about,” you started, trailing off, “you do my laundry for the rest of our time at ParadisU, buy me lunch every Wednesday even after we break up, recommend that godsend of a tutor you keep gatekeeping to help me too, and…”

“And?” Eren asked, looking up from his writing, waiting for your next words.

“All the orgasms I want during our relationship,” you finished, satisfied with what you chose.

“Is that all?” he asked, writing down the last of your words. “That’s a lot.”

“How about I let you know if I wanna add more,” you said. Eren nodded in response. His head hung to look at the notepad again, writing something down. Once he was done, he plaed the pen on the pad and slid it to you.

“Sign it so it’s official,” he instructed.

There were two lines beside each other, one already with Eren’s signature. Without hesitation, you signed your name neatly on the paper, giving the items back to Eren once you were done.

payment for (Y/N): eren has to do the (Y/N)’s laundry for the rest of university, buy her lunch ever wednesday, get tutor to help her and give her as many orgasms as she wants during the course of the relationship

signed x eren yaeger x (y/n) (l/n)

The two of you shook hands when Eren put away his things, to seal the deal again. The waitress came by again to give you the bill and collect your dirty dishes. Eren set down the cash needed to pay along with a tip in the check presenter before the two of you left.

You walked hand in hand back to Erens car before you realized you missed something. “Wait. What do we tell people when they ask how we got together?” you asked, pausing in your tracks.

Eren stopped with you, turning to look at you. “Um, you can say I confessed after lunch, and that this is technically our first date,” he suggested, tugging your hand to walk back to the car.

“Huh. Okay. That works,” you nodded.

The two of you got into the car a little bit past 2:30 in the afternoon, ready to go home. “Wait,” you said again, making Eren pause. “Mikasa wanted a burger from that one joint near our apartment. Could you take me there first?”

Eren smiled and nodded, starting the car. “Of course. Burger with medium Coke and onion rings?”

“How did you know?”

“She always gets that when we go there.”

“Huh… I guess you’re right.”

“When am I not?”

"Always."

taglist - @thestrugglesofateenagedirtbag , @lazalee , @countthemoons , @se-va-muriendo-mialma , @liaxxx109 , @prxttyguardian , @jeansbabycake

italic names, it wouldn't let me tag you!

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samuel-de-champagne-problems · 3 years

Text

It's Delicate: Part II

Summary: Spencer Reid finds himself at a gas station at 2:00 am, thinking he’s only leaving with a cup of crappy coffee. But something taped to the door catches his eye. Spencer leaves the gas station with more than he intended: the chance at a friend, and maybe something more along the way.

Word Count: 3.6 k

Author’s Note: Here's the second part in It's Delicate, my first chapter fic. I've planned out kind of where I see this eventually going! Thank you to anyone who reads, likes, comments, and reblogs. It really means the world to me.

Content Warnings: Expletive language (3 uses), mentions of drug use, sexual innuendo

READ PART I

It's Delicate Masterlist

It's Delicate

Sitting on the plane, Spencer looks out from the little window. For hours, there’s been nothing but corn fields and clouds. It’s eerily peaceful, being there high above the clouds. His whole life Spencer has felt this distance between him and everyone else, but nothing makes that feeling more prominent than being strapped in a glorified metal box 35,000 feet off the Earth’s surface. But the thing is, Spencer does need to be flying above the trees to feel lonely. He can do that with two feet on the ground.

Luke sits across Spencer, the table between them and a deck of playing cards are spread out across its surface. He has to nudge Spencer’s leg from under the table, trying to bring him back to reality as he stares out the window.

“Whatcha thinking,” Luke asks, Spencer has been noticing more and more that Luke is one of the few people that actually listens to him.

Spencer, whose mind is racing too fast to even formulate an articulate thought, attempts to dodge Luke’s question with a noncommittal shrug.

“Reid, these cases are hard for all of us, you gotta know that man,” Luke says, laying down a four of a kind.

Spencer narrows his eyes, shocked that it hasn’t clicked yet for the rest of the team. He cracks his neck, preparing to answer Luke.

“We almost locked up an innocent man, Alvez. I almost sent another man to the same fate as myself. What kind of fucked up message is that?” Spencer says, throwing down the cards on the table. He doesn’t wait for Luke to respond.

“I fold,”

Spencer walks off into the small kitchenette to make a cup of coffee. He doesn’t want to think about his increased reliance on coffee, because he knows it’s a hot cup of coffee or a cold needle of Dilaudid in his veins. Spencer checks his watch, it’s 10:17 pm, maybe too late to find a meeting at a church or rec center somewhere.

He sneaks a peak at his phone, which was still unfortunately on Airplane Mode, he hasn’t even gotten a chance to see if Y/N has responded. He doesn’t know much about her, just as much as she knows about him.

It’s a brave new world for Spencer and he’s knee deep into the unknown.

Spencer can feel Luke’s eyes on him. He just knows that the minute he gets home, a certain tech expert will be ringing him. He knows that it’s Luke’s way of caring, but for someone who’s been alone for so long, having people that actually care is almost drowning.

Walking back to his seat, Spencer hands Luke a coffee. He smiles slightly; it’s the awkward smile that he used to make when intimating police chiefs and idiot cops would look him up and down like he’s a TA. It’s a peace offering for Luke, who despite his tough looking exterior, is one of the kindest people Spencer knows.

“Look, Reid. I’m sorry that we didn’t put it together. It’s just that man that we caught, he’s not like you. He’s not innocent of crimes, he’s just innocent of this crime,” Luke says in an attempt to make Spencer feel a little bit better.

“The thing is Luke, I’m exactly like that man,”

Spencer returns to staring out the window. The cards and the coffee on the table are long ignored for the silence that is found when you’re high above the clouds.

Spencer hears Tara and Emily murmur quietly about going out for a round of drinks. Luke accepts, while JJ and Matt decline, eager to get home to their families. Emily looks over at Spencer, her eyes silently scanning him, his body language. Spencer knows that there’s nothing he can hide from Emily, so there’s no use in trying to pretend he’s alright when she can take one look at him and know that nothing is right.

“You guys have fun, I’m going to head home and get some sleep. I plan on visiting my mom tomorrow and mornings are usually better for her,” Spencer says, slinging his go bag around his shoulders and making the trek back to the security to check out.

He walks slowly, enjoying the sound of the crickets chirping as he trudges along. Spencer tries not to think about the man, Richard, who was almost locked up for a crime that he didn’t commit. Spencer is pretty sure that being the person to throw an innocent man in jail is worse than being the innocent man in jail.

Spencer’s phone buzzes loudly, disturbing the silence of his walk. He looks at the phone to see a couple of messages from Y/N. Spencer slides open the lock to his phone and hits the button to read her messages.

Y/N: Spencer...that has a nice ring to it. So tell me a little bit about yourself. Your big three, but as books. Go! 🌞🌙⬆️

Furrowing his brow, Spencer reads the message over again. He does not have a clue what “big three” means, but it seems like some sort of pop culture thing that he’s not skilled in. He wants to text Garcia for a translation, but he’s also not too keen on telling her how he came across Y/N’s number.

Y/N: I assume you’re working, but I'm kind of impatient so I’ll give you mine 🙃 I’m a Little Women sun, an Emma moon, and an In Cold Blood rising.

Y/N: Oh no….I hope my astrology didn’t turn you off

Y/N: Not that I was trying to turn you on

Y/N: omg Y/N please shut the fuck up

Astrology? Spencer isn’t one to judge, but he’s a scientist first and foremost. The idea that there is something written about him in the stars seems like ludicrous. He decided to ignore the other messages, particularly the ones with a little more than slight innuendo.

Spencer: Y/N- I’m sorry I just got out of work. As for my big three, I’m not sure about astrology. I don’t particularly believe in pseudoscience. But those are good choices. In Cold Blood is an excellent choice. Capote spent years researching the case. In fact his prose and technique inspired the entire “Nonfiction novel” genre. The world of journalism and true crime would not be where it is without Capote’s work.

Y/N: Oh my god. You are a total nerd. 🙀

That stops Spencer right in his tracks. He’s only a couple of yards away from the Volvo at this point, but somehow it feels a million miles away. You are a total nerd. The words replay in his mind as the small gray bubbles pop up again. Spencer can feel his heart constrict at Y/N’s words. It’s ridiculous, he’s nearly 34 and is getting upset that a stranger called him a nerd. Spencer unlocks his car and tosses his go bag, phone included onto the passenger seat.

After a couple of minutes his phone buzzes again. He’s half tempted to answer it, but the way his heart seems to beat faster tells him to ignore it.

Y/N: I fucking love it and I think you’ll love this too

Spencer’s entire demeanor changes as he reads the message. He’s always had difficulties reading emotion in writing, especially when he can’t analyze the handwriting. Sometimes, it’s even harder to judge inflection during conversations. Maybe that is why Spencer has spent all this time studying people, studying the way that their minds work. Before he can get too lost in his thoughts, another message pops up.

Y/N: Meet Capote and Second Cat

Y/N: They are the loves of my life

Spencer: They are very...distinguished looking. Capote is an excellent name choice then. Second Cat is also quite catchy.

Spencer hesitates before sending the message, he notices that Y/N uses what Garcia calls “emojis” quite frequently. He assumes that it’s some sort of “texting lingo” that expresses emotion in small graphics. Great, he thinks. He already has a difficult time deciphering Y/N’s cryptic wording and now he’s got to analyze these emojis.

Maybe he should profile her. He re-reads the message and settles on a “😄” because he figures that he can’t go wrong with offering Y/N a smile.

Spencer: I don’t have a cat, but when I was a kid I always wanted one, they’re quite good companions for those that live several different kinds of lifestyles. From active to sedentary, they are adaptable and independent. Honestly they are the perfect pet.

Y/N: Is this your way of telling you’re a crazy cat man? 😜 🙀

Spencer, still sitting in his car that’s parked in the parking lot, chuckles at Y/N’s response to his message. Maybe it’s just easier to ignore his rambling when it’s done through 1s and 0s and there isn’t a face to the words.

Spencer: I’m actually more of a fish guy

Y/N: Like a “I-like-to-go-fishing-and-post-picture-of-myself-kissing-my-catch-on-Tinder” kind of fish guy or...I can’t think of any other kind of fish men

Spencer, not totally understanding the obvious joke that Y/N is trying to make, settles on something that he hasn’t really ever tried: being himself.

Spencer: Not quite sure what a Tinder is, but I think fishing is terrifying and kissing a fish is something out of nightmares. But his name is Leo

Y/N: DiCaprio?

Spencer: Uhh, Tolstoy

Y/N: Good😉 ⚔️🕊️ 🇷🇺

Spencer glances at his clock on the control panel, it tells him that he’s been messaging with Y/N back and forth for nearly 22 minutes. He nearly forgot how tired he was.

Spencer: Y/N- I’m so sorry but, I just got to my car to drive home from work. I’ll text you tomorrow morning about the book club, maybe we can figure out some things.

Y/N: OMG Spencer!! you should have told me. I’ve been talking ur ear off. sleep well and yes please tomorrow we can talk about the book club

Y/N: Good night, Book Buddy 😴

Spencer wants to respond to Y/N, but he doesn’t know what to say. She seems to text so easily, and judging by that, she must be around Spencer’s age or a little bit younger. Besides JJ and Penelope, Spencer has never had a friend close to his age. It’s a strange new territory for him and he’s walking in head first into No Man’s Land.

He starts his Volvo, the check engine still lights but, reminding him once again to go get it fixed. Driving away from the parking lot, Spencer hands over his ID to Gina, the security guard. She checks his ID and gives him a tired smile. Spencer, as he drives home to his apartment, thinking about what books he and Y/N will read together. He wonders what kind of books are her favorite, if they have any authors that they can obsess over together, or if what she thinks a poet’s prose is.

The summer air rushing in through the window is nowhere as warm and as comforting as thought of Spencer finally having a friend that isn’t able to read the scars of his past in the text bubbles that pop up on her screen.

When Spencer opens his eyes for the first time that morning, he isn’t sure where he is. Sometimes, before he can stop his thoughts from travelling there, Spencer thinks he’s still in jail. He hates the feeling of terror that rushes over him but he hates the idea of being vulnerable a little bit more. But the softness of his pillows and the coolness of his cotton sheets remind him that he’s not sleeping on a hard cot with only a layer of fabric over his body. The light streams in through the half closed blinds, and Spencer judges by how brightly the sun shines in, it must be around 9:45 am.

He supposes that he prefers the way the sun’s rays paint horizontal bars across his face more than the vertical bars that cast gray shadows over his cell at Milburn Penitentiary.

It’s a day off from work, so Spencer didn’t set an alarm, instead allowing his mind and his body to catch up on some much needed rest. The nightmares have been getting better, but his dreams are still haunted by the way that he hardly recognizes himself anymore. Deciding that it will be a day spent in pajamas, Spencer goes to his bookshelf in his bedroom to pick out a couple of novels to read while he drinks his morning coffee and defrosts some of Luke’s strawberry pastries.

Before heading out of his room, Spencer stops himself in the doorway. He replays the events of last night. He declined to go out with the rest of the team, while he walked to his car he thought about the crickets telling the temperature, and he read over Y/N’s messages.

Y/N.

He promised he’d text her back in the morning about their book club. Last night, she didn’t seem to mind Spencer’s long messages and awkward phrasing. He still doesn’t really know how this Book Buddy thing would work, but since he found Y/N’s number on the flyer, he can only assume that she knows what to do. He leaps on his bed, landing with thud on his belly, to grab his phone that charges on his nightstand.

Spencer settles at his kitchen table, a cup of steaming hot Dark Roast coffee in a Captain Spock mug in one hand and, surprisingly, his phone in the other. He scrolls through the messages from last night, Y/N’s cat and emojis tempt a smile to Spencer’s face.

Not entirely sure how to start the conversation again, Spencer looks around for inspiration until his eyes land on a certain fish tank in the corner of his apartment. He snaps a quick picture of Leo and attaches it to the message.

Spencer: Good Morning from Leo & Spencer

Spencer sets down his phone after a moment when he realizes that Y/N is probably not going to answer him back in a couple of seconds. He takes out a strawberry pastry from his freezer and puts it into the toaster oven on a non-stick baking sheet. His thumbs run across the texture of the book he started on the plane ride after his and Luke’s ill fated poker game. It's a thin book of collected essays on the meaning of life. Camus, to Spencer, is a little pessimistic with his droning on about the meaninglessness of life. Though Spence has seen the absolute worst that humanity has to offer, he still has to believe that there’s a deeper meaning behind it all.

His toaster oven rings, altering him so that his toasted strawberry pastry is cooked. He plates his breakfast and pours himself another cup of coffee- he’ll need it to get through Camus’s section on Absurdism this early in the morning. But the flash of Spencer’s phone screen sends him reaching for his phone. Y/N replied to his message.

Y/N: hi leo!!!

Y/N: and you too Spencer :) Did you get a good night’s sleep. You got back late it seems.

Spencer, taking a bite of the strawberry pastry, ignores the burning sensation in his mouth. He types out a response to Y/N as he washes down the bite with a swing of coffee.

Spencer: I did, thank you. Can you tell me a little bit more about this book buddy thing. From what I gathered from the flyer it’s like a little book club of our own and we meet at the bookstore?

It doesn’t take long for Y/N to respond. The little gray dots pop up almost immediately after Spencer’s message is delivered.

Y/N: That’s about right! Is it okay if I call you? Kinda easier to talk that way 🤷‍♀️

Spencer reads over the message a couple of times. He doesn’t really like to talk on the phone and only does it out of necessity. He’s pretty sure that his voice is grating and his vocal fry is quite irritating. Yet, he finds himself replying “yes” to Y/N. Soon enough, his phone buzzes in his hand and Spencer has to remind himself how to pick up a call.

“Spencer? Um, this is Spencer Reid, right?” the voice says. It’s a woman’s voice and he can only assume that it’s Y/N, considering it is her phone number calling him.

“Y/N, uh hi. This is Dr. Spencer- I mean this is Spencer,” he says, nearly forgetting that Y/N doesn’t know him as Dr. Reid, but as just Spencer. It’s been a long time since someone has known him as Spencer.

“Oh great! It’s wonderful to finally have a voice to your name. So about these buddy reads. You seem to have a good grasp of what they are,” Y/N’s voice trails off a little bit at the end and Spencer finds it natural to fill in the silence.

“Yes, the flyer was quite informative. But I was wondering, do we read the same books or do we read different books?” Spencer asks, trying to restrain himself from scaring Y/N off. But something about her made him think that she didn’t scare easily.

Y/N chuckles lightly in the speaker of her phone, “that’s a good question, uh, I was actually going to ask you what you would rather. We can read the same books, or if it’s okay with you we can choose what the other would read for that week,”

“Oh really?” Spencer says, very much aware how his voice rises a couple of octaves. He can’t trust himself to hold back on rambling over the phone Y/N, so he resorts to using his strained, brittle voice that’s full of hesitation and restraint.

“That’s the plan, so whatcha thinking, Spencer,” Y/N says playfully, like she can sense that phone conversations maybe not make him feel at ease. There’s something so natural and silvery about her voice; it reminds Spencer of an audiobook reader. While he’s not too keen on audiobooks, he’s sure that he’d listen to anything she reads or has to say.

“Um, I think it sounds interesting to pick out books for each other. I tend to gravitate towards more technical books or even books that aren’t in English so, uh, I think it would be interesting to get out of my comfort zone,” Spencer says, cringing internally at using the word “interesting” twice in a couple of sentences.

“Well, as long as you don’t pick out something in physics or anything by Ayn Rand then I’d say we’re good,” Y/N says. Spencer thinks it’s a joke, but he’s not too sure how to respond.

“Will you still be my Book Buddy if I read 1 out of 2 of those?” Spencer asks, hoping she’d get that he is trying to continue the joke.

“Oh no Spencer please don’t tell me you’re an Ayn Rand fanboy,” she says, and by the airy way she laughs, Spencer ventures to guess his joke landed successfully.

“So,” Spencer starts, he never has made plans with people outside of his team, and on top of that, there’s something about Y/N’s quickness that makes him a little nervous to meet her.

“I’m talking your ear off, aren’t I? Please Spencer, if you’re going to be my Book Buddy, you’re going to have to get used to me talking a lot, especially you pick out good books, which, I already have a feeling you’re going to be favorite Book Buddy,”

For once in his life, Spencer doesn’t really know how to respond. He lets out something in between a strangled laughter and a noncommittal chuckle.

“So,” Y/N says, mirroring Spencer’s earlier words, “so are you free tonight, I can meet you at the bookstore..”

Y/N’s voice trails off and Spencer leaps to finish her sentences. It doesn’t feel like his interjecting or interrupting, but like he’s snapping a puzzle piece together.

“Does 7 work?” “7 is great, Spencer. It’s a date,”

Those three little words send Spencer’s eyes flying wide open. He scrambles to come up with answer to louden the silence that falls, but he swears he can hear a string of quiet curses before Y/N manages to squeak out a small “goodbye,”

Y/N’s last words play back in Spencer’s ears. He scolds himself for being so weird and awkward that the very idea of going on a date with him would send Y/N in a tizzy. It’s not a date, because Spencer can’t think about it being a date. It’s not a date because of the looming photo above his mantle that freezes his future in the past. It’s not a date because of the nightmare of vertical bars that haunt his dreams

It’s not a date. It’s so not a date because Spencer would call Luke to come over to help him if it was.

“Hey Luke,” Spencer says, trying to control the nervous waves in his voice, “no man, I’m fine, it’s uh, easier if you just come over. I’m fine, really,”

Y/N: I really hope you're not an Ayn Rand fanboy 😉

It’s so not a date.

--THANK YOU FOR READING--

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serendipityjxmn · 3 years

Text

Chapter 12

TW: None

Words Count: 1.4k

Link to Masterlist

Link to Chapter 13

The air is tense that morning. Your brows furrow, thinking that you have to share the ride with Jimin now that everyone knows he’s your husband. Nearing the car, you notice there’s unfamiliar face among Jimin’s security. He usually has two with him, one is his bodyguard and the other being his bodyguard as well as his driver. You never really get the chance to know them apart from their name, considering you’ve never shared the ride with your husband.

He doesn’t say anything through the ride, his eyes glued to his tab, no doubt reading the morning news. You stare outside through the window, lost in your own thoughts.

Once you reach the company, you stand behind your husband but Jimin looks back and grabs your hand in his, startling you. It takes you a moment to process everything but not long for you to realise it’s just for show yet you can’t help having fluttered heart, walking hand in hand in public with your husband for the first time.

Reaching your desk, Irene simply watches the two of you as he speaks several things to Mina who’s at the desk as well, but haven’t yet let go of your hand.

He turns to you then and you stiffen immediately. “See you at lunch.” He says, way too soft and you feel like punching him for how he’s making you feel. His thumb and index finger cups your jaw briefly and gently before he leaves for his room.

It’s just a show, you tell yourself.

Another cons of all this travesty, is that Irene is handing you a lot of things that require you to personally see Jimin. She seems keen to let you handle him entirely.

“What do you think about this?” Jimin’s voice echoes in the whole room.

Huh? You look at him, puzzled. Is he really asking for your opinion? “I- I don’t really know all about- umm, maybe you should ask-“

“If I need a professional’s advice I would’ve asked Jinyoung. Besides, you sat through the meeting with me as well. I need your opinion.” Jimin says firmly.

You look at him hesitantly. You honestly have no idea about business world. But since this relates slightly about art, which you might know an inkling about, you answer him. “I think it’s good if you accept Wangji Co to handle the cover. They’ve been in the industry for long yet they always have fresh ideas. Apart from that, you can ensure you have a good term with Taiwan since you have their company involved.”

He remains silent for a moment, staring at you so deeply you silently pray you’re not flushing. Then he nods. “We will be meeting one of the arts director in charge. You will accompany me.” He glances at the watch. “I’ll be done in 10 minutes.”

He simply says and you take it as a sign you’re dismissed.

You take one last look in the mirror. This is your first time going out in public with your husband. Although it is work related, you’re still nerved out. You’ve never accompanied him to any event. Irene apparently never does too. Sure enough. When you google your husband, he never seems to have pictures taken with other women.

When you head downstairs, you feel your heart skips a beat when you see your husband, dressed smartly in impeccable black suit. His ash grey hair had been styled and he looks so good looking you almost want to cry.

Jimin on the other hand though, has his brows furrowed and lips pursed when he takes in your appearance.

“What on earth are you wearing?” He asks once you’re close enough.

You gulp. You’ve searched through every dress in the huge closet in the limited time Jimin gave you and this was the most modest dress you could find. You’re wearing a long dress that has a huge slit in front from your thigh to bottom. Luckily, the slit is not high enough to reveal scars you have on your upper thigh. To make it worse, the dress has such huge cleavage opening space, you’ve tried bringing your long hair to front in an attempt to cover your cleavage as much as you can. “I- I’m only wearing what’s in the closet.”

He tongues his cheek and you swear he looks so hot. “I’ll speak with Mrs. Lee about your wardrobe,” is all he says before you’re ushered into his car.

Even by looking at his side profile, Jimin looks so stunning you can’t help but stare in awe.

“Take a picture, I think that’ll last longer.” He snaps and you look away immediately. How does he even know without even looking at you, you shake your head.

It’s a launching event as well as exhibition by the director Jimin’s supposed to meet, Mr. Choi.

He speaks with several people and you just obediently follow after him, taking notes of who they are. A while later, you feel the urge to pee but you decided to wait until the main launching event is done before excusing yourself to the washroom.

As soon as you’re done, your eyes seek your husband immediately between the rows of art and crowds of people. As you make your way through the hallway, you find yourself drawn to an art hung on the wall, illuminated with a warm light above it, further enunciating its creativity.

It’s a woman, alone and she’s sitting down hugging her knees.

Something tugs your heart and the more you stare at the painting, the more you feel your eyes are watery.

“It’s called the Isle of Sorrow.” A voice beside you says, making you jump. You turn to see Jimin, his eyes towards the painting in front the both of you.

“They say she lost her will to love again that’s why she’s wallowing in sorrow.”

“It could also be she’s unable to love the person she desires.” You hesitate but continue to say when Jimin remains silent. “The painter.. I think he’s potraying contradiction. She’s in sadness and the background should’ve highlighted that as well, maybe monochrome settings? Yet the brushes are bold and the colors the painter chose are strong. Her love.. is strong. But she can’t give it to the other person. Perhaps because she loves someone who she shouldn’t, like an irony the life is.” You finish. Seconds later, your eyes widen and you bit your lip. What on earth did you just say?

A heavy silence sets between the two of you in the midst of casual conversations and regular laughter heard in the hall.

“Didn’t know you’re into art.” He says after several moments.

You only smile sadly. You don’t know a lot of things about me.

“I think art’s fascinating. I like when I can have control on it. What it can become. How it turns out. I don’t have a lot of it, growing up.” You say softly.

Jimin looks at you. “A lot of what?”

Your eyes find him too and you both lock gazes briefly. “Chance to change things.”

He holds your gaze steady before you look down first. You don’t think you’ll ever be able to hold his gaze for a long time, it’s hard enough to breathe as it is with him around.

“Me too.” He says quietly and you slowly look at him again. You notice his eyes has sorrow in it too, like the ones reflected in the painting before you. “I’ve always had to live the path set for me. Kinda funny, cause I’ve never been close to my parents but they expect me to receive everything blindly. There’s always pressure on my shoulder and I can never let myself fail,” he laughs as if mocking himself. “The moment I show my weakness, everyone flocks around me to take what I have. And anyone close to me can easily turn away from me.”

You stare at him as his expression hardens. You have to say something to comfort him. “Jimin.. I.. I would never.. do that.. to you.”

He looks at you then. Eyes pierced into yours. “You will. Once you know the reason behind this marriage. You’ll hate me too.”

You don’t know what to say to that but the coldness behind his words make shivers run down your spine making you shudder.

Jimin draws his breath before he shrugs his coat out of him. He then pulls you towards him, making you gasp. “It’s okay, you don’t have to-“ you start when he put his coat around your bare shoulder.

“Just stay still.” He says.

His hands are in front of you, fixing his coat snd dangerously close to your breast. You look up and there’s no mistaking his eyes that roam over your curves so you awkwardly struggle to look anywhere else.

He’s your own husband for god’s sake.. why do you have to feel so shy?

A/N: So I actually ended up posting this chapter as scheduled 😂 there’s a sudden surge of things to be done this weekend and it was pretty hectic 🥺 I’m sorry guys I’m a mere human I hope you guys aren’t mad 🥺

Oh and i’m not really the most knowledgeable about art, but art is subjective and it all depends on how one intepret so yeah 😂

anyways, hope you guys enjoy this chapter I thought it ended in a pretty cute way hehehehe

Link to Chapter 13 Posted on 210426 9:00PM

#serendipityjxmn #serendipityjxmnmrpresident #mrpresident #mr president #bts fic #bts au #bts smut #jimin au #park jimin #parkjimin #kpop fic #jimin smut #jimin ceo #jimin mafia #bts mafia #jimin x reader

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watermelonsugar2612 · 3 years

Text

'MY DREAM WEDDING'

Chapter 1: 'You're serious?"

Author's note: Heya! I’m writing a new Hinny fic, all the way from the proposal to the wedding. It will have 10-15 chapters I think! Let me know if you like it and if I should continue!! <33

It was 1 am. Harry and Ginny had just had sex. They both lay on top of each other in a heap of limbs, panting. “I love you Gin,” Harry said as he stole a soft kiss from Ginny. “Me too,” she let out a satisfied sigh. “Set the alarm, we’ll go running tomorrow. 7 am, sharp! I have practice from 9:30 and your training starts at 10,” she instructed. “Aye aye captain.” Harry replied in a lost but wonderful tone. He picked up the alarm clock and twisted a few knobs. “Mmmm… I’ve set the alarm baby,” he said as he pulled Ginny back onto the bed while she was trying to put on her robe. The half-untied robe fell off her shoulders and she lay completely naked on top of Harry. “No Harry! We just finished,” she whined in an explanatory attitude, she tried to pull away but his grip was too tight, “Harry! We have an early day tomorrow, no!” she whined even more. “Okay, I’ll let you go but we both sleep just like this tonight? Deal?” he grinned cockily. “Like this? What do you mean?” she thought for a second and her mouth rounded in shock, “Completely naked?!” she gave him a questioning look and shouted. “You heard me right! Just. like. This.” his grin spread to both his ears. “Fine!” she gave up and muttered, “prat.” Harry had heard her, he pulled her down onto his lips in a greedy kiss, full of hunger. As soon as he felt her getting lost in the kiss, he pulled away. “Not fair!” she cried. He laughed and pulled her onto the bed beside him, spooning her, one hand on her breast, the other on her thigh. She gave out a satisfied sigh. Both of them were utterly spent, every ounce of their body was ready to give in, to sleep, but somehow neither of them could give in to the temptation. They lay there silently feeling each other's presence, it was enough, they were happy, complete. “Gin, will you marry me?” Harry broke the ice. Ginny turned her head and looked into his beautiful bespectacled green eyes, in utter panic, “Gin, would you like to have another round of sex? Or Gin, do you want to organise a party at Grimmauld Place? Or Gin, do you want to go to dinner? Or Gin, do you want to go on vacation, would’ve been- acceptable! It's 3 in the morning, Harry James Potter! You want to marry me?” she blurted out. “I’m sorry Gin- I- Please don’t leave me, I was just wondering if you would- I saw a future, I’m sorry if I’m going too fast! I’m such a git we’ve only been dating for 2 years- sorry. I’ll wait for as long as you want… sorry Gin, what can I do to make it up to you?” he stammered. Ginny instantly regretted her panic, truth be told, she was waiting for him to talk about marriage, what had she done!? “Shit.” she muttered, “Harry, Bubba, I’m so sorry-” she said as she felt tears well up in both his and her eyes. She immediately engulfed him in a hug. Still tightly embraced, she said softly into his ear, “I’ll marry you, I’ve always wanted that,” she snorted softly and pulled away, “I love you,” she said into the kiss. He pulled away and looked deep into her chocolate eyes as if he was looking at her soul, “Gin, you are the most incredible, most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, everything with you is so much better than it could’ve been with anyone else in the entire world. When I'm with you I- I feel complete. The passion we share, the amount we love each other, and care for each other, I don’t think it's possible to do that with anyone else. I realise, this isn’t any girl's dream proposal, hell, I don’t even have a ring for you, and we’re naked, in bed! And, 'm sorry to just blurt it out like that, but if you’re serious about marrying me, I’m the happiest man in the world.” he said. “Oh, Harry! My sweet, sweet Harry! I love you so much, I don’t think it’s possible to love anyone as much as I love you! Yes, I’m serious, I want to marry you, love!” she replied with a large smile on her pink face. “You’re serious?” he muttered again. “Yes I’m serious, and honestly, I’ve kinda imagined my boyfriend asking me to marry him after we had hot steamy sex.” she winked. “Oh, one more thing before we finally sleep, can we not tell the family until we

have rings and also can we give them a different version of the story, because if your brothers find out this is when I proposed, they might kill me.” he chuckled. They both laughed and as soon as their heads fell to the bed, both of them fell asleep, now feeling much more complete than they ever had before.

***

The alarm rang all of a sudden and Harry opened his eyes slowly, taking in the sight of the gorgeous redhead lying naked beside him on his bed. “Morning baby,” he hummed softly. “Morning to you too, Fiancee dearest,” she muttered, still half-asleep. They both laughed and Ginny gave Harry a quick and sloppy kiss. “Would you like to go running with me Ms Weasley?” Harry grinned. “Let’s see? Would you like to marry me, Mr Potter?” She tried hard not to laugh and played along. “Why, of course!” he chuckled, “Then, I shall go running with you.” she laughed and bowed down gracefully putting her hand near his mouth. He took it in his hand, gave a slight bow and brushed his lips against it. Ginny changed into an exercise set, leggings which made her arse look hot and a cropped sweatshirt, in a very light beige colour. Harry wore a pair of loose basketball shorts and a large hoodie on top. This hoodie was his, but it was generally worn by Ginny on movie nights with Harry. Both of them loved it. It was monsoon and they were worried it would rain, but they didn’t pay much attention to it. They stepped out to the pavement outside Grimmauld Place feeling a gust of cool, humid monsoon air blow in their hair. They began running, they talked and laughed. The roads were rather crowded, it was rare to see a couple so randy for each other, even after 2 years. It was visible as both of them ran, how much in love they were, stealing kisses, giving playful nudges, saying that they loved the other every 20 seconds in a way that they thought the other might forget, but the truth being said, the love they felt for each other could never lessen, forgetting was a far way forth. “Gin, do you wanna get some coffee?” Harry panted as they took a brief halt. “Hmm… yes, let’s get coffee,” she caught her breath and hummed. “Let’s go to that muggle cafe you like?” Harry smiled. Ginny nodded and they made their way to a secluded corner and apparated a little away from the cafe. It was called ‘Episode’ and it looked gorgeous. The early morning sunlight fell on its entrance which was green, full of plants. There were tables outside with umbrellas above them and there was a gazebo as well. The signboard of the cafe was covered with vines. They both took a seat in a corner outside. “So, when do you want to go ring shopping?” Harry asked expectantly, “I’m free this weekend. We have an offseason, we don’t have a game for another 3 months, today is just a meeting with our trainers to make sure we are all following our diet.” Ginny shrugged. “Done then, this weekend it is!” Harry pecked her lips as the waiter approached them from behind. “Morning to you sir, ma’am! What can I get you today?” the waiter asked politely and handed them a menu with several beverages written on it. They both glanced through and Ginny spoke up, “Good Morning! I will have a thick and frothy Hazelnut Frappuccino, with extra whipped cream.” she spoke to the waiter and winked at Harry. He grunted and spoke, “I’ll have a shot of espresso, extra hard.” he grinned back at Ginny. The waiter looked lost for words, he cleared his throat and said, “Will that be all?” They nodded and he left. “What was that about Harry?” Ginny asked in a concerned voice, “the waiter was right there!” she whispered in his ear. “Hey! You started it, and just for your information, I’m kind of turned on!” he replied in a panicky voice, saying the end of his sentence into her ear. “A secret, me too!” she whispered back and bit his earlobe softly. He shifted in his seat a bit. Their foreplay continued for a little while and they both tried not to be too conspicuous. After a few minutes, the waiter appeared with their coffee. “There you are, your coffee’s! Call for me when you’re ready to pay.” he put down their coffee and left again. Ginny seductively took a sip of her coffee and a thick layer of whipped cream settled on her upper lip. She was about to lick it off but Harry lurched forward and darted his tongue to her lip. He licked it off in one swipe and Ginny moaned. “Keep it down baby, someone might hear you,” Harry

whispered in a raspy voice in her ear. She sighed and felt a chill run down her spine. “Harry, home. I need you.” she moaned. He ignored everything else, shoved a 20-pound note on the table, which was much more than their bill, but he didn’t care. He pulled Ginny into a corner that wasn’t visible to anyone around and apparated them to 12, Grimmauld Place. They entered the kitchen, both of them completely lost in lust. Harry picked her up as if she weighed nothing and put her down on the counter. He pulled his hoodie off with urgency and she ran her hand on his perfectly toned abs which glistened with beads of sweat. He caught her lips in an urgent kiss. She pulled her top off as well, separating with Harry’s lips for a brief second. Harry moved his hand to the back of her head and pulled off her hair tie. “Quick Harry! I need you inside!” she muttered into the kiss. Harry’s hand went to Ginny’s waistband and he pulled down her pants and knickers, he slowly inserted a finger and she moaned his name. He pulled down his pants and boxers and withdrew his finger, instead, entering her with his cock a second later. They both moaned with the sensation. He completely withdrew and entered her again after a second. He thrust slowly for a few minutes. “Yes! Ah! That’s the spot! Harder!” she moaned and Harry sped up at once. He went at an unbelievable speed and he felt her contract around him, he knew she was about to come. He twisted his hips in a way that made her scream. “Cum for me Gin!” Harry said loudly. “Fuck. Harry!” she shouted into the kitchen and spilt her juices all over Harry and the kitchen floor. Harry kept thrusting, riding out her orgasm and his was triggered soon too. He didn’t stop and caught her lips in a needy kiss. Just as he was about to pull out, someone walked into their house through the chimney. Shit. It was Ginny’s brother, Harry’s best mate, Ron Weasley. Harry immediately pulled out and bent down to pick up his boxers. Luckily, Ginny was still wearing her bra, she bent down to pick up her underwear but it was too late. For both of them. “HARRY JAMES POTTER! YOU ARE A DEAD MAN!” Ron screamed. “Ron, it’s not what it looks like!” Harry said and pushed Ginny away who had engulfed him in a hug from the side as soon as they had heard someone come in through floo. “Do you realise what this looks like Potter?!” he said with widened eyes, “Merlin! Put on some clothes, you two!” he said and walked away to the living room as if calling Harry to sit and talk. “Gin-” he grunted. She laughed and pushed him away, signalling to the living room. He put on his clothes quickly. “Ron-” he tried to talk but Ron cut in, “How dare you!” he shouted, “she’s my sister Harry!” he said. “Ron, she’s my fiance and-” he tried to speak but Ron cut in again, “Fiancee?” he shrieked and stood up from the sofa. “I mean- I- I-” he stuttered and he saw Ginny walk into the room. “Yes! Fiance and he proposed after we shagged last night! Just for a count Ron, we’ve probably had sex more times this week than you have in your whole life.” she grimaced. “What-?” Harry said in a confused voice and signalled toward Ginny. Ron threw glances at both of them who stood on either side of the room. “No Ron, she’s lying, we- we- we-”he continued stuttering. “Okay, Professor Quirrell!” she grinned at Harry and continued, “Ron! It’s all in front of you! Whatcha gonna do?” she laughed. “Gin-”Harry eyed her to stop. “Oh, and if I am telling you my secrets, we’ve even shagged in your room, Ron! At the burrow!” she finished. “My room!?” Ron said with a terrified expression. Harry rolled his eyes. “Whatever Ron! That’s the truth! We’re both consenting adults, there’s nothing you can do! Plus, we’re in love.” he said. “You two are bloody minxes!” he barfed. Ginny winked at Harry. “Fine! I won’t kill you then Harry!” Ron said his eyes now moving from the ceiling to the floor. “As if you had the balls to do that Ronald!” Ginny laughed and walked toward Harry. She stood in front of him and gave him a little kiss, whispering in his ear, “That was amazing.” They both

grinned and Ron looked at them with an expression of pure disgust. “I’d trusted you, Harry! If you end up getting my sister pregnant or something, I will never forgive you!” he whined and continued, “Anyway, when did you get engaged? And when were you going to tell me and ‘Mione?” he finished. “As Gin already mentioned, I proposed last night after we shagged like, 4 times. She said yes, we are going ring shopping on Saturday and we were supposed to tell you after we got the rings and make a more acceptable story, but there you go!” Harry chuckled. “4 times?! Couldn’t you have skipped the details? Bleugh.” he muttered. “Ron! If you don’t want to get your bits hexed, then you better not tell anyone else, except ‘Mione!” Ginny cut in. Ron rolled his eyes. “I’d originally come to tell you lot that me and ‘Mione are having a hang out session tomorrow, at 8 in the evening, it’s been long since we all met, so, I’d come to invite you two. It would be good if you could go shopping today and come up with a better story before it slips out of your mouths. It’s for your good,” he said and shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve taken a leave from work today too, to help ‘Mione with party prep, you should too!” Ron finished. “Well, alright, I wanna be officially engaged to you as soon as I can!” Harry said to Ginny, winked and kissed Ginny who he was still holding from around her waist. Ron gagged again. “Shut up! You just ruined the moment!” Ginny shouted and pulled away. “So? Are you going ring shopping?” Ron asked expectantly. “Hmmm… okay, I’ll call in sick,” Ginny shrugged and Harry held her tighter. “I’ll take a leave too!” Harry said and sat down on the settee with Ginny on his lap. “Where’s ‘Mione though?” Ginny said, looking at Ron. “Oh! She’s coming. She was meeting with one of her colleagues from the Ministry. She’ll floo in any minute now!” Ron replied. “Fancy some breakfast Gin? Ron?” Harry said. “Yes, please! I am starving!” Ginny grinned. “I think I’ve lost my appetite!” Ron said looking at the ever-randy couple in front of him who was now making out. Harry reluctantly pulled away and went to the kitchen. About 10 minutes later Harry walked back into the room with two plates, both with two slices of bread, each topped with a sunny side up and three strips of bacon. He handed one to Ron, “You could never lose your appetite!” he laughed and walked back to Ginny who stood up. He sat down and pulled her back on her lap. She picked up one of the pieces of bread and took it near Harry’s mouth. He took a bite and licked his lips. He did the same to Ginny and Ron looked up from his plate of food now to find Ginny licking Harry’s lips. “I think both of you are bloody capable of eating on your own!” he shouted and they heard the sound of someone coming in through the chimney. Of course, it was Hermione, Ron’s wife and Ginny and Harry’s best friend. She walked in and all of them greeted her with a pleasant hug and Ron with a kiss. They all took their places, now Hermione sat beside Ron on the large sofa in the middle of the room. They all ate and chatted, Ron told Hermione what had happened when he came here and the room filled with giggles from everyone except Ron. They talked for about an hour, “I’m going to go home, prepare for the party?” Hermione said as she got up and pulled Ron with her. They said their goodbyes and Ron and Hermione flooed away. “Now, Fiancee dearest, would you fancy making some calls to your office and mine for a holiday?” she asked, smiling. He nodded and they made their calls. “I’m going to take a shower, then we’re going to go get some rings!” Harry said as he walked into the bathroom. He took a quick shower and as soon as he stepped out, completely naked, Ginny walked in. He pulled her toward him and threw her over his shoulder. They both laughed as Harry put on his boxers. He put her down then and put on the rest of his clothes. Ginny stripped quickly and hopped into the shower. Harry tried not to look because he knew that it wouldn’t be too good if he was turned on while at the shop. He walked out and sat on

the sofa waiting for Ginny. A few minutes later, she walked out, completely naked. “Gin- you, you’re- you’re not wearing a robe or a towel?” he stuttered. “I forgot Harry! It doesn’t matter anyway, we’re going to be married soon!” she said and walked toward Harry, holding a tube of lotion in her hand. “Put this on my back,” she said normally. “But- but- Gin- I- okay-” he kept stuttering and took the tube from her. He looked away and squirted some lotion on her back. He started rubbing slowly in circular motions. “Harry! Do not tell me your awkward! We are going to be married for god’s sake! Shut up and rub it properly.” she shouted. “Yeah- yeah of course, god, I’ve done it before so many times!” he said a little more confident. “Oh my god! This reminds me of our first vacation together! In Long Island, our first trip to the US was together!” Ginny reminisced. Truth be told, Harry’s bulge was harder than ever. In long Island, they had sex inside the ocean, in the depths and it was probably one of the best Harry ever had. It really turned him on. He suppressed it and carried on, now using both of his hands to rub her back and massage her shoulders. He moved her hair and rubbed the bottom of her neck, timely whispering into her ear. Soon later Harry faced Ginny and caught her lips in a needy kiss.

#hinny smut #post war hinny #harry x ginny #hp fanfic #hinny fluff #harry potter #ginny weasley #ginny potter #hinny wedding #domestic hinny #hinny au #hinny proposal

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joonie-beanie · 4 years

Text

Helping Hands

Pairing: Barbatos x Reader

Word Count: 5,526

Preview: The royal butler decides to pay you a visit when he hears that your back is acting up.

However, when he offers to give you a massage, things get a little out of hand.

** Please note that this is a cross-posting **

This chapter is also being posted on 7/10/2020 as a part of my “Devil Doms” series on AO3.

Obviously, you’re not as close to the residents of the Demon King’s Palace, or the other exchange students, as you are with the demon brothers. That’s to be expected, considering you literally live with the seven demons, and are pretty much around them at all times.

However, your relationships with the others are far from distant.

In fact, for the last two months, Diavolo and Barbatos have been inviting you over for tea every Sunday evening.

At first, you’d found it a bit strange to partake in a tea party so late in the day, and on a Sunday no less, but you’ve grown quite fond of your quiet evenings with the Devildom Prince and his faithful butler. Usually conversation is pleasant. Diavolo loves to ask you about your experiences in the human world, and never gets enough of your stories—even if it’s just you retelling simple parts of your day.

It has also been a good opportunity to get to know Diavolo and Barbatos more. Diavolo is very forthcoming with any information you’d like to know, but still tends to have this…front about him. Like he’s willing to let you in, but just not too deep. After all, he is the ruler of the Devildom, so you don’t blame him for keeping certain things to himself.

Barbatos…also feels like a puzzle, but a puzzle that with time, he will gladly let you put together. In the past month, you’ve managed to learn an array of information about him—his favorite foods, what he likes to drink, what he does when he’s not tending to Diavolo, etc.

Apparently, he enjoys baking, reading, and taking long, hot baths. He’s always formal out of habit, but ever so slowly has begun to shed such formality with you—making little remarks that would have seemed out of character in the past, but are becoming much more frequent nowadays.

In fact, last week when you’d showed up exhausted, he’d quipped about whether you were having any “late nights” with the brothers. The twinkle in his eye had confirmed that yes, he was implying it in a sexual manner, and Diavolo’s full belly laugh when he’d seen the shock and embarrassment on your face had echoed throughout the entire castle.

So, least to say, you and Barbatos are starting to get along quite well.

Unfortunately…you’re not sure that you’ll be able to make your weekly tea tonight—on account of the fact that you can barely walk.

Hand pressed against your lower back, you openly groan in pain as you press to your feet. You need to get to your DDD to let the two know of your predicament, but of course you’d managed to leave your phone on the other side of the room.

With your body curved at a horribly awkward angle, you stagger your way across the wooden floor. You think the source of your problem is a kink in your neck, that is throwing your entire body out of alignment, but you can’t say for sure considering everything hurts.

Sighing, you unlock your DDD and open up the messaging app. You click into your chat with the royals.

You: Hi there. I’m not sure I’ll be able to make it tonight. I’m not feeling too well…

It only takes a few seconds before Diavolo responds.

Diavolo: I was actually just about to text you. Something quite urgent came up, so I’m unavailable this evening.

Diavolo: Also, I’m so sorry to hear you’re not feeling well! Please, be sure to get rest and take care of yourself!

Smiling at his kind words, you respond with your gratitude. A moment later, you see ellipses pop up at the bottom of the chat, but they soon disappear. No message comes through, and you frown a little. However, after another few seconds, you receive a new notification.

A text from Barbatos, but outside of the group chat the two of you share with Diavolo.

Barbatos: May I ask what’s the matter? I was intending to still invite you over for tea since I enjoy your company regardless.

Barbatos: If you’re ill, however, I’d like to know if there’s anything I can do to help.

You’d be lying if you said a small part of you didn’t swoon at his concern, and the declaration of the fact that he enjoys having you around.

You: I have a kink in my back, and it’s honestly affecting my ability to do…anything, at the moment. I would have loved to have tea with you, though.

Barbatos responds right away.

Barbatos: If it’s alright with you, I’d be more than happy to bring the tea to you instead. Lord Diavolo has already departed for the evening, and I have nothing else to do.

Barbatos: Plus, I’ve heard that I’m a pretty skilled masseuse, as well. I may be able to assist with your current ailment.

Your heart flutters a bit at the idea of letting Barbatos massage you, since you’ve yet to be physical with the butler beyond hugs, but you can’t deny how appealing a massage sounds right about now. Your muscles are oh so sore, and at this point, you should be accepting any type of help you can get.

You: I don’t want to impose, but that sounds wonderful…

Barbatos: Think nothing of it. I will be over shortly. Do not feel the need to come and greet me, I shall ask Lucifer to guide me to your room.

You text back your confirmation before stumbling back to your bed—rolling onto the messy sheets with a pained hiss as you wait for Barbatos to arrive.

Only 20 or so minutes later, you hear the sound of knuckles wrapping against your bedroom door.

“Y/N?” It’s Lucifer’s voice. “Barbatos is here to see you.”

“Come in,” you call, knowing full well that you probably look a mess—laying belly down on your mattress with one leg hiked high, and one arm hanging low. It’s the comfiest position you could find, though.

Lucifer turns the knob and steps into the room first, a frown tugging at his lips when he notes how you’re positioned on your bed. Barbatos follows him in, worry in his eyes as well, but he still manages to smile.

“My, you weren’t kidding when you mentioned having a kink in your back.”

“I think death is approaching,” you respond, overly dramatic, and your words have both Barbatos and Lucifer chuckling.

“I shall leave you two to enjoy your tea. Please contact me if you need anything.”

“Thank you, Lucifer.”

With that, the Avatar of Pride makes his way from your room—closing the door behind him. Now, it’s just you and Barbatos.

“I think the tea may have to wait,” he comments, moving to set the basket he’d brought with him on the table at the far side of your room. You note that it’s woven wood—practically a picnic basket, and smile a little. How cute.

Forgetting about your pain for a moment, you watch as the butler opens the basket up and reaches inside. You expect him to produce some tea cups, or saucers, but instead he pulls out what looks to be a bottle of oil.

Realization strikes you, and your cheeks begin to heat up.

“You know, Barbatos, you really don’t need to give me a massage…,” you tell him quietly, mumbling the words as you watch him begin to roll up his sleeves. He’s dressed more casually than usual—his overcoat and tie nowhere to be found. Instead, he’s simply donning his green button up shirt, and a pair of black slacks.

It’s…a good look on him. Especially with the sleeves folded neatly up to his elbows. And when he slowly plucks off his white gloves, revealing fingernails painted the same color as the highlights in his hair, you feel your heart skip a beat.

“It’s clear that you’re in desperate need of one, and I already reassured you that you’re not imposing,” he tells you, making his way to your side with the bottle of oil in his hands. Per usual, there’s a pleasant smile on his face as he surveys you.

You hope that you’re not blushing brightly enough for him to notice.

“It’s just that…I’ve never had a massage before, so…,” you trail off, and it’s not a lie. Massages have always seemed like a luxury to you, so you’ve never gone out of your way to get one, despite how much you’ve heard about their wonders.

“Ah,” Barbatos hums, a look of understanding in his eyes. “Well, we can always stop if it has an adverse effect on the situation. And I of course want you to feel comfortable.”

His words put your mind at ease. He’s always so kind, no matter who he’s talking to, or who is watching.

“So…how do we…start?” you ask, feeling far too awkward. You already have a suspicion that you know what he’s going to say, and yet—

“Are you mobile enough to take your shirt off?”

Ah, yep, there it is.

If there was any hope of hiding your blush before, there’s certainly none now. And yes, you’re aware that Barbatos is only offering to do this because you’re friends, and because you’re in pain. There should be no reason to be embarrassed by the situation, and yet you are.

You take a second to try and calm your mind.

“I…I think I can--,” you eventually say, attempting to sit up. However, as soon as you place your palms on the mattress and try to push yourself up, a bolt of pain shoots straight down your spine, and a high-pitched cry falls from your lips.

Barbatos’ hand is immediately on your back—a gesture of comfort. The warmth from his palm soaks through your t-shirt, and a small part of you wishes that he’d make a point of touching you more often.

“Well, I will take that as a resounding no.”

There’s a perplexed frown on his face as he looks at you—his worry deepening by the second.

“Can you lift your arms, at the very least?”

You grunt, miraculously managing to lift both of your arms above your head. Barbatos breathes a laugh, the position a little amusing. You’re beginning to look like a horrible contortionist.

“Would you be opposed to me undressing you?” Your brain short circuits for a moment. “Since you were able to lift your arms, it’s likely the easiest option at this point.”

“Sure,” you respond without hesitation. You’re desperately trying to keep your wits about you, and yet, you can’t help the way your body jolts when you feel Barbatos’ fingers grip the hem of your shirt.

He pauses for a moment.

“Did I startle you?”

“No…,” you grumble, causing him to laugh. He drags his hands upwards—the t-shirt slowly peeling up your back. When he gets near your breasts, you manage to inch your body off the mattress so it doesn’t get…well, caught.

Of course, as Barbatos pulls the fabric past your chest, you also realize that you hadn’t bothered to put on a bra today—entirely due to the fact that 1. Your body was too stiff to attempt even putting one on, and 2. Bras suck.

So now here you are—Barbatos finally ridding you of your shirt—which means you’re entirely bare from the waist up. Oh, and the only thing saving you from being completely naked in front of the royal butler is the pair of shorts you’re wearing, which suddenly feel far too short, and far too tight for comfort.

“Are you alright?” he questions. His hand settles between your shoulder blades, and you feel goosebumps rise on your flesh. You’re so used to the sensation of his soft gloves, that the skin on skin contact is making you react in ways you hadn’t expected…

“I’m okay,” you respond, nodding a little. You move your arms so they’re folded beneath your cheek, and you carefully turn your head—facing yourself away from Barbatos. The last thing you want is him seeing how red you’ve become.

“If so, then I’ll begin,” he says. You hear him pop open the cap on the bottle, and you take a quiet breath—trying to prepare yourself. “If you ever feel uncomfortable, please let me know.”

“Will do, Barb.”

You mumble the words without thinking, and it takes your brain a second to realize what you’ve said.

“I-I mean--,” your words cut off, breath hitching as Barbatos grips your sides. He moves his hands gently against your back, spreading the oil on his palms across your soft skin.

“Barb?” he echoes, chuckling to himself. “That’s a first.”

“I--,” you shiver as he continues rubbing his hands up and down your spine. Apparently, you’re much more sensitive to touch than you’d realized. Just great. “—just…I mean. Slip of the tongue?”

“You may call me “Barb” if you so wish,” he responds, and you can hear the amusement lining his tone. The demon drags his hands back up to your shoulders, his thumbs kneading at the tense muscles near your neck, and whine leaves your lips.

“Good or bad?” he questions, and as another shiver rakes up your spine, you realize just how fucked you are. Your body, of course, aches beneath the surface, but your skin is just so sensitive. It takes all of your willpower to keep from writhing against the sheets as he continues his ministrations—rubbing circles between your shoulder blades.

“Um…a little of both?”

He hums considerately at your comment, his eyes surveying you closely. Even as you attempt to stifle the instinctive reactions of your body, there’s a subtle twitch of your muscles—a small intake of breath, or a flex of your toes.

When he reaches your mid-back—his fingers curling around your sides as he presses his thumbs into the muscles near your spine—he hears you gasp. Your body stiffens, fingers digging into the sheets near your head. Barbatos debates stopping, but…he gets the feeling that you’re not in pain.

As the thought occurs to him, a little bit of heat rise to his face. Until now, he hadn’t thought twice about your current position, or the fact that he’s touching you so intimately, but…

Barbatos swallows, yet his hands continue on their journey down the length of your back. He works slowly, doing his best to thoroughly rub every inch of skin—hoping to soothe the tight muscles that lay beneath. Perhaps if he focuses on the task at hand, he’ll forget about the little whines that spill from your lips, or the way your body shivers beneath his fingers.

As Barbatos faces his own dilemma, you find yourself rapidly descending into insanity. Each second that ticks by with the demon butler’s hands roaming your body has tendrils of heat snaking through your limbs. As much as you attempt to ignore the way his touches are making you feel, it’s nearly impossible.

Quicker than you had expected, you feel arousal beginning to pool between your legs. You’d hadn’t intended to get turned on by the massage, but here you are—desperately trying to smother the array of embarrassing sounds that have built in your chest.

However, the instant Barbatos’ hands move to your lower back—thumbs pressing into the muscles near your spine—your lips part.

“Fuck,” you moan, your body curving into the mattress. Your toes curl, knees bending as your calves lift from the sheets.

Barbatos’ hands still. You go stiff, all of the blood in your body rushing to your face.

“I…Barbatos, I am so sorry, I—”

“I’ve never witnessed anyone react to a massage so…vocally,” he says, picking his words carefully. His fingers coast up your sides, once against making you shiver, and you bite your lip to keep from gasping when you feel his hair tickle your cheek.

“Would you prefer if I stopped now?” The words are whispered into your ear. You can feel his hot breath on your skin—the curl of his fingers around your ribcage as he holds you—and your heartbeat quickens.

“I…I don’t want you to stop,” you respond honestly, voice quiet. “But I’m not sure I can stop myself either…”

“I never could have imagined that you would be so affected by a simple massage,” he chuckles, his fingers giving you a little squeeze as he leans back, retaking his standing position beside you. You release a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

“I didn’t realize I would be either…I don’t blame you if you want to stop.”

“As long as you’re alright, I would like to keep going,” he informs you, his palms coasting down either side of your spine until his grip is once again settled near the sensitive spot on your tailbone. You keen as his hands cup either side of your ass, thumbs working into the tense muscles at the center of your back.

“Hah…,” your fingers once again grip the sheets. Now that Barbatos has addressed your reactions to his touches, you feel a bit more playful. “Are you actually enjoying my reactions?”

He chuckles. “Would it be inappropriate if I said yes?”

The gears in your head grind to a halt. Your tongue pokes out to wet your lips. That’s not what you had expected.

“…Really?”

“Perhaps it is a bit disgraceful for me to admit, but…,” his movements still, his fingers flexing and giving your ass the lightest of squeezes. “…I would very much enjoy it if we could continue.”

You’re surprised to hear such words from him, but you’d be lying if you said they didn’t excite you.

You nod your consent. “Go ahead.”

Barbatos reaches for the bottle of oil at his feet, pouring a little more into his hands. You jolt when his palms encase one of your thighs—his touch dragging down your leg until he gets to your ankle. He then repeats the action on your other leg, a smile tugging at his lips as he notes your body’s instinctual response to his touches.

However, he doesn’t make comment. Instead, he focuses on working at the muscles in your thighs—his thumbs carving a path down the center of the supple flesh. As he does so, you become acutely aware of how close his fingers are to your clothed womanhood.

The realization causes more wetness to pool between your legs, and you bite your lip, wondering exactly how much longer you’ll be able to withstand the massage before you finally crack.

You want to say that your current affliction is entirely your fault—that it’s solely a product of your oversensitive body’s reaction to the massage—but you know it’s not. Barbatos is obviously getting something out of this situation as well, and that something definitely bridges beyond the pride of being a good masseuse.

Your toes curl as he works at the muscles in your calves—a sigh heavy with need passing through your parted lips.

You want him to touch you more. Where you’re aching to be touched.

“Barb--,” you start, mentally preparing yourself for the embarrassing question you’re about to ask, but you never get there. Barbatos presses his fingers into the back of your knee, and a moan tears from your throat.

The butler pauses, his gaze turning to your face. Until now, you’ve spent the massage facing away from him, but when he glances up, he finds that you’re returning his stare. Your entire face is red, bottom lip tugged between your teeth as a clear sign of your embarrassment. However, he can tell by the look in your eyes—your pupils blown wide—that you’re aroused.

His heart thumps painfully against his ribs.

“Barb, I--,” you don’t know what to say, entirely out of sorts. You’re ashamed, and horny, and a part of you wants to run away, but another part wants him to continue forever.

“Y/N,” he drags you out of your inner turmoil by speaking your name. One of his hands reaches forward, cupping your cheek. He leans in, your faces mere inches apart, and you finally notice the blush on his cheeks. It’s subtle, but there.

His gaze falls to your lips.

“May I kiss you?”

“Yes,” you breathe immediately, and he closes the gap without second thought.

The kiss is tender—a little hesitant, but full of need, and not just from you. Sighing pleasantly, you mold your lips with his once more, and then again, but before you can turn the kisses into a full out make out session, you feel Barbatos’ palm on your ass.

His hand moves downward, sneaking between your snug thighs. When he presses his digits against your clothed sex, you can’t help the lewd gasp that leaves you. Your hips instinctively grind against him, seeking more friction, and you feel him smile.

“Shall I stop?” he whispers.

“No, don’t,” you shake your head, and Barbatos leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. He’s pleased to hear those words.

Sitting back, Barbatos surveys you—watching you closely as he drags two of his fingers down the seam of your shorts. He hadn’t noticed before, but your arousal is already soaked into the dark fabric—a clear sign that you’d been enjoying his touches up until now.

When he finds that special bundle of nerves, drawing out another quiet cry falling from your lips, he chuckles. You bury your head in your folded arms, hips rocking back against his fingers.

“Ah, shit,” you breathe, unable to help yourself. You’re already so stupidly pent up from the massage—even him touching you through your shorts feels delicious. And Barbatos can’t help but get hard at the sight of you—your almost naked body curving against the mattress as you lift your hips and rock your pussy back and forth on his digits.

Reaching his free hand down, the demon butler gently squeezes your ass, relishing the little moan it draws from you. He helplessly craves to hear more of your sounds.

His fingers leave your clit, but before you can think to whine at the lost, you feel his digits curl around the crotch of your shorts. You freeze, heart hammering against your ribs, but don’t indicate for him to stop. While you’re nervous, you want this.

And Barbatos makes note of your reaction, giving you a few ample seconds to express any discontent. However, you do not, and so the butler tugs your shorts to the side, revealing your womanhood. You bite your lip, wriggling as his other hand slips beneath your shorts—once again taking hold of your ass without the fabric barrier.

As he holds you steady, two of his digits once more slide between your slick folds, gathering your arousal. You expect him to go back to rubbing your clit, but instead he curls his fingers into your pussy, and a gasp falls from your lips.

“Oh, fuck, Barb.” You groan. Your fingers take hold of the bed sheets, lip tugging between your teeth as you feel him experimentally pump his fingers in and out of you—stretching out your wet walls.

He moves slowly—testing the waters, and you clench around him—enjoying the girth of his fingers. Barbatos can’t take his eyes off of you.

“Is this alright?” he questions, curling his digits. The action has you moaning, and you nod your head.

“More, please.”

Barbatos breathes out through his nose at that, a little amused at the sound of your need.

Kneeling against the edge of the mattress to get a better angle, Barbatos begins picking up his pace. His fingers curl against your walls, and he smiles when he finds your sensitive spot—a surprised gasp escaping you. Immediately your stomach is curving into the mattress—hips pressing back as you attempt to take him deeper.

Barbatos gives your ass a squeeze, eyes sparkling. He debates asking if you’re feeling good, but he already knows the answer.

With his finger still fucking into you—your hips now rocking back ever so slightly to meet him—Barbatos moves his other hand between your legs. His thumb rests against your clit, drawing languid circles, and your breath catches.

“Fuck,” you bite the word out, muscles tensing. The demon butler feels your pussy clench around his fingers—orgasm quickly rising to the surface.

“Barb, please,” you whine, tugging at the sheets. Your heart is racing, breathless pants falling from your lips. Always one to please, Barbatos is more than happy to oblige. He presses against your clit harder, rubbing quicker, and in less than a minute, you’re coming undone for him.

Moan slipping past your lips, you tumble into your orgasm. Your pussy contracts around his still moving fingers, waves of pleasure rolling throughout your body. The butler doesn’t pull his digits from inside of you until he sees your body go slack against the sheets.

“You’re certainly one hell of a masseuse,” you mumble once you’ve regained your bearings, causing him to chuckle.

“I can assure you most of my clients don’t end up with my fingers inside of them.”

“No?” you question, a playful post-orgasm glow on your face as you turn to look at him. He smiles fondly at the sight of your pleasantly flushed cheeks.

“No,” he reassures, eyes creasing as he seats himself on the mattress beside you. For a moment, the two of you simply stare at each other, a sense of peace settling over the two of you. Then, your gaze falls to his lap. The tent against his slacks is quite obvious.

Noting where your eyes have strayed, Barbatos has the humility to blush.

“I apologize for my…reaction,” he quickly excuses himself, glancing away. “I assure you I didn’t intend to take advantage of you.”

Instead of responding, you press onto your hands and knees and turn to face him. With your face dangerously close to his crotch, you bat your eyelashes up at him innocently.

“If you don’t mind, I’d be perfectly alright with helping you in return, Barbatos.”

The butler looks shocked at the offer, but after a few seconds, he lifts a hand and gently cards it through your hair—a soft look of hunger in his eyes.

“Only if you wish.”

Smiling, you immediately prop onto your elbows—knees folding on the bed beneath you—and reach out to fiddle with his pants. Within seconds, you’ve managed to free his length. Your hand immediately wraps around the base of his shaft, and Barbatos closes his eyes at the sensation, taking a deep breath.

You smile at his pleased reaction, your mouth moving to press a kiss against his slit before you stick out your tongue and roll it around the head of his cock. And when you take him into your mouth—your hand still fisted around the lower half of his length, stroking languidly—his breath catches. The fingers in your hair grip a bit tighter.

You giggle around his cock.

“Good?” you question, pulling off. Your hand moves in bolder strokes against him, making up for the absence of your mouth as you turn to stare up at the demon. There’s a blush dusting his cheeks.

“I believe you’re asking a question you already know the answer to,” he responds, tongue darting out to wet his lips. You smile cheekily at his words, fingers tightening ever-so-slightly around his length. You see his jaw clench.

“Good.”

Turning, you once more take the tip of his cock between your lips. You focus yourself on pleasing Barbatos—alternating between trailing your tongue against him, and sucking him into your mouth. The combination of your hand pumping his shaft, and your mouth concentrating on his head is quite honestly devastating, and within minutes the demon butler finds himself nearing his release.

“Y/N,” he warns, his voice slightly strained. He gives your roots a little tug, and you release him from your mouth with an audible pop. You’re seriously going to drive him crazy.

“Yes?” you question, your hand continuing to stroke him. You feel his cock jump in your grip.

“Stay like this,” he says, keeping his hold on your hair. You take that as a sign to get him off with just your hand, and you don’t complain. If that’s his preference, then you’re more than happy to go with it.

Aware of his impending orgasm, you simply continue your ministrations—your fist pumping his shaft until he finally reaches his breaking point. With a shaky breath, Barbatos spills his seed into your hand. His chest rises and falls quickly as you pump him through his orgasm without missing a beat.

You only stop when he’s milked dry—his length beginning to go soft in your grasp.

“Is that fair payment for the massage?” you ask, looking up at him with a smile. He loosens his grip on your hair—his hand moving to cup your cheek as he stares at you. You can see the post-orgasm satisfaction swimming in his green eyes.

“No payment was required,” he tells you honestly. “But yes, that was very much enjoyable.”

A warm feeling of contentment settling in your chest, you move to sit up, but pause when you realize that you’re still topless. Eyes going wide, you cross your arms over your chest, face heating up, and Barbatos chuckles.

“After all we’ve experienced together tonight, you’re suddenly coy about me seeing your breasts?”

“You hush,” you tell him, swinging your legs off the side of the bed. You reach down to fetch your discarded t-shirt, and when you stand straight, an arm wraps around your waist from behind.

“You’re covered in oil, so I would suggest showering,” Barbatos tells you, pressing a soft kiss to your hair. The contact is only for a brief moment—his touch disappearing as he separates himself, taking a step back—and yet your heart flutters. “I’ll prepare the tea while you clean up.”

“Okay…,” you agree, glancing over your shoulder at him. He’s smiling pleasantly, looking far too put together for someone that just came a minute before. There’s not a hair out of place on his head—or even a stain on his trousers.

How unfair.

Turning, you head into your bathroom to rinse off, and Barbatos immediately busies himself with readying your beverages for the evening.

By the time you return from your shower—t-shirt back in place, and a towel atop your damp hair, the room is set up for a tea party. Barbatos is seated on one side of the table, casually surveying a book that you’d left on your desk. One you’d borrowed from Satan.

“I hope you don’t mind me taking up so much of your evening,” he says when he spots you, setting down the reading material.

“Not at all,” you say, moving to join him. Despite the newly shared intimacy between the two of you, the atmosphere feels comfortable, and you’re grateful for that.

Standing, Barbatos pours you both a cup of tea, and things fall into place as usual. You spend a long while chatting—catching up on events of the previous week, and talking about whatever topics cross your mind. By the time the snacks are gone, and the tea has gone cold, it’s quite late.

“I apologize for staying until such an hour,” he says as you help him clean the table. The screen of your DDD indicates that it’s already past 11. You shake your head.

“Seriously, Barb, it’s no big deal. I lost track of time too.”

He can’t help but chuckle at your nickname for him. It’s a nickname that will be solely reserved for you to say.

“Still, it is a school night. I’d best not stay any longer, or I fear Lucifer will have my head.”

“Well, I can’t exactly disagree with that,” you respond with a laugh, holding your arms in front of you. Your eyes trail on him as he finishes packing the basket he’d arrived with. He then picks it up, and starts for your door. You quietly follow after him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” you ask, although you already know you will. Of course you will—Barbatos is always at RAD during the week.

Nonetheless, the demon butler smiles at you.

“Yes, I look forward to seeing you.”

With that, he grasps the doorknob and pulls your door open. However, he makes it only one step into the hall before he pauses, turning back to face you.

“Oh, and Y/N?”

You blink. “Hmm?”

“If you’d ever like another massage, please don’t hesitate to let me know. It seems to have worked wonders for you.”

A playful grin pulls at his lips, and he’s gone before you are able to fully digest his words. It takes you a good few seconds to realize what he means—your eyes looking down at yourself, and registering that you’re standing and walking without a sliver of pain.

“Ah!” you say, shocked, and you swear you hear him laugh from up the hall.

#om!#obey me #barbatos #barbatos fic #barbatos smut #om! smut #obey me smut #obey me fic #om! fic

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moonlit-han · 4 years

Text

part ii: filled with sunshine

genre: college au, neighbor au; fluff, humor, slow burn pairing: 3racha x femme reader in poly relationship part word count: 11k part warnings: mature content (18+, specific warnings under the cut), suggestive, explicit language, alcohol consumption request: no a/n: this in no way reflects the actions of stray kids’ bang chan, seo changbin, or han jisung. it is a work of fiction. !! important !!: the author requests that readers be mindful that there is 18+ content in this piece and read only if they are of age. thank you. while the mature content is poetically described, it still exists. and, remember to always get continued and enthusiastic consent as you practice safe sexual habits.

~ read part 1 first! ~

✧ series masterlist & tag list info in bio ✧

↠↞

mature content warnings: oral (giving, receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, cock-warming. again, please read only if you are of age.

↠↞

You woke around 10 am on Saturday morning and just lay there in bed, enjoying the memories of the night before. Everything had been hot and almost desperate, but somehow still gentle. And, there was something about not even making it to your bed because you wanted each other too much . . .. Your pulse quickened and you had to squeeze your legs together as you remembered the feeling of his hands exploring every inch of your body, the feeling of his mouth caressing you, that wonderful sense of almost flying. When you looked down at yourself under the sheets, you weren’t surprised to find bruises across your chest and stomach, and were quite glad that it was winter.

Before you’d done anything besides kiss, Jisung had been forthright in saying that he was disease-free and was very careful with who he was intimate with. (You were the one to bring out a box of condoms, since you never knew when you’d need to provide one). You were delighted that he was so aware and honest, clearly taking his actions seriously and taking responsibility for his part in any relationship. Just knowing that had made you relax and, almost, abandon yourself to each and every sensation. You’d made sure to tell him that you were polyamorous, too, making it clear that you were also safe in your habits. Once you’d gotten the talking out of the way, it hadn’t taken long for you to find that your new couch was, surprisingly, quite comfortable to be pressed into.

As he’d pulled his pants back on, Jisung had insisted that he go back to his apartment, saying he had to be up early to go over some notes on a song before meeting with Chan and Changbin at the studio. You also suspected that, despite the two of you just having sex on your couch, he was a bit shy now. Honestly, you couldn’t blame him—if it had all been planned, then maybe he would’ve stayed, but this was all too new, too unexpected.

After stretching to relieve the stiffness in your lower back, you went to shower and get dressed. When you sat down to eat, you brought your phone and that slip of paper with Jisung’s phone number on it so you could message him. It was only right that you did.

y/n: hey babe, last night was really fun

No, that wouldn’t work. I can’t call him “babe” after hooking up only once.

y/n: hi jisung! it’s y/n. just wanted to say than

No, that really wouldn’t work. Thanking him like that would just trivialize the whole experience.

y/n: hey jisung! it’s y/n. last night was absolutely lovely and, let me say, you were fantastic! i’d love to

Nope, now I’m making him sound like a horse that had won a race or something. Damn.

y/n: hey jisung! it’s y/n~ last night was really great and i’d love to see you again. maybe we could get together for dinner one night or to watch a movie? i want to get to know you better!

There. That was good. Okay . . . send!

You sighed, then promptly bolted out of your seat and hid your phone under a cushion on the couch. Not two minutes later, you heard the faint buzz signaling that you’d received a text message.

jisung: hey y/n! ah, i see you used that piece of paper after all ;) i had a lovely time, too! what’s your favorite movie, then? i can try getting it from the library on my way home. jisung: sorry, let me start that bit over again. i’m busy tonight, but are you free next saturday? i’d love to watch a movie with you.

You giggled at Jisung’s evident enthusiasm, and quickly responded.

y/n: yes, i’m free that night :) maybe surprise me with the movie? jisung: a surprise it is, then! your place or mine? y/n: yours? i’ve never seen your apartment and you’ve seen mine a lot… jisung: ….point taken. i’ll have to clean up a little, but i think you’ll like it :) y/n: what time should i come through the connecting door?

You sighed a little as you sent the text. It was more than a little weird that this was how you were going to see Jisung, especially when front doors existed. But, you figured it was only right that you go through that way a few times, since he’d been going back to his apartment like that for months.

jisung: is 7:30 ok? y/n: sure! i’ll see you then… babe ;) jisung: *blushes*

A small noise that sounded suspiciously like an excited “Eeep!” came from Jisung’s apartment, and you grinned, giggling again. Jisung was, to put it mildly, absolutely adorable. Hot, yes—far too hot for you to properly function around, if you were totally honest—but also sweet and lovely. He was bright as the sun, seeming to practically radiate joyful light. And if last night was anything to go by, Jisung was quickly going to become a fixture in your life.

All that week, you couldn’t wait to see Jisung again and in a proper, arranged setting rather than as he was climbing through your window. You’d texted, flirting and just telling each other about yourselves. You learned that he loved being outside, just sitting in the sun or doing things with Chan and Changbin. He learned from you that you wanted to travel and study languages that were in danger of dying out. You bonded over a shared love of curling up with a good book or music or show, some tea, and having the world leave you alone. So, the idea of just watching a movie with him, spending time together in a simple but specific environment, sounded perfect to you.

Although, you did hook up twice more when neither of you could stand not getting your hands on each other again. Jisung was a kind and thorough lover, his personality vibrant and unaffected, and you enjoyed coming together simply for the sake of feeling amazing; you’d even taken to thinking of him as sunshine. You quickly found that you were sleeping better, and thought it might be nice if this sort of thing continued.

On Saturday evening, you found yourself impatiently waiting for 7:30 pm instead of doing small chores and reading some of the chapters you’d been assigned for your Poetry of Emancipation and Civil Rights course. It was maddening, especially when you heard Jisung get home and all you could think about was his smile. At 7:29 pm, you made your way into your bathroom and opened the little door in the wall. Jisung’s recent passage through the space within had cleared any cobwebs, but still there wasn’t much light. Whoever had split the old house into apartments had added this through-space for, presumably, plumbers to access the fixtures more easily, or maybe it was simply an anomaly in the construction. Either way, you now had a fascinating, new way to visit your neigh- your boyf- to visit Jisung.

Damn it, I can’t believe I’m doing this, you laughed at yourself and knelt to make your way into Jisung’s apartment. Before you could start, though, the door at the other end of the crawlspace opened and Jisung appeared.

“Hold on!” he said, and opened the door wider so that as much light as possible would shine through. Gratefully, you quickly made your way toward him—it really wasn’t a long space, only five steps crawling, but it was such an odd thing to do that you couldn’t help feel that it was much longer. When your head was out of the little passageway, you looked up to see a very strange look on Jisung’s face. It was the kind of expression one makes when something filthy is rocketing through one’s mind and it’s impolite to share those thoughts. Belatedly, you realized the position you were in and ducked your head.

When you’d fully emerged from the crawlspace, Jisung stood back and you clambered to your feet, brushing off your knees.

“Hey, babe,” Jisung said, winking.

“Hey!” You stood on tiptoe to brush your lips against his. “So, this is your bathroom.” Looking around, you noticed just how clean the room was—it wasn’t at all strange to appear there, with no odd smells, garish decor or anything out of place.

“Yep, this is my bathroom. Come see everything else—it’s much more interesting!” Jisung said, and hesitantly took your hand to lead you out into the rest of his apartment. Unsurprisingly, it had the same layout as yours, only mirrored.

When you got to the living room, you stared. Jisung had an electric keyboard, a guitar, a small desk, and a computer set up in one corner, clearly his space for practicing and composing. He’d gone for comfort more than anything else, with a sofa that had clearly been well-loved and a few beanbag-like nests. The light curtains would clearly let in plenty of sunlight during the day, and you noticed, with interest, the pile of blankets on one end of the sofa. The coffee table had gaming consoles and books scattered across its top, and a tall bookcase full of novels and music books, as well as sheet music, stood against the wall by the instruments.

The space was so different from your own, but it was the homiest living room you’d ever been in. You resisted the urge to flop down onto the sofa until you remembered that Jisung had been coming through your window . . . so you casually taking over his sofa would be a non-issue. He grinned when you sighed contentedly at the plushness of the cushions.

“You like it?” Jisung asked.

“Ji, I love it! The whole room’s so cozy and warm,” you said appreciatively, taking in every detail. Jisung just let you enjoy the room’s atmosphere, since he’d worked quite hard to make it so inviting and wanted you to appreciate it.

“Want some tea? I have, um, a lot,” Jisung grinned, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

You nearly leapt off the couch and followed Jisung into the other room. “Oh my god, yes please!”

Jisung’s kitchen looked almost exactly the same as yours, except he didn’t have galaxy-themed tea towels. And, it was obvious to you that Jisung had his friends over more often than not, since two stools were stacked in the corner.

“Um,” Jisung prompted, “what kind would you like?” He pointed to a shelf with what had to be twenty boxes of different kinds of tea on it—to you, it looked like heaven. Seeing your awestruck look, Jisung added, “Take your time. I’ll just put the kettle on.”

After putting the water on to boil, Jisung came to stand behind you and, taking a deep breath as if to plunge into ice water, rested his chin on your shoulder. Without thinking, you leaned your head against his as if you’d been doing this together for years, rather than days. It was so easy to be with Jisung—everything just felt right. Thinking it was now or never, Jisung wrapped his arms around your waist and you leaned into him, still deciding what kind of tea you’d like.

“Guess what . . .” Jisung said.

“Hmmm?” you said distractedly.

“You’re beautiful,” Jisung murmured, breathing shallowly because he still couldn’t believe you were just casually in his arms. How had he gotten this lucky?

“And you’re handsome,” you replied.

Jisung was most certainly smiling as he said, “Want to split a pot of jasmine?” You nodded and jumped as the kettle’s shrilling pierced your ears—you hadn’t realized you were standing there with Jisung, just looking at tea, for that long. Jisung kissed your cheek, making you squeal internally, and went to make the tea.

Five minutes later, the two of you were back in the living room and Jisung was setting up the movie. You sat with your feet up under you, holding your tea to your chest. The warmth felt lovely. Once Jisung had gotten his DVD player set up and the beginning credits of the movie had started, he came to sit next to you. As he leaned back with his tea in one hand, he yawned and theatrically put his other arm around your shoulders.

You giggled. “Jisung, you don’t need to feel nervous about us cuddling or anything,” you reassured him. “It’s not like I haven’t touched you. We’ve had sex, for god’s sake. Multiple times.”

“I just- I wanted to go slowly since simple, casual intimacy is different. Or, at least that’s how I think of it. Just because we had sex doesn’t mean we’re going to be absolutely compatible right off the bat.” Jisung’s touch on your shoulder was light, as if he didn’t want to startle you.

“Ji,” you said, snuggling into his side, “you’ve got nothing to worry about. I feel more comfortable around you than some of the people I’ve known for three years.”

Jisung made a noise of disbelief. “What? Really?”

“Yeah,” you hummed, and threw a leg over Jisung’s thigh. His breath hitched a little before he pulled you closer to himself, the two of you settling into a comfortable configuration of limbs. The movie was one you’d only heard of in passing, and hadn’t expected to like—but Jisung’s explanation of why he liked it made you actually enjoy it.

Two-thirds of the way through the film, Jisung’s hand gently caressing your shoulder became too much of a distraction and all you wanted to do was kiss him again. You’d long ago finished your tea, and now contented yourself with gazing at him, taking in the smooth line of his jaw, the curve of his ear, the depression where his collarbone met the slope of his shoulder.

“I can feel you staring, Y/N,” Jisung said after a while, jolting you out of your daze. He paused the movie.

“Well, you’re kinda hot,” you countered.

“Yeah? How hot?” Jisung smirked, angling himself toward you.

“Very, very hot,” you whispered, craning your neck for a kiss. Jisung obliged, smiling.

Unlike your kisses the night before, this was slow and calm, like honey settling on ripe peaches. You slid forward to sit more squarely in Jisung’s lap as he tangled his fingers in your hair, the slight pull on your head feeling delicious. Each brush of his lips was soft and warm, and both of you took your time as you fell into the kisses, learning how gentle yet passionate the other could be. You moved your hands along his shoulders and chest, then up to cup his face, holding him like a priceless piece of art. Jisung hummed against your mouth, and drew you closer. Long minutes passed as you kissed, enjoying the simplicity of the connection, until you felt what seemed like a small fire ignite inside you.

Sensing your mood, as it reflected his own, Jisung said, “We’re not doing this on the couch again, Y/N. I have a bed, you know.”

You laughed—you couldn’t help yourself. It wasn’t as if you hadn’t expected things to go this way—after all, you’d worn some especially pretty lingerie—but the way Jisung had phrased it . . . he was almost pouting.

You pecked Jisung’s nose and said, “Lead on.”

Jisung didn’t bother asking you to get up or shift position—he just hooked an arm behind your knees and held the other at your back, and stood up. It was rather impressive, to say the least. He carried you to the bedroom, both of you giggling at the fact that you were really doing this, until you got to his room. Just like the rest of his apartment, it was cozy; there was no other word for it, especially with the soft faerie lights strung above the bed. You idly wondered if he always had them up or had just put them up in hopes the two of you would make it into his bedroom.

He sat down on the bed with you still in his arms, and resumed kissing you as if he hadn’t just carried you to an entirely different room. After a moment, you swiveled on Jisung’s lap so you were straddling his hips and wrapped your legs around him—his hands immediately went under your shirt, as if he’d been waiting to do just that.

“You really want to feel me up, don’t you,” you said, brows arched but smiling.

“Can you blame me?” Jisung’s voice was husky with desire. You just shook your head and pulled your shirt off, which made Jisung’s eyes widen. The lingerie was clearly doing its job. “Now who’s the hot one?” he asked, and ran his hands up and down your back as he continued kissing along your jaw and cheeks. His fingers finally stopped at the clasp of your bra and you breathed a “Yes.”

After a moment, Jisung leaned his head against your shoulder. “Y/N, um, it’s been a bit since I last did this…” His voice was so small and embarrassed.

“Aw babe, I’ve got it,” you said, stroking his hair. Jisung leaned back on his hands, watching you as you reached around yourself to unhook the clasp. You shrugged out of your bra and let it fall to the floor.

“You are so gorgeous, Y/N, you really are,” Jisung said, his voice low in awe.

You felt heat rise to your cheeks—you’d rarely, if ever, been admired like this, just bare before someone. “I- Um, I’m not sure what to say? Thanks?”

Jisung chuckled, saying, “You deserve every compliment I can give you,” and brought his hands back to your body. You were still as he trailed his fingertips up your stomach to cup the soft curves of your breasts, then brushed his thumbs over their peaks. You let out a shaky breath as Jisung began to kiss down your throat, over your sternum, and over each of the love bites he’d given you earlier in the week. He made certain to carefully add two more. You tangled your hands in his hair and sighed softly as he sucked, nibbled, and massaged, causing a tingling sensation to go straight to your core.

Jisung lifted his head briefly and, trailing a finger along his jaw, you said, “Your turn.” His shirt was off in one fluid movement and, again, you couldn’t believe you were actually with someone that beautiful.

“And you were saying I’m gorgeous? Jisung, oh babe, you should see yourself through my eyes.”

Jisung brushed his hair out of his face, looking intently up at you. “I can see myself in your eyes,” he said. “That’s enough for me.”

You smiled as you gently pushed Jisung back onto the bed, but before you could lay yourself down on top of him, he said, “Let me take off my jeans off first—it’ll be easier, you know?”

You chuckled and decided to do the same—he was right, after all. You sat on the bed next to Jisung as he did some fascinating acrobatics to divest himself of his pants and pull the sheets down at the same time. Laying there in just his underwear, Jisung’s desire was painfully evident and you unknowingly licked your lips; however, this did not go unnoticed by Jisung, who grinned. He scooted back onto the bed so his legs weren't hanging off the side and lay back on his pillows, holding his arms out to you.

“Shall we?” he said with an exaggeratedly coy expression.

You crawled on top of him, feeling him hard beneath you, and leaned down to kiss him deeply, your breasts just grazing his chest. Your own desire roared through you like floodwaters surging along a river toward a dam, and you ground your core against him, seeking the one thing that would break that dam apart. Jisung moaned into your mouth, holding your hips so firmly his hands dug into your muscles. And in moments, you were both breathing hard.

Flashing a grin at Jisung as you broke from your kiss, you slid down his chest. You began at his throat, too, leaving kisses and hickeys all over him, eliciting soft moans from his lips. When you got to the waistband of his underpants, you looked up the hard planes of his stomach and chest to his face. “May I?”

“God, please, Y/N,” Jisung all but begged.

You deftly pulled his last remaining clothes down and off, admiring what was now revealed before you. Tracing the length and girth with your fingers, you placed a kiss right on the tip and Jisung hissed softly at the contact. You efficiently pumped your hand back and forth, feeling as if you were an earth goddess urging a seedling to grow, until he stood tall and proud as an oak. Slowly, you brought your lips to him, swirling your tongue a little, then bobbed your head up and down, occasionally letting your teeth graze his sensitive skin. A slightly salty taste that was still distinctly his own began to fill your mouth, and he twitched a little. And oh, Jisung’s moans—they were loud and needy, just a little breathy, and like music to your ears. He encouraged you, praising and saying how good it felt; at his words, you took a moment to simply run your hand over him, kissing the same path your hand took. Then, returning your mouth to its task, you quickened your pace and your throat soon felt raw. After a moment, you simply sucked the tip, flicking your tongue out, until Jisung’s gasps and cries were louder than ever.

“I’m so close, Y/N . . . Just like th- Aaaah! Fuck!” Jisung’s hips bucked, surprising you, but you continued, drawing as much pleasure from him as you could as you swallowed and swallowed. The sound of him coming undone made the ache between your legs intensify, and as Jisung came down from his high, panting, you crawled back up the bed next to him.

Jisung pulled you to him, and you knew he could taste himself on your mouth as you kissed again. His hands were quickly back on your hips, fiddling with the band of your panties. “I want to taste you,” he said between kisses.

“Taste all you want,” you purred as his hand strayed lower.

He gave you a silly grin and, inexplicably, said, “Thank you.” You giggled.

Jisung wasted no time in flinging your panties nearly to the other side of the room, then tracing whirls over your stomach, going lower and lower. When you thought you might as well just take matters into your own hands, literally, Jisung slid his hand between your legs and you moaned.

“Mmmm, perfect,” Jisung smiled as he kissed just below your ear.

He seemed to want to feel each and every part of you, slowly exploring with first one finger, and then a second. In moments, you were wriggling and arching yourself toward him as his fingers danced. When he found that little bundle of nerves, rubbing it over and over, your hips bucked involuntarily. Fast, then slow, he coaxed you to the edge. Then, nothing.

“Oh no you don’t, Han Jisung,” you said, panting. “You are not stopping now.”

“Who said I was stopping?” Jisung said as he positioned himself between your legs, holding your thighs apart. You could still feel the blood pulsing through your veins and the ache inside was nearly maddening. He kissed all the way up your inner thigh, teasing you, then did the same along the other leg. You thrust your hips into the air, seeking some sort of friction.

Jisung smiled indulgently, then brought his mouth to you. His lips and tongue on your most sensitive parts felt so good you could barely think. Your moans were even louder than his had been, and you were glad that the neighbors typically went out on weekend nights. Jisung sucked that bundle of nerves like it was a hard candy and lapped at you like a kitten, clearly having the time of his life, before adding his fingers again. The combination had you begging for release, and all you could think was that this must be what it was like to be carried along a storm-swollen river to the edge of a waterfall.

“Oh, hhhhh, oh shit. Ji- Jisung, oh my god, hhhhh, oh god, fuck. Right there, oh f- Aaaah!”

Jisung crooked his fingers as he sucked, sending you hurtling out over that waterfall. Gasping and moaning, you shuddered, the coil of tension below your navel releasing. When he finally sat up, Jisung slowly licked each his fingers.

As you caught your breath, relishing the feeling of release, Jisung quickly went to his bedside table and you turned your head to see him sliding a condom on. He glanced at you, realizing he’d just assumed that you were okay with continuing.

“Jisung, just get back on the bed,” you said, forestalling his question, and Jisung did so, kneeling between your legs with an expectant look on his face.

“Well?” you said, looking up at him.

“I was just admiring you,” he said, and leaned forward to kiss you sweetly. Then, he straddled your hips and prepared himself before saying, “Ready?”

“Definitely,” you replied, an almost gleeful look in your eye.

You joined together little by little, Jisung letting you adjust, until he could go no further. You moaned at the feeling of such intimacy, the bright clarity of it—you felt like you were being filled with sunshine. “Ji, move,” you gasped, and he did.

Holding himself above you as you hooked your ankles behind his legs, Jisung began slowly, making you feel every bit of him. Then, the two of you moved as one, faster and harder, his hips finally snapping with as much power as he could muster.

Jisung buried his face in your neck as you urged him on. “Come on, Ji, right there. Oh, yes! Ah, that’s it. That feels so good, just like that.” You ran your hands all over his back, biting down on his shoulder as he finally hit the one spot inside that would surely bring your pleasure crashing down upon you again. Your nerves still singing from just moments before, you suddenly felt that coil inside you release as you clenched and unclenched, screaming Jisung’s name over and over.

“I still- I need—” Jisung gasped against your neck.

“Keep going,” you crooned, and held him to you as he chased his high, seeming to plunge deeper with each movement. A few moments later, Jisung’s hips shook and you felt him pulse as he dashed himself against the rocks at the foot of that waterfall of bliss. He shuddered, too, and lay against you, panting. You kissed his neck, his cheek, and his mouth as you both relaxed into each other’s arms.

After taking care of the condom, Jisung joined you back on the bed and you curled against him, still flushed with exertion. “That was—”

“Amazing,” you finished, turning to kiss him again. Jisung’s arm went around your shoulders and his other hand held your hip. You undulated your body against him gently, more for the slow, mellow comfort from the feel of his skin against yours than anything else.

“We should take a shower,” he said after a few more sweet kisses.

“Mmmm, that sounds perfect,” you agreed. “Can we just lay here for a moment, though?”

After several minutes, you suspected Jisung might fall asleep, so you gently kissed along his chest and said, “What about that shower?”

He chuckled and sat up with a groan. “Yeah, I know. I’ll go start the water.”

Once you’d showered together and lingered under the hot water, you lay side-by-side on Jisung’s bed, just tracing patterns into each other’s skin and occasionally kissing.

“I could get used to this, you know,” he said after you’d lain there for several minutes.

“Yeah? You mean us . . . just casually having sex? Or do you mean, like, dating?” you said, honestly not minding either way.

“I- Both, I guess?” Jisung paused. “But also just spending time with you, and being able to cuddle or do whatever when we need it. Casual comfort and companionship, and yeah, sex—keeping things open, you know?”

You looked up at him, thinking you understood now. “Do you mean having an open relationship?”

Jisung nodded. “Yeah, like we’re pretty much together but see other people but things are just kind of casual!”

You laughed lightly, glad that you were on the same page. “That’s exactly what I was thinking, actually,” you said. “I’m not really fussed about keeping things only between us—you know I’m polyamorous. I just feel like I’ve got a lot of love to give and that, while I am over the moon with happiness with you—”

“You are?” Jisung interrupted, turning his big doe eyes on you.

“Yes, Ji, of course,” you said, and continued. “But yeah, I just— I feel like I want to give as many people the affection and support they need, and to get all different kinds from them, as well as you. Just keeping things casual sounds perfect to me.”

Jisung rolled over onto his back, leaving you to rest your chin on his chest. He mindlessly stroked your hair. “Mmmm,” he sighed contentedly, “you know, I don’t mind if you don’t tell me who else you’re seeing, by the way. Not unless it gets serious and you’d like to actually date them, too. Then, it would be nice to know and meet them.”

“Oh my god, of course!” you exclaimed, your head jerking up sharply. “I wouldn’t hide something like that! I mean, if you’d like to share who we see super casually, I’m fine with that, too.”

“I trust you,” was all Jisung said.

“And I trust you,” you replied, kissing his chest above his heart. Suddenly, you were nearly practically overwhelmed by the tenderness you felt for Jisung, and shimmied your way onto his chest more solidly.

“Come here, angel,” he murmured, and pulled you fully on top of his body. Your bodies touching so completely made you feel like you were laying on a cloud. Smiling softly to yourself, you tucked your head under Jisung’s chin, listening to his heartbeat as his arms went around you. You thought the best sleep you’d had was the other nights that week, but they could never compare to falling asleep with Jisung.

↠↞

Strolling toward you down the long walkway that wound through campus, looking like a cat who’d just been in the cream, came a young man with an all-too-familiar face: Bang Chan. He looked like the cold, December air didn’t bother him at all. You sighed, hoping he wouldn’t notice you, and looked down at what were, in the summer, lovely gardens lining the path. It really was cold as hell and all you wanted to do was get home before dark when it would even colder.

“Y/N?”

Oh, no.

“Hey, Y/N! Yeah, I thought it was you!” he called from, in your opinion, too far away. The people around you turned to look and you mentally cringed—you didn’t like drawing attention from large crowds.

“Hi, Chan,” you said, trying to plaster a smile onto your face.

“How’s the most beautiful woman on campus?” Chan said, wiggling his eyebrows at you. “Doing well? Staying warm?”

“I’m fine, Chan. And you?” You knew how you were talking was stilted and the words almost meaningless.

“A little busy, but great!” Chan responded blithely, falling into step with you. “How’s Jisung holding up? Is he still cooped up in his apartment? I think he said he was composing?”

“Oh, u-huh,” you said a little guiltily. You didn’t want to tell him that Jisung had, in fact, been in your apartment and in varying stages of undress, not composing at all hours. “I haven’t seen him much, actually, so I guess he has been composing. I think I heard him messing around on the guitar the other day.”

“Sometimes he gets like this,” Chan lamented, clearly playing for sympathy from you—sympathy he wouldn’t be getting because you, honestly, didn’t care much. Your time with Jisung was too good not to covet.

“I guess once he’s done whatever he’s working on you’ll see him more?” You wanted this conversation to be over—you were cold, there was a breeze, and it was Chan, of all people.

“I might just go over there and bug him, honestly.” Chan was thoughtful, and you had to stop yourself from vehemently dissuading him from stepping foot anywhere near your apartment. You’d have to mention to Jisung that Chan was probably stopping over and would expect to see some sort of headway on a composition, if that, indeed, was the excuse he’d been telling his friends to explain his occasional absences from their lives recently.

“Yeah, I’m sure he’d be happy to see you, since you’re so close,” you reassured him, smiling uncomfortably. Chan still took no notice, happily looking around at all the other students passing by as you walked.

“He’s such an introvert, I’ve no idea if he’ll want to see me,” Chan laughed and stopped to let a group of freshman girls by, but didn’t resume walking once they’d passed. “But maybe I can come see you instead?” he said with a wink, and hope in his voice.

You began to stammer out a response, not even caring what you said as long as it amounted to “Hell no.” You pulled out your phone to, supposedly, check a message.

“Oh, sorry Chan. I have to go,” you lied. “A friend just texted saying she needs my help with something. I guess I’ll see you around.”

And with that, you made a speedy exit, Chan staring after you a little sadly. Why did his nerves have to get the best of him like that? He ended up coming off as mildly creepy instead of his normal, kind self. He’d have to work on that, since you clearly wanted nothing to do with him. Chan sighed, rubbing his brow, then headed toward the Performing Arts building and the privacy of the studio he shared with Jisung and Changbin. Maybe he’d be able to put what he felt into a song or something.

That night before bed, you messaged Jisung to tell him that Chan would probably be over that week.

y/n: ji, did you tell chan you were composing this week and that’s why you haven’t been with him and changbin? sunshine: ….maybe….why? y/n: well, chan found me today and asked me how your composition(s?) were going since i’m your neighbor. and i had to do some pretty fast talking there, han jisung >:| sunshine: shit…sorry y/n!! :(( sunshine: welp;;; i guess i’ll have to get going on that, then y/n: yaaaay good idea! also, why does chan insist on flirting so outrageously with me every single god damn time i see him? sunshine: oh. he’s been like that for awhile;; it’s a coping mechanism for when he’s nervous and he’s not always trying to actually flirt. although, with you he might be?? sunshine: please don’t hold it against him. he’s a good guy and i’d hate for you to dislike him y/n: oooooh okay okay that makes so much more sense now. i was getting kind of uncomfortable there for a minute. thank you for explaining that, babe. i understand him a lot better now and i promise i’ll try to get to actually know him!! sunshine: you’re not required to be friends with my friends, but thanks y/n: i know, but i still want to make the effort!! sunshine: you’re the best :D y/n: oh! um do you maybe need me to come over to be your ~muse~? sunshine: you already have been <3 y/n: if you don’t stop being adorable, i’m gonna come over there and kiss you sunshine: yeah? you’re gonna do that? hmmm? y/n: don’t test me…. i WILL come over and kiss you sweetly and tuck you into bed sunshine: i read that as “fuck you into bed.” OOOPS y/n: alkfhgakldjfgh y/n: just go compose, ji!!! i’ll come over tomorrow, if chan’s not there sunshine: your wish is my command, angel~ sunshine: make sure to get some sleep y/n: don’t stay up too late tho babe;;;; sunshine: i won’t, don’t worry y/n: okay hhhh goodnight, ji *kiss* sunshine: sweet dreams, angel *kiss*

As you fell asleep, you thought you could hear the faint strains of the guitar and Jisung’s voice floating over from the other apartment. Idly, you wondered if he was recording any of his ideas.

↠↞

On Wednesday afternoon, you got a text from Jisung inviting you to an ugly sweater party that would be hosted by one of his casual friends that weekend. And while you weren’t sure if any of your sweaters counted as ugly, you figured you should still have a fun night out. And because where Jisung was, Chan and Changbin wouldn’t be far behind, you knew they’d be there, too. You suggested that the two of you go together, especially since the house was only a couple blocks away from where you lived. So, at 8:17 pm on Friday, you bundled yourself into your coat and headed out the door.

“Y/N!”

You turned around to see Jisung striding toward you across the snowy lawn.

“Hi,” he said, drawing out the syllable as he gave you an enthusiastic hug and kissed your cheek.

“Jisung,” you said, stepping back, “where exactly is your coat? You do know it’s the middle of December, right?”

“I left it inside.” He grinned when you glared. “Eh, one of us has to be a little bit dumb sometimes.”

This earned him a gentle nudge in the shin from your foot, but you were both smiling as you set off toward the party.

As you approached the house, Jisung kissed your hand. “I, um, haven't told Chan and Changbin that we’ve been seeing each other.” At your surprised look, he shrugged. “I’ll see you later tonight, angel,” he said, then darted up the stairs with a wink thrown over his shoulder. You shook your head—sometimes, Jisung was a little odd.

When you stepped through the front door, it was obvious that the party had already been going for at least an hour. People crowded the living room, the kitchen, the hallway, and some were even on the stairs. Fairly mellow music played in the background, and when you looked toward one end of the living in which a table was set up between two speakers, you saw none other than Chan. You couldn’t say you were surprised.

Squirming between the people lounging against the kitchen’s doorframe, you finally made it in and went to where drinks had been laid out on the counter. You grabbed a fresh cup for yourself, pouring some hard cider out of a fresh can, and then, rejoined the main part of the party. Not exactly wanting to talk to a lot of people you didn’t know, you found a window with a deep enough sill that you could sit in it. For almost a half hour, you watched the partygoers and slowly sipped on your cider.

Occasionally, you’d look over at Chan behind his computer, portable mixing board, and more wires and cables than you knew could exist. Now that you knew he wasn’t actively trying to be unnecessarily flirtatious, you could see yourself getting to know him. After all, he was Jisung’s friend and well known around campus—people were too focused on holding others to high moral standards, despite lowering their own, not to watch someone like Chan like hawks. You would’ve heard if he wasn’t a great person, and you knew Jisung wouldn’t be friends with a jerk.

In the low lighting of the living room, the lines of Chan’s cheekbones stood out as he bowed his head in concentration to find just the right level of bass to thrum through your bones beneath the soft strains of melody. You found yourself completely enthralled; that is, until Jisung eclipsed your view as he flitted from group to group like a hummingbird. And just when you thought you should probably socialize, two women who wore matching, utterly horrible sweaters chose to stand nearby. Since their sweaters were so atrocious, you thought their conversation might be interesting.

“3racha?” one of them asked in response to a question you hadn’t heard.

“Yeah, I really thought they’d be here, but I haven’t seen them,” the second woman whined.

“Maybe they’re busy?” the first one suggested.

“Or, ladies,” a pleasantly husky voice said, coming up behind them, “you could open your eyes and realize that Chan’s behind the table tonight. You’re listening to one of our new songs.” The two 3racha fans gaped at him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to talk to the person in the window here.” He slid past them. “Thanks.”

You looked up from your drink into the handsome face of Changbin, who was wearing a black sweater with…

“Pink, sparkly cats? You?” you said, not believing your eyes.

“Hey, I like cats,” Changbin protested. “And who cares if they’re pink and sparkly? They have cute little noses—see?” He moved closer to you, pointing to the cats.

“Yes, very cute little noses,” you laughed and took a sip of your cider. “So, what’s up, Changbin?”

“Eh, not much. I finished my exams early—thank god. You?”

“I’ve been really good, actually,” you said brightly. “You’re lucky—I still have all of mine next week.”

“Good luck! I’m sure you’ll do great,” Changbin beamed at you. “Hey, it’s pretty stuffy in here—want to go out on the porch for some fresh air?”

You nodded and stood to follow him.

A couple heads turned, probably those people who recognized Changbin and thought of him as a local celebrity or something, as you slipped by along the wall leading to the back door. Changbin held the door open for you and you inhaled the cold night air, welcome after the heat inside from so many bodies pressed together.

Changbin sighed gratefully next to you, sitting down on the top step and patting the spot next to him. “Join me?”

You sat, surprised that you could feel the warmth radiating from Changbin even sitting a foot away. Together, you stared out over the lawn where the footprints of those who lived in the house crossed each other to form unintentionally intricate patterns.

“Y/N?” Changbin said hesitantly after a few minutes. “Would you be interested in listening to the demo of a song I’ve been working on?” Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. “I know you’re not a music major,” he continued, “but that’s exactly why I’m asking this. I could use some fresh ears on it.”

You were flattered that Changbin had asked you, but . . . “Why me?” you asked. “I’m sure there are plenty of other people you know far better than me. Not to sound rude, but we’ve only met maybe three times.”

“Like I said, that’s exactly it,” Changbin insisted, taking out his phone. “You don’t know my—3racha’s—music. So, you’re the perfect person to give an unbiased and new opinion!”

“Well, when you put it like that . . .” you mused, and scooted just a little closer to Changbin. You could have sworn he blushed.

After a moment of fiddling with his phone, he said, “Here. Sorry I don’t have headphones or a speaker or something with me.”

“It’s okay, I’m sure I’ll be able to hear just fine.” You leaned forward as Changbin, grimacing at the first bars of the demo, held up his phone between you; then, you just concentrated on the music.

Meanwhile, Changbin felt like he was about to run and hide. You were mere inches from him, hair swinging down into your face as you listened intently. It was as if time had stopped completely, and you and he were the only people on Earth. He desperately tried not to stare as your mouth, lips parted slightly, quirked up in a smile at the lyrics. And if he noticed how your sweater hugged your body in just the right places, and how he’d like to be hugging those places, too, he promptly shoved those thoughts to the back of his mind. As you seemed more and more entranced by the music, his music, Changbin had the wild urge to lean forward and ki—

“Changbin, this is incredible!” you said as the song ended, your eyes gleaming in the light of the porch light as you turned to him. Suddenly, you realized just how close you were to Changbin—it would be so easy to just lean your head on his shoulder. You mentally shook yourself. “I had no idea you guys were producing music like this. And this is just a demo?”

Still reeling from being utterly stunned by your beauty, Changbin started. “I— Yeah, it’s just the demo. That last song that was playing inside was actually one of ours. Chan just slips them into whatever mix he’s DJ-ing at events.”

You beamed, impressed and excited. “So, I honestly can’t think of anything I’d want to change about that song, other than . . . maybe even out the lead up to the chorus? Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, definitely,” Changbin reassured you, and slipped his phone back into his pocket. “Hey, how about you come by the studio one day? I’d be able to make the edits with you there, and I think I might have another song you could help with.” At your surprised look, Changbin added, “But only if you want to. I don’t mean to pressure you, sorry.”

“I’d love to,” you said simply, and meant it. You looked down at your lap. “I don’t know much about composition, but I think it would fun to learn. Plus, if Jisung likes you and Chan, then you must be cool. And talented!”

Changbin gave you a searching look and you said quickly, “I mean, we’re neighbors and all, so we talk or see each other randomly and he always mentions you!”

“Ah, okay. Well, I’d like to live up to your expectations,” Changbin said self-consciously. He stood abruptly and you did as well, fiddling with your cider cup.

“Changbin?” you said before he could take another step toward the door, and he froze like you'd captured him in one of the ice sickles that hung from the roof. “How- how should I get in touch with you?” And just as you said it, you remembered the little slip of paper that was left on your coffee table that first time you’d met 3racha. Oh.

“I thought I gave you my number already,” Changbin chuckled, looking like one of the cats on his sweater that had just gotten into the cream.

You took a breath. “Right. Yeah, I remember now.”

“Just text me when you’re free and we can figure out when you want to come by to listen to more music.” Changbin stuffed his hands into his pockets, giving you a small smile.

“Oh, okay,” you agreed. “I guess I’ll text you tomorrow!”

“I’ll look forward to it,” Changbin said lightly, and winked before turning to open the door. “Come on, you look half frozen,” he said, his voice soft with not a trace of mockery in it.

You were cold and as you walked through the door back into the warmth, you tried to ignore the feeling of being pulled toward Changbin like you were two halves of a magnet. It was a new feeling, being drawn to someone so forcefully, and you were more than intrigued.

↠↞

When you got home from the party, you gratefully sagged onto your couch, glad to be away from all those people. After just sitting for long minutes, you got up and changed into your wonderfully soft and plush robe—it was one of the things you’d bought for yourself just because you could, just so you could have something nice. Then, you made tea and curled on the couch again; you’d only had the one drink that didn’t even have much alcohol in it, but you were still tired from being around that many people. So, you just sat and enjoyed your tea, letting your thoughts wonder.

“Y/N?” Jisung’s voice came down the hall into your living room, since he’d slipped through via the bathroom. He saw you curled on the couch in your robe with your mug of tea, and paused before entering the room. The simple domesticity of the tableau was so sweet that it stirred his desire to, someday, have a lovely home with the one he loved where things would be happy and calm. And right then and there, Jisung knew that he was definitely developing feelings for you. “Hey, you,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before sitting next to you.

“Hey,” you said, leaning your head against his shoulder.

“You didn’t stay too long—did you at least have an okay time tonight?” Jisung asked.

“Yeah, it’s always fun to see people in horrible sweaters,” you chucked. You proffered your tea to him. “Want some?”

Jisung took the mug and sipped delicately from it, sighing as the tea warmed his insides. “So, what do you want to do? Watch a movie like we said?”

“Mmmm,” you thought for a moment, cupping the back of Jisung’s neck and running your fingers through his hair. “How about we watch a couple episodes of that show I was telling you about, then take a bath together. I could really use the relaxing heat from the water.”

“Oh, that sounds perfect, angel,” Jisung sighed. “Can I grab your computer so we can watch, then?” He stood and looked around for the device. “Where’d you hide it this time?”

“Sorry,” you said, smiling ruefully. “It’s on the floor in my bedroom.”

Jisung retrieved your computer and set it on the coffee table in front of you, gently massaging your back as he waited for you to sign in and pull up the video streaming site. The only light in the room came from a small lamp you had in the corner, which cast a warm glow over everything. Jisung leaned into the nook where the couch’s back and arm met and you snuggled in beside and on him as he pulled you against his chest. He was warm and soft, and you felt entirely at ease—more at home with him than you’d felt with anyone else. As the second episode began, Jisung began lazily tracing circles up and down your arm, occasionally passing over your cheeks. Once or twice, he ran a finger along your lips, making them tingle. It was more than a little distracting and it wasn’t long before you felt a faint tingle of desire. Jisung’s body, which had been so relaxed before, was now filled with a low-level energy that made him feel like his blood was vibrating.

You twisted round to look up at him, a questioning look in your eyes, and he leaned forward to pause the show before capturing your lips with his. You smiled against his mouth and Jisung hoisted you further up onto his lap so you were almost sitting sideways. His tongue darted out to swipe along the crease of your mouth, and you gladly let him in, your tongues sliding by each other as you pressed yourself closer to Jisung. His hand on your waist began to travel upward as he kissed down your neck and along your shoulder, and you sighed at the warmth of his skin.

“You’re not wearing anything under that robe, are you?” Jisung said, pulling back and giving you a mischievous look.

“Nope!” you chirped innocently, and kissed his nose. Jisung’s eyes darkened as his pupils blew wide with desire.

“Oh, angel,” Jisung growled faintly as he ran his hand down your stomach to between your legs. As you continued to kiss, he chuckled faintly and pulled aside the folds of your robe to slide his hand up your inner thigh. His slow teasing soon had you moaning and wriggling, and it was obvious that he simply wanted to enjoy touching you, making you squirm just that little bit. But, he never brought you close to release—that wasn’t the point.

When you’d had enough of his teasing, you murmured, “Ji, let’s take the bath.” You had to concentrate to keep speaking as he moved his fingers in a particularly satisfying way. “The water will feel amazing and we’ll be relaxed,” you said, adjusting your position on his lap. Jisung groaned, and let you rise before following you out of the room.

While the tub filled higher and higher, you let your robe drop to the floor, and your body reacted to the cold air coming through the ever-open window. Jisung, his clothes already thrown in a heap in the corner, stared at you like you were Aphrodite herself. Ignoring the various thoughts swirling around in his head, Jisung stepped into the tub and was surprised at how hot it was, but sank down into the water nonetheless. “Come on, angel,” he said, patting his lap and making small waves in the water. “I’ve got a comfy seat here just for you.” He winked.

Grinning, you stepped in after him and the water splashed a little as you sat down, making both of you giggle. You talked about your week and how classes were going, always skirting around the topic of exams. It wasn’t long before you’d completely exhausted all college-related conversation; it simply wasn’t romantic. You lay back against Jisung, who slid lower into the water and put his hands on your hips. Your hands went automatically over his, and the two of you simply reveled in the warmth of the water and the feeling of being skin-to-skin.

Before long, the slight pressure against your low back became more insistent, until you turned to Jisung and said, “How about I keep you nice and warm, babe.”

“Sounds lovely.” Jisung murmured against your hair and carefully guided your hips down onto his waiting member. You groaned as he filled you up, the ache you hadn’t even known you’d felt all day suddenly satisfied.

“Oh god, yes,” you breathed and leaned your head back, exposing your neck for Jisung to kiss and nibble.

You gently wiggled your hips and settled, simply enjoying the sensation of being full. The hot water swirling around you felt like velvet caressing your skin. Turning slightly with your head still on his shoulder, you found Jisung’s mouth with yours and your kisses were as lazy and languid as the warm sunlight of a summer morning. You occasionally rocked your hips against Jisung’s gently, feeling him deep inside. And when you teased him like that, he would simply press himself further against you and you’d moan, kissing him harder.

Nothing was rushed or intense—just the feelings of warmth and being together, connected. You reveled in the pure sensations, relaxing into Jisung’s hold more every second. He had one hand on your hip, gently massaging the muscle there, and the other roving over your body, depending on his whims. Your fingers tangled in his hair, carding through it as you kissed. All of your attention was focused on Jisung—your point of connection with him, his hands on you, his soft mouth—and you filled his world, too, blotting out all else like a solar eclipse.

↠↞

“Bin, you said we’d meet Jisung here. Where is he? Isn’t he supposed to be at home?” Chan said, clearly having to concentrate on enunciating his words more carefully than usual. He and Changbin were standing on the front step of Jisung’s apartment, waiting impatiently for their best friend to open the door. It was cold.

“Dunno.” Changbin gestured expansively. “He said we should come over, right? There aren’t many places he’d go.” Then, Changbin blanched. “You don’t think he was kidnapped or something, do you?”

“Oh come on, you’re drunk,” Chan scoffed.

“You are, too!” Changbin retorted.

“Yeah, but at least I’m not hyplerbizing. . . No, hyperblazing. Shit.” Chan looked blankly down at the snow for a second, his friend being absolutely no help at all as he frantically texted Jisung. “Got it! Hyperbolizing. Yeah, at least I’m not hyperbolizing.”

“I’m not,” Changbin insisted. “I’m just being sensible. Jisung barely ever ducks out on stuff, so why now? He was at the party, for god’s sake. We saw him— What, two hours ago?”

Chan leaned on the doorframe and sighed. “Well, I guess there’s only one option, then.”

“Yeah?”

“We go through the window.” Changbin gave him a blank look. “You know,” Chan continued, “Y/N’s bathroom window! Jisung said he’s gone through there to get to his apartment, and maybe she’ll know where he is. They’ve gotta at least keep in touch if they’re neighbors.”

Changbin spluttered. He couldn’t believe Chan had just suggested that they, for lack of a better phrase, break into your apartment. But then again, maybe you did know where Jisung was—it was worth a try.

So, Chan and Changbin made their way around to the other side of the house, trying not to look suspicious, and found the window that was cracked slightly open. Soft light poured from it, lancing across the bare ground below. And, there was the conveniently placed log, now fallen on its side. It didn’t look like Jisung had come through this way for awhile.

“Chan, are you sure about this?” Changbin whispered.

“Well, you wanna go hang out with Jisung, yeah?”

“Fine, yes,” Changbin grumbled.

Chan hopped up onto the log and pulled himself up to peek in the window. He was completely still for a moment, then put his feet back down and, with an indiscernible look on his face, motioned to Changbin.

“What? Is it locked or something?” Changbin asked, confused. Chan just shook his head, not trusting himself to speak, and motioned for Changbin to take his spot on the log.

“Boost me up?” he said to Chan, who gave him a wild look, but held out his hands for Changbin to step on anyway.

When Changbin’s head rose above the window, he stared. You were laying there in the tub, naked and lithe as a cat. But you weren’t alone. Jisung, his best friend Han Jisung, was in the tub with you. And you were kissing, Jisung’s hands all over you. As he beheld your form, Changbin felt like he was about to burst apart into a thousand pieces. Unable to tear his eyes away, Changbin saw you undulate your hips against Jisung’s and heard you sigh wantonly. You were completely engrossed in each other, unaware of your silent audience.

You let out a loud moan and Changbin’s hands, cramped from the cold and clutching the windowsill, betrayed him so he nearly lost his grip. His feet scrabbled for purchase on the house’s siding. He tried to keep his breathing under control, but his mind was full of smooth skin, water, and the sound of your sighs. Fuck. We shouldn’t be here.

But just at that moment, Chan chose to actually boost him up toward the window and, because Changbin was shocked at seeing you naked in a bathtub with Jisung, he toppled forward.

↠↞

The feeling of almost unraveling but never quite tipping over the edge was absolutely delicious, and yet having nothing between you and Jisung was even better. Your eyes were closed, focusing on the sensations, rather than trying to see anything, and you gasped against every so often. Jisung gently bit down on your shoulder whenever you did.

You were resting your full weight back against Jisung’s chest, simply enjoying the feel of him touching you everywhere possible. Then, you felt Jisung twitch inside you as you ground against him, and he began to thrust up into you with more regularity. A particularly loud moan escaped your lips, the ache deep inside pulsing, just as you heard a scuffling sound from outside.

“Ji? What was that?” you asked, your eyes flying open.

“It’s probably just some raccoons,” Jisung said offhandedly.

“Hmmm,” was all you replied and closed your eyes again. You held onto his knees for support as Jisung’s pace increased, making little waves dance in the tub.

And then . . .

It seemed like all hell broke loose as a body crashed through the slightly open window. You shrieked in surprise and Jisung yelled, “What the fuck?” All sense of arousal gone, you froze before peeking above the rim of the bathtub.

You had a distinct sense of deja vu as, yet again, you saw a young man sprawled on your bathroom floor.

Shit.

Shit!!

Belatedly, you realized that you were, indeed, naked, and you were in the bath. With Jisung. And you were still sitting on his dick, which now seemed to have a mind and agenda of its own. Oh, and it was freezing now that the window was fully open, making you feel like someone had pulled the skin on your chest taut as a bowstring.

“Seo Changbin, what the actual fuck?!!” Jisung almost, almost, bellowed as he firmly held you in place on his lap, not wanting his friend to notice anymore than he already had.

“I—” Changbin stammered, but was cut off as Jisung yelled again, seeing another face at the window.

“Chan, too? What the hell?! I just— What the hell?” As much as he might have seemed angry, you could feel Jisung laughing silently as he took in the situation.

“Fuck,” was all Chan said as his gaze took you in, and you pulled your legs up in front of yourself in some, futile, attempt to hide your nakedness.

“Well?” Jisung demanded.

“We were looking for you, bro,” Changbin said from the floor. “We had plans!”

“And you said you climb through Y/N’s window all the time!” Chan added . . . helpfully.

“I told you I had something going on tonight.” Jisung sighed and grumbled, “But I guess you didn’t remember that.” Then, rolling his eyes Jisung said, “How much did you two drink, anyway?”

“Hey, don’t be like that, man,” Chan said, still peering through the window. “It wasn’t that much!”

“Bullshit,” you said, speaking for the first time.

“Okay, whatever. You’re right,” Changbin grumbled from the floor, looking a little ill.

“Both of you: Get. Out.” Jisung’s voice was firm, but he still couldn’t hide the amusement in his voice.

“Can’t we go through the little door?” Chan said hopefully.

“Y/N?” Changbin implored you, eyes wide.

“Fine. Just go through the damn door so you can get out of my fucking bathroom!” Your voice rose and you crossed your arms over your chest.

Once Chan had climbed through the window, catching a sleeve on the windowsill in the process, and Changbin had retrieved Jisung’s keys from his pants, the two of them squeezed through the passageway to Jisung’s apartment. You tried your best not to giggle at how much they looked like those same raccoons Jisung had mentioned earlier, practically falling over each other as they rushed to get out of the bathroom.

“I’ll be over at some point,” Jisung called after them. “Good riddance,” he said more quietly to you.

“I can’t believe that just happened,” you huffed out in a laugh.

“Yeah, I can’t either,” Jisung groaned. “But I’m not surprised. That’s those two in a nutshell, honestly.”

You leaned your head back against Jisung’s shoulder again and sighed. He was still inside you, and you were suddenly glad that you’d been facing forward when Chan and Changbin had appeared. Completely unable to resist Jisung’s soft skin, you nuzzled his jaw.

“Well, I guess that cat’s out of the bag,” you shrugged.

“They’ll never let me live it down,” Jisung replied, burying his face in your neck.

“Nope, they won’t!” you giggled and pecked Jisung’s cheek.

#inkidz #ultkpop #stayhavennet #0325net #stray kids #stray kids fanfic #bang chan #seo changbin #han jisung #3racha #.moonlight

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bebepac · 3 years

Text

Six Sentence Sunday 04.11.2021

ORIGINAL POST DATE: 04/11/21 at 2:55AM EST.

What’s up my fandom friends? Back at ya with another Six Sentence Sunday. On a personal note, I’ve made another big decision in my life. After 12 years of sheer madness and insanity at my current job, I’m putting out my feelers for trying to find another job.

It’s time. For those of you that really know me personally, work/life balance is something the company I work for has never done well since I’ve been there. It’s been very few paychecks where I didn’t have mandatory overtime pay on it. Points where I stayed to help the team, because I was a part of it. I think the last time I can honestly say work/life balance was okay it was in 2015-2017. I’ve come to realize that what I’ve been settling for is not what I should be. So if you’re not happy where you are, that’s a temporary situation. I’m happier just knowing I’m looking to finally fix it, and have a lead on a job because I’m being referred in by a friend.

In case you’ve missed tags or trying to get caught up on what you’ve missed of me posting here’s what I’ve done in the past 10 days:

Just The Way You Are: I Am The Earthquake (Riley x Liam)

Mia’s 🌎 World: Chubby Bunny (Mia x Jaiden)

The Life Of Riley: Masquerade (Riley x Liam)

What are you working on? @dcbbw @burnsoslow @sirbeepsalot @sfb123

@ao719 @speedyoperarascalparty @jessiembruno ??

Country Glitter

Mia’s 🌎 World: Chapter 14

The Book: TRR

Pairing: Mia x Jaiden (TRR MC x M!OC)

Status: Still in the writing process:

Spring Break. Jaiden was excited. Life couldn’t be more perfect. He was back together with Mia, and everything felt so right. He had planned to take Mia to Wrightsville Beach for a few days and meet up with Leo, Hana, and the gang.

The Brooks’ family was a Jeep family. His dad had a white wrangler. His mom after the Green Meanie finally died, purchased a hunter green Jeep Grand Cherokee Laredo X. Jaiden had a candy apple red soft top rubicon that was his pride and joy. It was a high school graduation gift after everything had happened to him, and still managed to graduate third in his class of 1000 students.

One of the things Jaiden took pride in was taking care of his vehicle. He knew how to do minor work on it, and weekly hand washed Rubi. Jaiden had just completed putting his first layer of wax on his candy apple red jeep, and it was glistening in the sun.

Jason whistled when he walked out of the house seeing Jaiden’s vehicle sparkling in the sunlight, looking like it was fresh off the store room floor.

“Why’d you wash Rubi?”

“I have a date with Mia, and tomorrow we’re going to Wrightsville. Rubi has to look hot for the trip. I might even take the top off before we leave.”

“I don’t think you want to do that.”

“Why not?”

As if foreshadowing the events to come, Jaiden sneezed.

“Geez, where did that come from?”

“You’ll see,” Jason chuckled. “Have fun, and be safe.

He had taken the soft top off and drove over to Mia’s house.

If You Lived

Just The Way You Are: Special

The Book: TRR x Perfect Match

Pairing: Riley x Nico / Hayden x Kai

Status: Writing is complete.

Leo watched Riley feed Liam a few spoonfuls of ice cream. The way his brother looked at her; he had fallen in love at the end of his life. Leo left them alone for a bit.

"You're doing good."

"I can feel them."

"Who?"

"My parents. They are waiting for me."

"You can't talk like that."

"It's true. They're here, and I'm not afraid but…."

"But what?"

"Part of me doesn't want to go. Because of you Riley."

"What do you mean?"

"Can I ask you something and you be honest with me?"

"Yes."

"Do you promise?"

"Yes."

"If I wasn't sick, and you were single, Riley would things be different between us? Would you and I have had a real chance?"

She bit her lip.

"Tell me the truth. You promised."

"Why does it matter? We can't change things Liam."

"Because I need to know."

"Liam…."

"Tell me…"

She took Liam's hand.

"You know the answer."

"I need to hear you say it."

She rested her forehead on his.

She was so close to him he could smell the scent of the coconut shampoo she used in her hair.

"Yes. It would have been different."

Leo watched them from the door. Somehow, Riley had fallen for him too. It just wasn't fair. His brother had always wanted someone special to spend his life with, and he finally found her, but it was too late for them.

And Then...There Were Two

The Meet: Chapter 1

The Book: TRR

Pairings: None:

Characters : Liam Rys, Leo Rys, Riley Brooks, Jilian Winchester, Bebe Martin, Jaiden Brooks, Nico KH

Status: Still in the writing process:

“Good evening ladies. Looks like you are participating in our contest.”

“Hell yes we are, and we’re going to win it.”

“I hear ya! It will be a few minutes before your table is ready.”

The restaurant was really quirky and eclectic. The music playing and a very urban and uptempo beat.

“I really like the vibe here.” Jili commented.

A waitress walked by carrying a pink smoking drink.

“I want one of those.” Bebe was excited.

They were finally to their table and were able to order drinks.

“I want one of those pink smoky drinks.”

“Each drink in our smoke line has a different flavor profile, which one would you like?”

“Pink alcohol?”

The waitress explained each flavor profile of the smoke cocktails line then looked at Bebe expectantly.

“Yeah….I still want Pink.”

“And I want Green.”

The restaurant was packed. The waitress came back with their drinks rather quickly, pouring the last element into their drinks causing them to smoke. Bebe and Jili clinked glasses and took a sip of their cocktails.

#bebepac writes #six sentence sunday #cfwc sunday six #trr fanfic #trr fandom #crossovers #trr x the freshman series #trr x perfect match #liam and riley #jaiden and mia #riley x nico

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boop-le-snoot · 4 years

Text

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 10

Rating: Explicit.

‼️TW: Reader is EIGHTEEN! Recreational drug use, smoking and alcohol consumption, deeply internalised self-loathing, very questionable moral standards. Daddy kink taken half-seriously. BDSM themes in later chapters - explicit content will come with it's own TWs. FIRST PERSON POV. Mild smut in this chapter.

Summary: You're Peter's classmate, a child of rich and famous but uncaring parents. Getting paired up for a lengthy project with the boy was an interesting turn of events and you don't know whether to feel blessed or cursed when you develop, seemingly, a perfectly normal, harmless crush on Tony Stark. Fueled by feelings of inadequacy and boredom, your life spirals out of control - and you're lucky your newfound friends are there to pick up the pieces even if you cannot find it in yourself to believe these amazing human (and not so human) beings voluntarily give you more than a fleeting glance and an offhanded thought. And they brought cake!

A/N: Tony fluff, Tony snark, Tony sass and Tony smut (finally!). My & reader's brain be like: tony tony tony tony. A request for my readers: do I write a believeable tony? Is he in character, more or less?

My beta @miscmarvelwritings - she's not into Tony but even then, she was finally excited about them finally getting down & dirty. The patience of this woman...

"Tony, could I borrow, like, a hoodie or something?"

He eyed my attire critically for a moment, seemingly coming to the same conclusion I did minutes earlier, and made a beeline for the couch in the back of the lab. Picking up and examining a black mass of fabric, deeming it satisfactory, he tossed it to me. "It's clean enough, I guess."

The thin straps of my mesh top rubbed against a lot of tender skin, leaving pink lines in the wake of it. A sigh of relief escaped me involuntarily when I removed it -

"Woah, woah," Tony squeaked, covering his eyes with an exaggerated gesture. "Warn a man!"

I honestly didn't see what the big deal was. "Tony, chill. I'm pretty sure you've seen it all and then some." I snorted, stretching briefly, shrugging on the slightly oversized hoodie. It smelled like the lab - like Tony, too, but mostly like motor oil and iron. Beggars can't be choosers, however - I had already devised and executed the plan that will let me keep the hoodie.

"When you put it that way..." He smirked, briefly returning to his usual self and giving me a salacious eyebrow wiggle.

I laughed in response, wiggling my hips, feeling the hem of my skirt swish against my thighs. I considered removing the fishnet tights, too, but a brief look in the reflective wall divide between Tony's and Bruce's labs got me pulling out my phone to take two dozen selfies. I looked great with Tony's clothes on.

The engineer chuckled at my antics, coming up behind me as I sat on the floor with my knee raised, chin resting on it. The amber liquid sloshed over the top of his glass, dripping down his fingers. He sat behind me.

"Weller Full Bourbon?" I asked, bringing my nose closer to his fingers to get a good whiff. The distinctive vanilla notes in his whiskey were unmistakable. "Good choice," I made a serious face. "Fancy."

"I can afford it, darling," He snarked back, devoid of malice.

He was so close. And so warm. And I needed a new screensaver. Shuffling back, I reclined against Tony's chest, carefully wedging my head in the crook of his neck.

God help me.

I felt his breath hitch. The dark, magnetic pools of his eyes stared at me from our combined reflection. Tony's eyes were the most expressive, he could fake a smile, he could charm the press and countless investors, but his eyes only spoke the truth. Always. I loved working with Tony because his gaze would light up. It was akin to seeing a little kid on Christmas.

A muscular arm snaked around my waist, pressing my back to his chest. The metal of his arc reactor jabbed uncomfortably between my shoulder blades but there was nowhere else I'd rather be.

"You're filming, Princess," He interrupted my Moment.

"Sure," I answered, not caring. There could be another alien invasion happening and I wasn't able to give a damn.

I felt the vibrant chuckle more than heard; Tony snatched the phone out of my hand without permission. I noticed the furrowed brow when he opened my Instagram and saw the unmistakable evidence of my frequent partying, yet he didn't comment on it.

"Tony, the press is going to go nuts," I raised my eyebrows, seeing what he was planning to do.

"They've seen me doing worse things," He scoffed. And took a photo of us ‘just chilling’ in his lab, hugging. He picked out a filter and everything., and then posted it.

"First of all, I am pretty awesome to be 'doing', I've had only good feedback," I scoffed at his dismissive attitude, using my free hand to make quote marks. Then I turned my head to stare him square in the face. "Steve's going to be pissed and Ms. Potts is going to call to yell at you." I punctuated the statements with a raised eyebrow.

There was really no innocent way the press could represent the photo that he posted. I didn't care for it, my parents wouldn't give a damn (my father probably would encourage it, the free publicity and all). Tony himself didn't seem like the kind of man to care much about some gossip articles, if anything, he enjoyed provoking them into a frenzy. Or at least, he used to.

"I'll put them both on hold. I like to watch the line blink," Tony winked, smirking. "I've been told the press expects me to have a midlife crisis since my last breakup," Eyes darkening, the man swiftly finished off his drink.

Midlife crisis seemed such a bitter way of putting it. Considering my own preferences in romantic partners, I couldn't help but feel offended at the way people offhandedly dished out labels - "midlife crisis", "daddy issues" and so on and so forth. The briefest part of me traveled back to Mr. Davies' living room where - no, I am not going there.

"Huh," I said, coming to a conclusion. A sad one at that.

"Don't take this the wrong way, Princess, but you don't seem like the kind of girl who thinks about pesky things like reputation or consequences," Tony mused idly, coming to a conclusion of his own.

"Nope, I don't give a fuck," I agreed with his opinion wholeheartedly. "If I would have a publicist, they would quit on the second day."

"I pay mine, uh, twice the average amount and they still quit. We're doomed, baby," Tony's gleeful face was mere inches away from my own, whiskey-tipsy and glowing.

I snorted, sliding lower to further burrow into his arms. Tony's sudden touchy-feely mode wasn't lost on me. My own touch starvation overrode any common sense that I had left. The totally-PG (well, not quite) embrace, one armed hug brought me more satisfaction than any of my sexual partners had ever achieved to give me.

"Why are there so many messages from Banner? Are you staging a world domination plan and forgot to include me? I'm hurt!" Tony exclaimed suddenly, a whiny tone to his voice.

"Thor's space yeasts have corrupted our minds with their spores. Soon all will become... Mushroom!" I deepened my voice for the dramatic effect, flailing my arms on the last word for the extra flair.

The man wiped a fake tear from the corner of his eye; his eyes were sparkling, laughing even. "I'm evicting Thor and his supremely selfish yeast. How dare it ignore me."

"I vouched for you, I really did," I kept up the silly game. "But alas, the yeasts deemed you too... Boomer," The pride in my voice could barely hold back the laughter threatening to spill.

"Did you just..?" Tony gaped. "Did you just call me old?!"

I attempted to get away, shrieking when the tips of Tony's fingers squirmed along my midsection. "It was the yeast! IT WAS THE YEAST!" My resistance proved to be futile. The engineer had mass and strength on his side, years of piloting and maneuvering the Iron Man suits showing just how quick and nimble he could be when the situation demanded it.

"Take that from an old man!" He exclaimed triumphantly, using his arm to hold down both of my hands from grasping at him. One of his legs held down my own; we were a squirming, writhing mass of limbs in the heat of a tickle fight.

The cocaine in my blood, the mild buzz from being drunk on Tony - my body reacted to the close proximity of the man who occupied my fantasies. I was blushing, breathing heavily, and it wasn't just from the exertion. It should have affected me less, but I struggled to keep my eyes from Tony's face; his own flush, the moist part of his lips.

I wondered how a deer in the headlights felt. Was it hot, like it's body was suddenly alight, or was it cold, liquid nitrogen freezing in its veins?

"Fuck," I mumbled half-coherently.

"What was that?" He arched an eyebrow, clever eyes carefully watching my own.

"I'm in trouble," I chuckled weakly, looking away, pretending to struggle against his arms.

"You're trouble," He announced, grinning. His fingertips slowed, skimming gently along my sides now.

I retaliated with a tentative brush of my foot along the softness of his jean-covered inner thigh. It was euphoric, seeing Tony shudder, the thick eyelashes fluttering for the briefest part of a second.

"We should stop," He whispered suddenly, making a move to disentangle us both. Mixed signals, we've got em, ladies and gentlemen.

"Why?" I was tired of this dance. It was fun but painful. My firm decision of the past still stood: I won't be the lovesick fangirl, I won't be another notch in his bedpost. The resolve was crumbling but it was still there, to some point.

"You're not sober, this is wrong," He mumbled. "I'm more than twice your age, Princess."

That ship had sailed, Tony. If only you knew... "Do you seriously expect me, out of all people, to find common ground with someone my age? Someone like Peter? Jeez," I tried to be amused. If it came out more pleading, I pretended to not notice it. It was the moment of truth. It needed to be said. "I'm FUBAR, Tony. I'm lucky if anyone at all will want to put up with me, much less someone I can stand. I'm spoiled, I'm selfish, and annoying. I know that. I just thought we were friends and you'd be...kinder about it." My mumbling was met with a somewhat perplexed stare.

"I..." His eyebrows threatened to have a close encounter with his hairline. "What the fuck? Are you dead set on giving me a stroke today? I have a heart condition," He yanked me back towards his chest, unceremonious and indignant. "You can be so smart yet so stupid. Gosh, where is the world rolling, I'm quoting Pepper now." He seemed to be muttering to himself.

"Pot, kettle." I didn't resist the urge to snark.

"Right," Tony rolled his eyes. "You're beautiful and all that jazz. You deserve much more than this." Uncharacteristically sad, he pointed to himself, again. "I'm an old man with more issues than Playboy magazine."

"And I'm an angsty teenager with daddy issues, we're a match made in heaven."

"Hell," Tony was eyeing our combined reflection with a sort of petulance. It was hard keeping track of his microexpressions; his eyes and face held fleeting, half-finished thoughts, just like when he was creating, inventing something new.

"Works for me. Lucifer's hot," I answered with my brain on autopilot. He caught my eyes in the shiny glass, trapping me in his calculative gaze.

"The Netflix one or the Supernatural one?" Tony asked, equally absent from the conversation. Neither of us were able to break eye contact, breathing laboured and hearts thudding in our chests. I felt Tony's pulse fluttering under my palm where I'd rested it on his wrist.

The organ that dutifully pumped blood through my own veins and kept me alive threatened to escape my body, jump out of my chest, make its way out my mouth. Tony's unblinking stare penetrated my skin, seeped into the hollow behind my eyelids, ignited a flame within me and froze my thoughts.

"The one with the detective kink," I answered breathily. "I have an affinity for brown-eyed, narcissistic, sarcastic men with self-destructive tendencies," The last part of my sentence was swallowed by Tony's lips.

My brain shorted out, just like that. Bourbon on his breath and a new dose of snark on his tongue, he licked into my mouth with the grace and finesse of years of experience. It was sudden, it was rough, it was fantastic. His beard left marks on my face and I craved the burn of it.

"Fuck," I moaned when we were forced to surface for oxygen. My hips had moved, pressed against his own, prominent arousal digging into the small of my back. Tony had me moaning and grinding into it in mere seconds.

A hand rested on my face with surprising tenderness, turning my face to look at my own reflection. My hair was a mess, lips puffy - Tony wasn't looking any better, hunger and lust in plain view. It was a good look on him.

"Watch," His breath ghosted over the shell of my ear, lips traveling to the nape of my neck to attach themselves to the very sensitive flesh of that area.

I obeyed, gazing at the scene with lidded eyes. Keeping them open was a struggle. My body was flooded with sensation, riding the waves of pleasure like a rollercoaster. I wanted to please him, needed to obey him, to feel him.

My thighs quivered at Tony's touch. There was no warning, no preamble as he wedged a firm hand, separating them quickly to follow the heat. His biceps flexed deliciously. Under my skirt, through the fishnets and the tiny, lacy panties I wore.

"Fucking shit," The man moaned loudly, finding me, predictably, soaking wet. It was one hot, sticky mess between my legs.

The keen that left my mouth might've been embarrassing, yet it only spurred Tony on. Gently parting my lower lips, he gathered the moisture, suddenly withdrawing from me. My confusion met his amusement in the mirror as he stuck the two fingers in his mouth, moaning obscenely and loudly at the taste.

The corners of my mouth lifted, happy. "To-ony," I whined, my pussy aching for more. Now that I had felt the relief and pleasure of his touch, I didn't want it to end.

"Princess," He replied, seriously and sternly. I shuddered at the scratchiness of his voice. The hand that I was missing returned, stroking over the outside of my pussy with broad, soft motions. I arched, presented myself into the touch. "So eager," Tony mumbled into my shoulder, catching a bit of my skin between his teeth.

His fingers dipped deeper, delving in between the puffy, engorged flesh and stroking once, twice, before finding my clit. The pads of Tony's fingers were rough, hardened by manual work and hours spent in front of his inventions, making, tinkering, creating. The friction was perfect. I followed each stroke with a fluid motion of my hips.

"Tony, fuck," I slurred my approval, needing him to know how amazing he made me feel. Tony's form pressed closer, both of us melting, molding into each other.

"Baby girl, what do you need?" His raspy voice tickled my neck. I was sure there would be an array of marks decorating me come morning and absolutely loved the thought. I belonged to Tony Stark, in body and heart and mind and soul.

"I want to cum," I had no shame left. "I want to feel you."

He groaned, rutting into me. A squeak was all I managed to emit as two thick fingers plunged inside of me with a wet squelch. My pussy immediately took hold of the situation, squeezing and rippling around them. I was so close, my nerves pulled up taut like an overtaxed string. The effect this man had on me was positively unholy.

My clit throbbed under his thumb. Tony somehow managed to reach every single sweet spot on my body, effortlessly, easily, like he'd done it a thousand times.

"Ohmyfuckinggod, Tony," I came hard, shuddering, drenching the fingers inside of me. The moment I began sagging in his arms was the moment they tightened around me; I felt Tony grind helplessly against me, saw his own eyes slam shut and his brow furrow.

The hand that was in me withdrew rapidly as he hastily popped the button on his pants, freeing his cock and giving it several desperate tugs. I couldn't see it; I had to settle for the sensation of his hand, his hips rubbing against my clothed back.

He came quickly, with a loud shout. My curiosity got the best of me and I used the brief moment of his weakness to turn around, take a good look at him.

Tony was a fucking mess with a fucking gorgeous cock. Thick and veiny.

My face was level with it before he could have opened his eyes. I wanted, craved to know how he tasted. With gentle kitten licks, I collected the stray drops of cum running down his hand, careful of the rapidly softening, sensitive flesh.

His eyes popped open in surprise. I smiled at him, unseeing, collecting as much of him as I could.

"Fuck, Princess," He breathed. "I'm just a man, I'm pushing fifty," Gently pulling my head away but holding it mere inches from his cock. Indecisive.

I reached over for his hand with my own, popping finger after finger in my mouth, collecting every drop of cum like it was nectar. I could be good...I If properly motivated. The salty musk was all the motivation I needed at that moment. He pulled me in for a filthy, sloppy kiss once I was done, both of us humming, vocalising the shared pleasure.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub @mostly-marvel-musings @vozit @littlegasps @pilloclock @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads @hermione-grangers-wife @individualistfem @as-i-layhereinyourbed @sleep-i-ness @gigglyfox01 @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney

As always, feedback is welcome and this blog is keyboard smash & emoji friendly.

#tony stark smut #tony stark x y/n #tony stark x you #tony stark x reader #stephen strange x y/n #stephen strange x you #stephen strange x reader #bruce banner x reader #bruce banner x y/n #bruce banner x you #bun writes #party favours #TONY NEVER SHUTS UP YO

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airi-p4 · 3 years

Text

Face up (songfic) - Chapter 1

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Epilogue

Remember my illustrated fic + comic ‘The listening’? I started writing this other songfic around that time, since the song is by the same author. This is everything I could finish for Wipril... *sigh*

Inspired by the song ‘Face up’ by Lights. (Lyrics in bold)

Summary: Marientte is tired. Busy with work, unmotivated and uninspired; her life has become monotonous and lifeless. Regretful for neglecting her friendship with Alya, she finally accepts her invitation to go out one Friday evening to a pirate themed bar called 'Liberty', in which according to Nino, an 'incredible amazing guitarist' was going to play...

AO3

______________________________________________

Chapter 1

' I shouldn't have come '

A mountain of files and clothes are piled on Marinette's desk. Work, work, work and more work. It had been a while now since Marinette's life has been revolving only around her jobs and studies. Days. Weeks. Months. She felt like a robot programmed just for that sole purpose.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng was tired.

And so was also her best friend Alya, fed up of being turned down whenever she asked her to go out somewhere together.

But not that evening: Alya and Nino decided to drag Marinette out of her lonely apartment, to let her enjoy a proper and well deserved break after days without seeing the daylight. 'How can a 21 year old Lady not go out and have fun!? ' Alya had asked her. And she had been forced to accept, out of the regret of constantly failing and neglecting their friendship.

The chosen place for their friendly meeting was a musical bar on a ship called 'Liberty'. Small round tables and some stools were ready to be used for its consumers, 2-4 seats for table. Some wooden benches with comfortable looking cushions at the sides of the bar and some stand-by tables outside were also part of the ship's furniture. Both outside and interior design seemed to be trying to imitate a pirate ship with dark wooden flooring, walls, stage and counter. Some vintage rock music related posters were on the wall, next to treasure maps and, surprisingly, they still managed to keep the pirate theme on point. The counter was just at the entrance and the lights were focused mostly to the stage at the back of the bar, making the lighting quite low for the guests- 'too dark to draw' , Marinette confirmed.

According to Nino, the best thing about this bar was that, on Friday nights, it held multiple artists performances from 8pm to 12pm, an hour each. And according to him, some awesome guitarist was playing at 11pm. His eyes were showing his contagious enthusiasm and Alya soon got excited too.

But Marinette's mind was not focused on the bar or the music. It was 10:25pm, and Alya had dragged Marinette there early- at 8:40- so they could get a table- the limited seat capacity and amount of customers surely proved it was necessary, but she couldn't focus on her surroundings as in her head thousands of work-related thoughts occupied her mind.

To draw, sew, bake, study and to sleep in order to work more, all in an endless loop. That had been Marinette's routine for weeks, and she had no intentions of stopping until she finished all her constantly coming errands- but they were endless. She felt like a robot programmed only to work and she almost forgot what free time was.

'I want to go home', the aspiring fashion designer kept repeating to herself.

But the guests of the bar seemed to favor her best friend's ideas: enjoying the music. Marinette's eyes took a minute to observe her surroundings, noticing how crowded the bar was getting as 11pm approached. At her side, Marinette could see how excited Alya and the recently arrived Nino were, clapping and dancing next to her.

But Marinette was not feeling it. Not at all.

A big sigh left her mouth as she used the table as she played unamused with the melting ice cubes from her drink, trying to ignore the strident rock background music. She was exhausted and not in the mood for 'fun'. She was tired and her eyelids were slowly closing, but just when her mind started to find its way to dreamland, Alya called for her attention.

"Look, Marinette! The guests in the second row middle table are about to leave! It's our chance to get a closer seat to the stage!"

"Ugh…"

The stage was just a few steps away, but it seemed like kilometers to the young woman.

"C'mon, Marinette! Nino secured the seats! Grab your drink and stuff and let's go over here!"

Exhaustion and somnolence confused Marinette's senses while Alya jolted and called her.

"C'mooon… Nino can't keep looking for our seats forever! Not when there are so many people eyeing up those stools!"

Marinette knew Alya was correct. And not only that: she was pretty impatient and intense, too, so she was well aware that refusing her was almost impossible.

Finally, she made it to the closer to the stage table and had a slurp of her drink. 'Maybe Alya is right and I can try to enjoy the live performances?' .

She tried, yes. But nothing. She wasn't feeling the music.

'When will I be able to have fun too? When will I be able to have a rest and forget about work? When will I be able to enjoy life? When will I be able to LIVE my life…? '

I just want to feel alive

She was stressed. No inspiration seemed to strike her lately, and she had been too busy to go look for it. And honestly, she didn't expect to find some in this old-fashioned dark pirate themed bar. With those thoughts, Marinette rested her head on her hands wishing for the time to go faster so she could already go back home.

The bar became more than full when the clock pointed to 11pm.

Marinette frowned her eyebrows. "Can I go home now that the performance is over?" She asked.

Alya directed her a deathly glare and Nino gasped in shock. "No way, dudette! You can't be serious!" The boy then pointed to their surroundings. "See? All these people gathered here to see the musician I told you about! His talent is no joke, just look at that!" An excited Nino commented, showing her how people were even waiting outside of the bar and even outside the ship in order to listen to his music, as she could see through the round fisheye windows. Was it even allowed to have so many guests on the ship? Wasn't it overcrowded? Or going to sink? Marinette worried. 'Why should I worry when I'm already sinking myself, huh? '

"I'm getting all excited already!! Look at that, Marinette" Alya commented. But Marinette was not answering. She was playing with a straw in between her teeth, instead. "Marinette!!" Her friend insisted, but emerging turbulent bubbles on her drink was her only response.

"Oh, look! He's here!" Nino suddenly exclaimed, and both her friends seemed to forget about her to focus on the stage. 'Maybe it's my chance to leave when they aren't looking' , she thought, but she had to wait until Alya's arm stopped being linked with hers to make her move. She hoped for that moment to be soon.

"Wohooo" the crowd became loud immediately after Nino's said guitarist appeared on the stage from the back door.

Marinette didn't even look. She wasn't interested. She just wanted to get home, finish her work, sleep, and get some well deserved hot bath to relax.

"Good evening. My name is Luka. Wow, so crowded today! I can see some new faces... Hi there. Thank you all for coming"

'His voice sounds nice' Marinette thought, taking a quick look at him for the first time: blue hair, tattoos, piercings and an electric guitar on his hands. There was a stool ready for him, but he was not using it. His aura definitely stood out and he was glowing in the stage lights.

Before starting, he played a few random notes, to check the guitar and the volume. The crowd was excited just with that. Not interested in the music, Marinette let her mind travel to her work space again, taking mental notes on how to proceed with her commissions when she made it home.

"Today's first song is an oldie: 'Space show' by CrocoDuo"

It took only an instant for the aura of the bar to change completely. The audience was losing it at the combined sound of his voice and guitar. Some young women were fangirling and squealing. Nino's eyes were sparkling and Alya's body moved, dancing along with the music.

'He's good' Marinette thought, trying to stop her fingers from tapping on her chin at the music's rhythm. As the song was close to its end, during its instrumental part, the blue haired young man took a big look at the audience, grinning at the excited crowd. Marinette closed her eyes and tried to focus again on her mental work, frowning her nose and eyebrows hard, trying hard to concentrate on finding whatever inspiration she could in the music. But she didn't seem to get it right.

As the last notes of the song elongated, the musician spoke again.

"Oooh? What do we have here…? Don't you know the rules, lady? No sad faces allowed on this ship!"

Marinette was unaware the guitarist was talking to her until Alya bumped her elbow to her ribs to catch her attention and pointed to the stage.

"What?"

She was surprised to find the guitarist staring at her eyes. ' He's handsome ' her inner self told her when their eyes locked and she was feeling called by its blueness. Her smile remained unseen, confused and unsure if it was really her the one he was talking to, but her heart skipped at the eye contact.

"Yes, there, the lady on the second row, you… you seem to be feeling like this" he said, and then played some chords that seemed to describe the feelings of her repetitive, uninspired and unmotivated life perfectly.

She felt like her secret had just been exposed to all the customers of the bar. Embarrassment was too much to handle, and she kept her head low. As the famous song says: 'Killing me softly with his song'.

"A beautiful lady like you deserves to feel something like this" he said, and the music this time brought her back to her cheerful and happy childhood memories, something she hadn't felt for years. ' Wow. How can he do it? '

"Let me try to cheer you up". He placed his electric guitar aside and grabbed his acoustic instead. After adjusting it, he sat on the stool and brought the microphone to his mouth. Then, a totally different melancholic sound started filling the bar as he tested the strings. The audience seemed pleased and curious. "That's rare for him" Nino whispered, making Marinette's eyes open even bigger.

Suddenly, accurately and quickly, his eyes darted to meet directly at Marinette's eyes, with a soft but determined gaze that conflicted Marinette's unprepared heart.

The times you don't wanna wake up

'Cause in your sleep it's never over when you give up

'Wow… I surely look depressed, don't I?' Marinette thought, surprised of how the lyrics fit with her daily thoughts.

The sun is always gonna rise up

You need to get up, gotta keep your head up

Look at the people all around you

The way you feel is something everybody goes through

Marinette then looked at Alya and Nino, who were nodding with a sympathetic smile at her. The rest of the people at the bar seemed to agree with the lyrics too, nostalgic smiles on their peaceful faces. ' Is it ok to feel like this? Am I really not alone? ' The song continued.

Dark out, but you still gotta light up

You need to wake up, gotta keep your face up

The lyrics were surely… encouraging. Marinette could feel her heart become lighter and more confident, relaxed too. She then focused again on the guitarist, who had a kind expression on his face that almost made her fall for him. Almost ?

"C'mon, everybody, help me cheer this pretty lady up!" he said, his smile softly widening as he repeated the lyrics of the song. Soon, the audience joined to sing with him and Marinette felt embarrassed but touched at the kindness of all those strangers towards her. Alya put a supportive hand on her shoulder too, encouraging her to join the chorus.

And finally her face lit up and she started singing a little after remembering the lyrics. Her face was not looking down anymore and an honest shy smile was finally on her face.

Alya looked relieved, while Nino had an: ' I told you he was good ' smirk on his face. Meanwhile, the guitarist never stopped smiling at her.

Luka's gaze was dangerous for Marinette's heart, as a pleasant warmth began to occupy it. A feeling she hadn't felt for a long time was now threatening to stay, sinking deeper inside her heart with every syllable he sang.

"See? That's much better. You have a beautiful smile. Don't hide it!" Marinette blushed at his compliment and she couldn't stop smiling like a lovestruck fool.

After winking at her, Luka continued with his performance. "Ready to enjoy some rock and roll now? Next is 'Rock Giant' by Jagged Stone"

Marinette's favorite song. Did he know that too? ' Wow! It sounds even better than the original' . As soon as he started to play and sing Jagged's most iconic melody, Marinette was finally loosened up to enjoy the music. It was the fastest an hour that had passed for her while having fun. Wow . And she was grinning at the excitement, while trying not to freak out at the short glances and smiles the musician directed to her from time to time, or the long stares she pretended to not notice. She could notice her heart beating again after what it seemed like an eternity.

She felt alive. More than she had felt in months, maybe years.

But the performance had a set time to end...

"Thank you for coming. That's all for today. You're the best!" he grinned, while wiping some of the sweat drops that ran down his face. It was obvious he gave it his best and the audience was all in for it. Marinette had never seen anyone able to enthrall the public like this before. He was… absolutely amazing in the crowd's eyes, Marinette's included.

"Noooo!! Encore encore encore!" the bar customers started begging in loud voices, and Luka couldn't keep his gratitude to himself, as his fond smile showed. He looked at his surroundings, slowly, memorizing every face, as if thanking each of them individually. Until his kind yet powerful gaze stopped to focus directly on Marinette's pupils and his smile widened.

"You want an encore, guys? What does the lady on the second row say?" he teased with a smirk that made Marinette's knees weak. She could feel her face flushing red as the people of the bar's eyes focused on her.

"E- Encore!" She shouted in a voice she wasn't aware she owned.

"So you want an encore, right? Very well. Here's the last song for today: ' Liberty ' by Luka".

The energetic and happy cheering for the encore audience lasted only until Luka's guitar strings started to vibrate to form a melody.

"No way, dude!! A Luka inédite original song! Alya, we have to record this!" Nino fuzzed, pulling his phone out from his pocket. "Awesome!"

The song was amazing and had the audience lose it. 'Wow' . Marinette was speechless and she could feel the adrenaline flow through her body like it hadn't for years. Unable to tear her focus from the musician, the young woman could feel her heart beating faster- too fast.

When the song finished Marinette noticed how half the audience was crying in excitement and how the fangirling women from before were close to passing out. It was a very good song with good lyrics about looking for your inner freedom- totally fitting for Marinette. And his final greetings started.

"Thank you. Did you have fun?"

"Yeah!!! Wohoo!!!"

"Great, I'm glad. Thank you so much!" he giggled. "Thanks to you, it seems I have a new song to write" Luka said, with his sharp eyes and slightly curved smile hinting those words were meant for a certain lady seated on the second row. "And remember: the Liberty is a place where you can be free, honest to yourself. Feel free to come here anytime. Everyone is welcome here. Well, except agent Roger, maybe?" Luka said, pointing at the grey haired woman at the counter, who laughed at his comment. "Good night, everyone!"

Before leaving the stage through the back door, Luka exchanged one final look with Marinette and waved at her. Or so she wanted to believe, even if she wasn't sure.

‘ He’s so hot ’. Marinette fanned herself with her hand and drank all the alcohol that remained on her cup. It wasn't cold anymore and she needed to cool down, so she stopped the goth waitress with long purple hair to order a drink, and a minute later the small blond short-haired waitress brought it to her. She drank it in one shot, mouth dry from the shouting and her burning cheeks and quickly beating heart.

"Hot much?" Alya teased her best friend, with a knowing smirk.

"I told you he was lit! Wow! He even played a brand-new original song! You don't know how lucky we are. We have to come back again sometime soon!" Nino enthusiastically exclaimed. "A man like that is going to make it big in no time. We won't get the chance to get to listen to him like this when he becomes internationally famous"

Marinette couldn't help it but to agree. He was amazing… in all aspects. Maybe… it wasn't a bad thing she came…

No. It definitely wasn't.

"Yeah… maybe live performances aren't bad… maybe… we should come again, yes…" Marinette said under her friend's satisfied and knowing smile.

Who would have thought she would find inspiration on a pirate ship themed bar? She had unwillingly come and found something she didn't regret, as she found something even more unexpected: a crush on a talented guitarist.

And even though she was not sure if she was ready to pursue someone or to start a relationship, she knew she didn't want the clock of her life to keep spinning around a monotonous life, and she had just felt the way she had been wishing to feel for years; ALIVE.

'Yes… I'll definitely come back again'

#my fic #airipyon #airip4 #songfic #lukanette fic

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lovelylogans · 3 years

Text

honey, you’re familiar (like my mirror)

see other chapters, warnings, and notes here!

chapter two: limbic resonance

limbic resonance: the idea that the capacity for sharing deep emotional states arises from the limbic system of the brain. these states include the dopamine circuit-promoted feelings of empathic harmony, and the norepinephrine circuit-originated emotional states of fear, anxiety, and anger.

PATTON

“My best guess, Patton, is that I think you’re just very social, in sensate terms.”

Patton blinks. They’re sitting in his apartment, this time, a variety of writing practice sheets spread out on his carpet that he really should be grading, but Emile had popped in, and, the same way he has for the past five days, Patton immediately turned his attention to him, in hopes of figuring out what’s going on.

“Well,” Patton says, unsure of what to really say, before he just settles on, “that’s not new.”

Emile smiles, reaching over to pat his hand.

“What we’re doing right now, we call visiting,” Emile explains. “Sharing is something you can only do with your cluster; parents of a cluster, like me—”

“And our psychic grandpa Harley?”

“And your psychic grandpa Harley is to me,” Emile agrees, “is a bit more of a fuzzy area. I can share a bit with you, though—” he gestures to the mostly-finished meal he had made for Patton, the dirtied pot, pan, and utensils sitting on a countertop in Patton’s apartment, “so that’s nice! Harley could only share with us a little, memories, mostly. Young sensates, like you and your cluster, tend to have very little control over it at first. It usually comes with practice. You seem to be visiting almost everyone in your cluster.”

“Well, I don’t even know if I’m controlling it,” Patton says. “I just find myself in places sometimes.”

Emile nods in understanding. “Visiting isn’t like calling or texting someone. It’s not something you make happen, it’s something you let happen.”

“...I’m not sure I understand the difference,” Patton admits.

“It usually takes a while to get,” Emile says affably.

“And I never really stay for long,” Patton says. “I kind of had a conversation with one, I think, but I don’t know how much I imparted hi, I’m one of your psychic partners in life now, you know what I mean? The longest I’ve ever stayed is about five minutes, and I’m pretty sure he was out camping and asleep.”

“You’ve got time to figure it out,” Emile says encouragingly. “And I’m here to help, or explain questions you have, whenever I can. None of that vague you are more than yourself then whoosh, disappearing into thin air thing Harley pulled for our cluster. I want to be a helpful parent, thanks.”

That’s mostly what they’ve been doing over the past five days—Patton’s been trying to figure out what on earth is going on.

He’s already figured out that Emile isn’t a hallucination—his kindergartners had only been too eager to shout “HI MR. T’S AMERICAN FRIEND!!!” into his cellphone, and they’d all heard Emile’s responses back, so the is this really happening or am I seeing things? question has been resoundingly answered.

It’s the whole surprise! You’re not exactly human! thing that’s been tripping him up. Emile’s been trying to explain it in scientific terms, but honestly. Patton is a kindergarten teacher. He has no idea what epigenetic factors means. He just knows that Emile’s been throwing around the term homo sensorium a few times. That sounds like not exactly human to Patton.

“Have you gotten through to anyone else in the cluster like you have with me?” Patton asks Emile, rather than think about that a bit more. All he gets is another headache.

At least the migraine’s fading.

“Not quite,” Emile says, frowning. “You’ll probably connect with them sooner than I will; you have been connecting with them much more than I have. I just see glimpses.”

“So, just to make sure I get it,” Patton says. “I’m now psychically connected through—what’s it called again?”

“Psycellium,” Emile prompts.

“Right. I’m now psychically connected through something called psycellium, a psychic nervous system that we have because we are sensates, or homo sensorium.”

Emile gives him a thumbs-up.

“Sensates are a species of humans that are telepathically connected to each other. Every sensate is part of a group or cluster of sensates and members of a cluster can connect and communicate with each other wherever they are in the world.”

“Got it in one,” Emile says.

Patton huffs, flopping onto the bed.

“Honestly,” he says. “I’m so glad I’m the one blinking to you most often. I’d hate to try figuring this out without anyone who knows what’s happening.”

LOGAN

It’s been a demonstrably strange past five days. Logan has been keeping notes.

He typically carries around a small notebook as a virtue of his profession—it’s very helpful to jot down things like observations of unusual penguin behaviors, supplies he needed to put in a request for, or potential questions to ask scientists within other disciplines, rather than relying on remembering it all by rote.

He usually does remember it all by rote, but he thinks that’s greatly helped because he bothers to write it all down anyway. Handwriting information has been proven to help send information to the hippocampus, where the decision is made to either store the information long-term or let it go. If he writes something by hand, all that complex sensory information increases the chances the knowledge will be stored for later.

Anyone who happened to crack open his notebook and look at his notes for the past five days would surely think he was going mad.

May 8th—Migraine @ approx. noon; strange man in pajamas @ approx. 4 pm.

May 9th—tasted savory (meat?) when drinking tea @ 6 am; strange man (codename consideration?) cursing loudly in spanish @ approx 10 am; diff. man on computer pages that should have been locked to him @ 3:21 pm; saw a flash of sunny road @ approx 5 pm; migraine persists.

And so on, and so on. The frequencies have been growing over the past two days; he’s filled up the entire page allotted for usual day-to-day notes with just the strange things he’s been hearing, smelling, tasting.

Seeing.

He’s seeing things. That is rarely a good sign for one’s brain chemistry. And it’s not like there’s a proliferation of therapists, brain surgeons, or MRIs in Antarctica.

Now, he jots down May 12th at the top of the page, adding migraine persists, 6.5/10 pain @ 7 am, which is at least a little bit better than days past. He taps his pen on the desk, wondering if the dream he’d had about sitting on a couch beside a man as he proselytized a cartoon amid couple’s therapy warrants notation. It had all been people he’d never seen before.

As he taps, he frowns and pauses his movement; then, he gently nudges the notebook aside, in case of shadow.

No. There is a pile of dirt under the notebook.

Logan glances around the barracks, and moves to sweep the dirt off his desk; even as he is trying to be tidy about it, the dirt gets under his fingernails, and Logan scowls down at it. The dirt’s very stubborn. He sweeps at the dirt again, and again, but the pile only seems to grow, and he sweeps and manages to knock his notebook off his desk—

Logan groans, getting down on his knees to retrieve it, And then he puts two hands down, to press himself back up, and—

He looks up. The scent of spices, familiar and yet unplaceable in his mind, is in the air. The sun is beating down on his back.

Logan’s lips part slightly with surprise; for one thing, he is in Antarctica, and sunny hot days are not something he experiences particularly often there.

For another, a man is staring at him. His lips part, too, his hands in the dirt, fingertips bare centimeters away from Logan’s; it’s as if they’re looking into a mirror.

They stare.

The man is black, his hair freshly cut, by the look of the clean, fresh shave along his sideburns, his hair buzzed short. He has a strong jawline, and thick eyebrows, set into his face to make him look as if he’s perpetually furrowing them. His mouth is set in a thin line as if he’d been pressing his lips together in concentration.

His skin is clear and glowing in the light. He’s rather handsome, Logan thinks nonsensically, and then firmly attempts to set that thought aside. There’s a slight smudge of white from where he has not rubbed in his sunscreen along his cheekbone.

His bare hands are buried in the dirt; he’d been planting something before Logan showed up, Logan knows it.

“Where am I?” The man asks, in a language that Logan does not speak and yet still understands; they are back in the barracks in Antarctica, Logan sitting at his desk and the man kneeling on Logan’s bed, and yet simultaneously they are in that sunny garden, fingernails encrusted with dirt. “What is this?”

“Antarctica,” Logan says, confused; if this was a figment of his mind, surely the man would know where he was? “Where are you?”

“Pretoria,” the man says, and they’re kneeling back in the dirt. He looks as confused as Logan feels.

“In South Africa?” Logan says, befuddled. Of all the places his mind could place him—why somewhere he’d thought about studying, but never actually gone?

The man’s eyebrows actually furrow, now. “Do you speak Xhosa?”

Logan shakes his head. He returns, “Do you speak Polish?”

The man snorts, but he shakes his head too.

“Then how are we understanding each other?” Logan murmurs, and jots down in his notebook, language differential? Research Xhosa.

“I don’t know,” he says.

They stare at each other a bit more. Then:

“Logan,” the man says, suddenly certain with it.

He knows my name, Logan thinks, something in his stomach fluttering with what he’d like to think is unease. It would be much more appropriate if it was unease.

But a hallucination would know his name.

“You drink black tea in the mornings,” he continues. “With raspberry in it.”

Logan blinks rapidly because suddenly he can place the scent of spices in the air—the meat he’d tasted.

“Umngqusho,” Logan says, the word rolling smoothly off his tongue despite never having said it or heard it in his life. And then he recoils, because—

“This cannot be real,” he says, rapidly scrawling it in his notebook, even though he can feel the dirt under his fingernails, see the street filled with people out for walks, smell the dinner’s spices lingering on the air, feel the heat of the sun.

“I’m pretty sure I’m going to have to visit my psychologist again,” he agrees gloomily.

Virgil. Virgil agrees gloomily. His name is Virgil.

Fantastic. Now his mind is naming these hallucinations. Isn’t there some saying about not letting children name animals because then they’d get attached? Would there be a similar philosophy with hallucinations?

He notes it anyway—PRETORIA, VIRGIL—and swallows, looking to the door of the barracks. He’d be expected to do some kind of work within the hour, and to get some kind of breakfast before that.

“I don’t understand this,” Logan says, and if that isn’t terrifying, “So, if you don’t mind, I’d prefer to assume you are a very vivid hallucination.”

“Sure,” Virgil shrugs, gesturing to the pile of dirt. “I’m busy transferring a new jacaranda tree anyway.”

“Now that’s resolved,” Logan says, heart pounding, “I’m going to resume finishing off these notes and get some tea.”

“Of course.”

“And I’ll be pretending you’re not there.”

“Same,” Virgil says, and he returns his attention to his jacaranda sapling.

Logan swallows, mouth suddenly dry, and adds a starting time to this hallucination before he closes his notebook, gathers his bag, and walks in the direction of the dining hall.

Or, he tries. Because—

There is a fence in his way. Logan scowls, turning to face Virgil, who has turned his attention away from the jacaranda.

“Sorry,” Virgil mutters. “I don’t know how I came here, or how to go back.”

The hall, again, Virgil still crouched, looking suddenly absurd attempting to plant something into the tile. The absolute lack of any sensation to note the transition is more of a surprise than the transition itself.

“Maybe it’s some kind of calling system,” Virgil muses. “Like a subconscious call we can’t control, in case of danger or changes in our environment—like pisum satvum, they communicate stress cues via their roots to allow neighboring unstressed plants to anticipate an abiotic stressor. Falik found that unstressed plants demonstrated the ability to sense and respond to stress cues emitted from the roots of the osmotically stressed plant.”

“Perhaps,” Logan says, then, “You’ve studied this?”

“Well, I’d hope so,” Virgil says. “I just got through defending my thesis for a botany doctorate.”

Logan blinks. “Congratulations.”

Virgil gives him a curt nod, then says, “You’ve got a doctorate too, don’t you? Astronomy.”

“How did you know that?”

“No idea,” Virgil says, examining Logan. “Just did.”

“Well, our respective doctorates aside,” Logan says. “I don’t detect any stresses in my environment apart from this.” He gestures between them.

Virgil frowns at him, before he says, “Have you had a migraine lately?”

“...yes,” Logan admits. “A dreadful one.”

“Well,” Virgil says. “Maybe that’s our stress.”

Logan frowns. “Maybe. I don’t see how that would cause me to start hallucinating someone an ocean away, though. Or sending stress to you. Surely we aren’t the only two people in the world with a migraine at the moment.”

Logan focuses so much on attempting to continue what he usually does in the mornings that he doesn’t notice a woman lingering in the shadow of the dining hall, frowning thoughtfully after Logan.

“Larry, honey?” she says, to what anyone else would see as thin air. “I might have one.”

A pause.

“Well, that’s always the question with these science types, isn’t it.”

JANUS

Janus pulls back from his home PC with a slow exhale, rubbing his fingers along his brow. Well, the migraine hasn’t been solved, but at least this question has been, even if it raises an entirely new one.

Bright side: he’s found a name.

Dark side: Why on earth is a fugitive Mexican murderer blinking in and out of his life?

And a New Zealander, and an American, and an African, but he thinks the murderer should probably be at the top of the list of why on EARTH.

Janus examines the admittedly scant description; no one seems to know what this R.J. Duke person looks like, or even his real name, but Janus does, somehow. He knows that R.J. Duke’s real name is Remus, even if R.J. Duke’s legal name is different from that. He idly toys with the concept of messing about with the Mexican equivalent of the DVLA to swap over his gender to the proper one, but he figures hacking a foreign government and especially hacking a foreign government concerning the information of a wanted murderer even if no one seemed to know that this name listed is the wanted murderer.

That seems quite confusing. Janus turns to the legal notepad on his desk—writing things down longhand is a pain, but even as secure as his home setup is, he doesn’t necessarily trust this information falling into Key’s hands. He doesn’t even trust Key with his normal cell phone number.

REMUS REGIO Trans man—deadname in system hasn’t legally transitioned? Remus=RJ DUKE, no one seems to know?

Janus pauses. He drums his fingers on the table, staring at the latest ID photo of Remus Regio. There are a few notes of juvenile delinquency in his record. He could crack it, if he wanted, to get the full reports. He’s about to when he feels a soft, slight gust of wind; like someone’s walking up behind him.

And then there’s a hand on his desk, someone leaning in to stare at the screen with a look of longing on his face so agonizing it makes Janus look away.

He knows who this is, too: there’s a segment on his notepad labeled ROMAN REGIO, stage name Roman Prince. He looks very similar to Remus, enough that if anyone got them side-by-side the familial resemblance would be undeniable.

Good thing R.J. Duke wasn’t the type to add an about the author section in the dust jackets of his books.

“Are you looking for him?” Roman asks, brusque. He has an accent, one a casting director would request as a “sexy Latin accent.”

Janus chances a look at Roman; the longing is gone, as if he’d imagined it, replaced by a mask of general indifference, with a slight look of contempt in his eyes at the sight of Janus.

“I suppose,” Janus says. “Are you?”

Roman’s face twists up again.

“You aren’t?!” Janus says.

“He hasn’t told me where he is, he didn’t bring his phone—” Roman says, anguished.

Janus stares at him.

“Are you stupid?” He says incredulously. “Of course he didn’t bring his phone, it could be tracked.”

“Stcheww-pid,” Roman says, in a frankly ridiculous attempt at mocking Janus's accent.

“Oh, very mature,” Janus huffs. He should have figured an actor would be the bratty, stuck-up type.

Roman sticks out his tongue. Janus rolls his eyes.

“Why am I hallucinating a tiresome family of famous Mexican creatives,” Janus asks the air.

Roman’s face screws up into a scowl.

“Why am I hallucinating a snobby colonizer?”

He turns, just to be sure. Roman is gone.

“Rude,” Janus says loudly to the suddenly empty air, in case he can still hear him.

EMILE

Emile carefully folds his top lip over his teeth after years of practice, engaging in his maybe-once-a-month shaving routine. He’s never really been able to grow a beard or mustache, but he does grow stubble, very slowly, which makes him look rather scruffy if he just leaves it.

He taps the razor on the sink to shake off the foam, rinses it, before he returns his attention to the mirror and beams.

The face that isn’t his own meets his eyes a moment later and jumps in fright, before whipping his head around to check if there’s anyone behind him.

It’s not strange to see another face looking out of a mirror at him—honestly, he’s a little surprised Linny hasn’t shown up to make faces at him in the mirror before now, like she usually does—it’s just that this isn’t the face of one of his cluster.

The man frowns, confused, which pinches the scar on his face, which—

“Oh!” Emile says excitedly and puts a hand to the mirror. “Oh! Hello! You’re, um—you’re Janus, yes?”

“What the hell,” the man mutters in a distinctly British accent, and reaches for the edges of the mirror; Emile thinks he’s trying to prise it open, as if to see if there’s some kind of device behind it to project Emile’s image.

“I’m not actually there!” Emile says brightly. “Oh, this is wonderful, this means that you’re all going to start breaking through a bit more—I think, it’s not like there’s a parenting book for this kind of thing. Anyways, you’re not going crazy, or whatever you might think, it’s just that your brain is built a bit differently, and it turns out to be the exact same type of different as five other people, so you’re all psychically connected now!”

There’s a very long pause. Then:

“The fuck?”

REMUS

“Don’t eat that.”

Remus twitches, which honestly, is the best reaction he’s had to all these weird hallucinations so far. If this is some kind of form of demon retribution from Miguel Contreras, one would think he’d send the demons after his actual murderer who poisoned him, rather than the person who wanted to kill him but didn’t.

He can imagine the way Roman’s face would twist up if Remus freely admitted to wanting to kill someone, which is how he knows it’s maybe not normal to admit that he wanted to kill someone, outside of the slightly joking, oh, I’ll kill him! thing people say.

But hey. Remus didn’t kill him. The didn’t part has to count for something. Right?

“That’s a hallucinogen,” the man continues.

Remus stares at him. Is that meant to sound like a bad thing? Because going on some kind of mushroom-induced trip would be awesome right now. He slowly raises the plant to consider it.

“It’s an aphrodisiac,” the man adds hastily.

This does not sound like a bad time at all. He brings the plant closer to his mouth.

The man slaps it out of his hand.

“It also might kill you,” he scolds, looking at the plants that Remus has managed to gather. “I’m assuming you’re going to try to eat all of these?”

“Yes,” Remus says.

The man stares at the plants. He nudges one aside with his foot to survey the pile.

“So there’s like a sixty percent chance you would have died if you ate all of this in one sitting,” he says.

“A forty percent chance I would have survived this mind-meltingly great time, though, and I’ve taken worse odds,” Remus points out.

The man pinches the bridge of his nose as if he has a headache. Remus is very familiar with seeing people perform this gesture at him.

“How do you know all this, anyway?” Remus continues.

“Botanist,” the man says, crouching slightly to press his hands against the dirt, rubbing it between his fingers. “Where are we? Seems like a tropical climate.”

“Mexico,” Remus says, refusing to give a more specific location than that.

The man gestures vaguely, and Remus looks around—he’s in a dark bedroom, lit only by a desk lamp that’s busy shedding most of its light on a tray full of what Remus thinks are maybe flower saplings.

“South Africa.”

The man rises to his feet, hands planted on his hips.

“Right,” he says decisively. “You’re in a forest environment, it should be easy enough to gather enough edible plants to form some kind of meal. Maybe not an appetizing one, but a meal. C’mon.”

And so begins a very odd day, even by Remus's standards.

The man—Doctor Virgil Wright-Nkosi, Remus spots a diploma waiting to be framed sitting on his desk—starts teaching Remus about stuff called quelites, which are edible sub-products of other crops, usually vegetables, as well as a variety of edible flowers, which cacti are safe to crack open and use as food, and which plants need to be tossed into a fire and which are fine to eat raw.

All the while, even as they’re hiking through the forest, Virgil occasionally reaches back to his bedroom in South Africa, pulling down thick textbooks to show Remus pictures of the various growth stages of plants, or googling things on his laptop to double and triple-check his knowledge (he does that for literally almost every plant, and somehow Remus knows it’s because Virgil absolutely wants to be sure Remus isn’t poisoned) or just to check on his little flower saplings.

So by the time the sun is setting in Monterrey, and by the time it’s the witching hour in South Africa, Virgil and Remus survey their little pile of plants.

“Do you know if this is a hallucination or not?” Virgil asks him abruptly, a sudden about-face from his day full of somewhat normal behavior.

Remus shrugs, spreading his hands.

“Maybe I ate one of those hallucinogens—”

Virgil winces, almost on instinct, as if the thought of shrugging away concerns and popping a random plant into his mouth is giving him heart palpitations. It probably is.

“—and my brain’s trying to give me a plant expert to, I don’t know,” Remus says, smiling humorlessly. “Get some knowledge about rosary peas. Free me up from that pesky murder charge.”

Virgil turns to him, his jaw dropping.

“That what?!” He says, and then, as if the shock of realizing he’s been educating a fugitive all day is just too much for him, he pops away. Gone.

Remus looks at the plants.

“Thanks for dinner, I guess,” he says to the empty air and goes about sorting all the plants they’d plucked together.

VIRGIL

Murder charge. A murder charge.

Virgil’s mind is spinning even as he’s lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, his hands folded on his stomach. He is making absolutely no attempt to fall asleep.

Murder charge.

That is not the type of thing someone should just casually drop in the middle of a conversation!

Virgil had, obviously, figured out that this was kind of a strange dude; very specific types of people tended to camp out in caves without in-depth knowledge of the plants around them. Campers who overestimated their hunting capabilities, for instance. Hikers waiting to see rare animals.

Also, Virgil had just kind of figured that he was in an extended hallucination, and, to quote an American comedian he’d been introduced to in college, he’d been in one of those days where you’re like...this might as well happen?

He’d made an appointment with his psychologist, regardless. So he was a little less stressed about the whole hallucinating strangers thing, if only by the virtue of figuring he’d know what was going on with his brain soon.

And also maybe because the nice Polish scientist in Antarctica had been a strangely settling presence, simply by virtue of how solid he’d seemed, but Virgil’s very carefully not thinking about any feelings that could have been inspired in him at the sight of a Polish man with very nice hair and a deep voice and very blue eyes. Not even the thought of how it had felt like Virgil had been straining to reach something and meeting the scientist felt like some kind of blessed release.

But now this stress has ratcheted up even higher, way past his original stress levels.

Murder charge.

But—wait.

A Mexican accused of murder whose weapon of choice was rosary peas?

Virgil rolls onto his side, knowing before he even stands up to go to his bookshelf that he’s going to be researching all night.

ROMAN

“Honey, I’m home,” Roman calls out wearily, dropping his keys into the bowl on top of the entry table. They clatter against the ceramic and rest side-by-side with their twins.

“Welcome back, beloved!” A much perkier voice calls from their living room, completing the joke. Roman traipses into the room.

Sasha is lying on the floor on her stomach, feet kicked up in the air, eyes narrowed at scripts spread across the floor.

“Hey,” she says. “My agent says I should probably post something, people have been resorting to pap shots of us to create buzz and I’m trying to pick new projects. I hope I get another slasher film, I’ve wanted to do another one ever since I finished my last one. Scroll through our prepped shots and pick one for me, will you?”

“I can take a selfie and put it on your story, the Roshas loved that last time,” Roman says.

“Mm, repeating ourselves, too close to the last one we did,” Sasha says. “Nah, I think a throwback one would be better. If you wanna do a story, get over here and I can kiss you on the cheek.”

“I’m all gross and sweaty,” Roman says. “Hardly swoon-worthy.”

Sasha mutters something under her breath about that working for some people, but Roman shakes his head. He looks at the floor to peek at a script. He immediately sets it out of her reach.

Sasha raises her eyebrows at him. “No?”

“No,” Roman says, flicking aside the script for good measure. “He almost always writes a homophobic role in there. Early on, I got called in to do stunts for the scene where…” He tilts his head slightly, trying to recall the exact line. “Oh, right. The Hispanic coke dealer is about to give another kind of blow job when he finally gets the bullet he deserves.”

“Jesus,” Sasha says. “Yeah, keep that one far away from me, thanks. Oh, here—”

She unlocks her phone, goes to the photo album she’s entitled Rosha PR Shots and hands it to Roman.

Roman scrolls through. They’re all very posed, but they don’t look like it—a virtue of two actors together, he guesses—shots of them lounging on the couch, shots of Roman and Sasha at a romantic dinner, shots of Sasha fixing his tie before a red carpet.

“This one,” he says at last, coming across a more candid shot of Roman cooking dinner (for Sasha, it is implied by the candles on the table and the low lighting of the room.) “Nice and romantic. Domestic, even.”

“Perfect,” Sasha says and sends it off to her social media manager to be posted, surely with some kind of caption like dream guy, dream dinner, or something like that. It’ll drive the Roshas crazy, and maybe it’ll help things die down.

He also knows he’s hoping in vain. They’ve been living together a year and a half, “dating” for another year before that, and it’s never died down. Last time he went to a grocery store he’d seen a tabloid with the pair of them out getting coffee on the front, speculating about what they’d done the night before by the state of Sasha’s hair (they’d eaten only egg rolls for dinner and watched a lot of The Good Place together and she’d fallen asleep on the couch) but the unsettling part was he hadn’t even seen the pap that snapped it.

Roman thought it would die down, but naturally Roman and Sasha have stumbled their way into the nationwide favorite couple.

Shame the whole nation doesn’t know they’re rooting for roommates bearding for each other.

It’s a mutually beneficial relationship—they have a default red carpet partner in each other, the fact that they share an apartment (Roman’s bedroom is converted into an office whenever a magazine invites themself over for a profile) means they can afford a suitably glitzy place with very good security, and they also don’t get blacklisted from the business for being gay.

People writing fanfiction about them is a bit weird, though. Roman’s all for creativity, and he wrote some back in his day, but reading it about himself is a trip and a half.

Sometimes Roman and Sasha have nights where they drink lots of wine and read particularly graphic paragraphs out to each other. It’s honestly way funnier than any comedy movie they could pick—the concept of either of them would have heterosexual sex alone. Let alone the widely-spread fan theory that Roman has a heart-shaped mole on his ass.

It’s very weird being famous.

“You wanna order in tonight?” She asks him. “That place that does that really nice chicken dish down the street’s running a pretty great deal.”

“Yeah, I’m not up for cooking,” Roman says.

She frowns at him, rising up to put a hand on her forehead, the way she has for days. “Migraine still?”

“Migraine still,” Roman agrees. Her hand feels cool, but not cold, the way it would if he was feverish.

Sasha sighs. “And you’re sure you don’t know why? No other symptoms?”

Roman feels a little twist of guilt in his stomach.

“No,” he lies.

Sasha believes him at his word, the way she always does because they know everything about each other. He knows about the long-term girlfriend she’d had when she was in college in San Diego and the nasty end; she knows about Roman’s lactose intolerance and how little he heeds it; he knows about her line memorization techniques; she knows about his parents’ messy divorce.

She’s his best friend. They know everything about each other. Everything.

Or, at least, they did, before Roman’s mostly-hermit brother got accused of murder and Roman got a horrible migraine a week later. And the hallucinations.

Sasha would probably send him straight to a hospital if she heard like a good friend would. But he can’t go to a hospital now—not in the middle of a shoot, not when his brother’s on the run, not now. And that’s not even going into what the tabloids would say if he suddenly got shipped off to a hospital because he was seeing things.

Roman rolls over on the couch and smashes his face into a pillow, blocking Sasha’s face from his sight. She’s a good friend, a great friend, the best friend he’s ever had. And he’s lying to her.

Sasha makes a sympathetic noise and pats his ankle. “I’ll grab dinner this time, okay? You go ahead and take a nap.”

It’s very sweet of her to try and make him feel better, but it makes him feel just a little bit worse.

#my fic #my fanfic

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bard-llama · 3 years

Text

WiP Wednesday: rorveth + isendain + throne3 snips!

Y’all, I have been up since 5:30am and somehow still have not accomplished a damn thing today. But I HAVE played an awful lot of Sims Medieval and I’m having fun! So far I’ve made Lyria and Rivia with Meve as the monarch and the Free Pontar Valley with Saskia as monarch and Philippa as wizard. Also, they gay.

Anyway, here’s a bit from the next chapter of To Claim You As My Own. Warnings for seriously dubious consent in the premise (Roche is captured by the Scoia’tael) and straightforward discussion of sex and sexual assault.

Iorveth/Vernon Roche:

“I’m not your therapist,” Roche pointed out, “and you should definitely have one. But I can tell you that snapping at him and humiliating him is not gonna help things.”

Eldain’s snarl made Roche question if the no-torture thing would stay true – but then Eldain slumped back down. “Fuck,” the elf grunted. “I really fucked up, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, you’re gonna have to apologize like, real well. Time to break out the flowers and jewelry and shit.”

Eldain stared up at him in bafflement – what, did elves not apologize for fuck ups the same way? – and then seemed to notice the state of him.

“Wow, you are disgusting! Is that smell you!?”

Roche scowled. “Considering I’m your captive, how I smell is rather your fault.”

“Huh. Yeah, I guess it is. Well, this is my tent now, and I absolutely cannot have a stinky tentpole captive in the middle of my tent. So we’ll just have to fix that.”

Blinking, Roche’s brow furrowed. Was Eldain kicking him out of his own prison cell?

Instead, Eldain leaned out of the tent and flagged someone down to call for a bath. Like, an actual bath with a tub and everything. Roche blinked.

Was he going to do something like bathe himself in front of Roche but not actually let Roche be clean? As torture methods go, it would be untraditional, but mental manipulation did play a large role in torture.

Only instead of rolling a basin into the tent, Eldain began to pick the knots on his bindings. Did that mean he was getting kicked out? What the fuck?

Eldain kept his wrists bound behind him and walked him outside the tent – where numerous elves were pouring buckets of water into a massive tub.

“Uh?”

“What, humans don’t do communal bathing?” Eldain asked in amusement, stopping them next to the tub. “Here’s how this is gonna work. I will untie your wrists so you can wash yourself, ‘cause uh, gross, but I’m tying your ankles, plus you’re surrounded by Scoia’tael, so like, don’t even try it. Do not make me have to tell Iorveth that his dh’oine was stupidly killed trying to run away.”

Roche opened his mouth, blinked, then closed it as he realized he had no idea what to say.

Eldain didn’t appear to expect an answer, because the elf untied his wrists – and gods, that was a relief, they’d been tied too tight – and wrapped the rope around his ankles. Then Eldain handed him some soap and a bucket and flourished his hand to indicate that Roche should go ahead.

Clearing his throat as Eldain stepped back, Roche awkwardly attempted to clean himself of all the evidence of how he’d been used and how he’d liked it. He grit his teeth, breathing deeply, and pretended that he was working in his mom’s brothel, a weekend shift to take over for someone like he often did. Yeah, he’d had sex. Yes, he was covered in evidence of it. No, it was no longer hot and now just annoying and crusty and he scrubbed hard to remove it.

The other Scoia’tael elves were definitely looking at him – curious, perhaps? Or plotting his death? – but there was nothing Roche could do about that, so he pretended they were just other patrons at the Clarabelle. It was at least enough to keep his blush limited to his face.

Then he was done and he poured the bucket over his head, rinsing off. He looked back to Eldain. “So… how exactly do I get in the tub with bound ankles?”

Eldain’s smirk did not bode well for him and he held out his arms uselessly.

“No, wait–”

Eldain grabbed him, hauled him up overhead, and then dropped him directly into the tub. It wasn’t really that deep, but Roche still flailed as he struggled to surface. Finally, he was tossing back wet hair and sputtering, just to find Eldain laughing his ass off.

Roche narrowed his eyes. It wasn’t the mean kind of laughter Eldain had given before when insulting Isengrim, so he wasn’t actually that bothered by it, but he did think it was only fair if he got to retaliate.

He moved to the edge of the bath as Eldain kept laughing and it was honestly far too easy to pick him up and pull him into the tub by his tunic.

Eldain splashed around a lot more than Roche had, and when he surfaced, he slowly spit the water out of his mouth through frowning lips. “This tunic was new,” he whined, face downcast.

Roche rolled his eyes. “Meaning newly salvaged from the corpse of whatever poor sod wandered into your forest?”

“Sometimes they come from corpses that you put there,” an elf nearby murmured, glaring at Roche. And that hit Roche… weirdly hard, considering he was just a soldier doing his job.

But he didn’t have time to dwell on it, because his and Eldain’s presence in the bath apparently signalled that it was Time to Bathe and a number of elves hopped into the tub next to them. Roche stiffened, but they mostly seemed occupied with settling in the tub or chatting with each other.

Eldain wiggled out of wet clothes and threw them over the rim to deal with later, then settled next to Roche. Which meant that Roche was sitting naked in a bathtub along with 10 other entirely nude elves. And a lot of them kept glancing at him. Some were definitely angry, but others were… curious?

He swallowed hard, trying to keep himself from staring at all the elves around him. But they were just so unreasonably beautiful, so instead, he made himself look too closely, until he could notice the flaws.

Every single elf here had at least one scar that he could see. Every single one. He gulped again.

One elf noticed him staring at a healed gash in their shoulder and bared their teeth at him. “Recognize it? I was the one that got lucky. You didn’t kill me. My entire squad, on the other hand…”

They growled and Roche wondered how he was supposed to fight with his ankles bound in a bathtub filled with elves.

“Enough,” Eldain snapped, and where his voice had been whiny and amicable before, it was now stern and commanding, reminding Roche that the elf beside him was a commander, an equal to Iorveth. And Eldain’s reputation was even worse than Iorveth’s.

Several elves huffed in irritation, but they did turn away from him. Since they were mostly gathered on the far side of the tub, Roche didn’t really care. But the ones near him still kept staring.

“What?” he demanded when a dark skinned elf with her hair in pompoms continued to stare.

Her lips twisted. “I’m just wondering – how do you know how to make someone come so hard they scream like a siren?”

Next to him, Eldain choked, flushing, but he just blinked at her. “The same way anyone else does?” he answered hesitantly.

Blank faces answered him, and for the first time in his captivity, he worried for the wellbeing of these elves. He took a deep breath, “okay, so first thing is erogenous zones.” He launched into the kind of lecture he’d often had to give young men whose groomsmen had brought to a brothel to ‘get rid of that pesky virginity’.

The good ones just wanted to know how to make their soon-to-be spouse feel good.

It happened often enough that Roche had multiple versions of the speech – the three minute version, the ten minute, the half hour version, even one that was an hour long. He picked and chose which parts of the speech to include based on the knowledge and availability of his audience.

This audience? Very minimal prior knowledge, even about themselves. It was honestly kind of sad.

He was just in the middle of explaining how a soft touch to the back of the neck could make an elf melt into a puddle when he noticed Iorveth standing a few paces away gaping at him.

“Are you teaching my men how to have sex!?” Iorveth’s voice was incredulous and high pitched and Roche kind of reveled in having garnered such a response.

“Well, nobody else has,” he shrugged, keeping his eyes on Iorveth even as his previously captive audience blushed and ducked down. “There’s only two ways to learn: experience, and being taught. And obviously experience is more fun, but it’s much better if you’ve been taught some stuff to bring to the experience.”

He wasn’t sure if his words actually reassured any of them, because he couldn’t take his eyes off of Iorveth. Iorveth stared back at him with just as much intensity and he could feel his breath starting to come faster.

Isengrim/Eldain:

Okay, this WiP is actually part of the Love Breeds Love ‘verse, but it’s kind of concurrent with the rorveth plot of that. The two storylines will meet eventually and work out some of their trauma and issues, but we’re a ways away from that. ‘cause the FIRST thing that has to happen is the breeding lol. If pregnancy squicks you out, this is NOT the series for you. Seriously.

Anyway, this bit is after Isengrim and Eldain have partnered up for this “let’s get pregnant and save our species” event and after chatting for a bit, Eldain invited Isengrim up to his room to ‘hear him play’. 😉

As the last notes rang out, Isengrim’s eyes met his and Eldain found himself strangely breathless.

“You’re very good,” Isengrim intoned and Eldain smiled on instinct.

“I am,” he agreed with a wink. “Thank you.”

Isengrim was very close to him and Eldain found that all he could focus on was the slight distance between them. Then Isengrim licked his lips, and Eldain’s eyes snapped back to Isengrim’s face.

“We’re expected to have sex later,” Isengrim murmured, voice deep and washing over Eldain like a warm fire.

He hummed in acknowledgement, eyes half-lidded.

Staring into his eyes, Isengrim stepped even closer and said, “we could get a head start.”

“For practice,” Eldain nodded, tilting his head back and licking his own lips.

“Exactly,” Isengrim’s whisper fluttered over his mouth just before Isengrim kissed him, and Eldain melted into the meeting of their lips, so soft and sweet and hungry.

Eventually, the pulled apart and Eldain shivered when Isengrim growled, “put your lute away.”

Later, he would think about how Isengrim must really have understood musicians, because as much as he wanted Isengrim to jump him, he absolutely would not be okay with his lute getting damaged, no matter what his horny brain said. But in the moment, he was mostly just desperate to touch, so he set the lute aside and seized Isengrim’s face, drawing him into another kiss.

Isengrim sighed into the kiss, guiding them to shuffle back into the bed until the mattress was against the back of Eldain’s knees and he had to either sit down or fall down. Instead of climbing into his lap like he’d half been hoping, Isengrim dropped to his knees and dragged Eldain’s hips closer to the edge of the bed, pressing his face into Eldain’s crotch.

“Fuck,” Eldain whispered shakily. “Oh, fuck, please!”

Given permission, Isengrim’s fingers were quick to undo his belt and tear down his trousers, letting them tangle around his knees. Then Isengrim pulled his hips closer again and glanced up at him before licking across his already-wet folds. Eldain shivered, hand reaching out to stroke through Isengrim’s hair, pushing long strands behind one ear and tweaking it.

Isengrim’s body twitched, but he was not distracted from his quest, exploring what kinds of sounds he could pull from Eldain’s throat and what sorts of movements made Eldain jerk and what made him gasp and what made him scream.

Some time later, he felt dazed and hazy, body humming with pleasure and delight. “Fucking hell,” he muttered, reaching out to tangle his hands in Isengrim’s hair again. “Yeah, somehow I really don’t think we’ll have a problem later.”

Isengrim laughed, mouthing across Eldain’s chest. “No?”

Eldain huffed a laugh. “How is it no one every mentioned that the Iron Wolf is a fucking god in bed?”

Isengrim stiffened, not responding, and Eldain belatedly recalled that Isengrim… didn’t particularly seem to like his moniker.

“Sorry,” Eldain said softly, stroking through Isengrim’s hair. “I’m just a little surprised that the gossipmongers never got ahold of that one.” He tugged on Isengrim’s hair until Isengrim rose enough for Eldain to kiss him. “God knows after the one fucking time my people overheard me, they never stopped bringing it up.”

Snorting, Isengrim relaxed slightly. Eldain wagered he could get him to relax a lot more.

Meve/Reynard/Gascon

Ugh, I have so many WiPs for these 3 and yet, nothing finished. 😭😭😭 But amongst my list of WiPs is one that’s actually more Reynard/Gascon without Meve in the equation (sorta) and it was started for the @witcherkinktober‘s prompts “Dacryphilia | Dirty Talk | Sounding”. No actual porn here, but much discussion of it XD

General Reynard Odo regarded his strict self control with pride. Gascon, on the other hand, took just as much pride in attempting to poke through that control until Reynard blew up. Until recently, Gascon had assumed Reynard half-hated him for that, but someone – probably Meve – seemed to have let Reynard in on the idea of antagonistic flirting.

Next thing Gascon knew, Reynard was backing him up into the wall and kissing him fiercely. Since then, Gascon had gained a delightfully well-rounded education on all possible permutations on how a stern general and a bratty bandit could fit together. And he loved getting wrecked by his silver fox of a general, he really did. But it would be nice if, on occasion, he could see Reynard lose control.

In retrospect, Meve was probably just sick of their shit, because she was the one who drove Reynard to act – and now it was Gascon’s turn.

“You called for me, Your Majesty?” Gascon announced his presence, pointedly not bowing.

Meve turned to face him, tapping her fingertips together. “How old are you?”

Gascon blinked. “Why?”

The way she looked him over was assessing, but her narrowed eyes showed that it was not his appeal that she was measuring. “Reynard,” she said eventually, just as he was starting to get antsy.

“Uh… yeah? What about him?”

“You want to see him fall apart,” she said bluntly and Gascon’s face flushed bright red.

“Uh, I mean–” he cleared his throat, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

Meve cut him of, clearly impatient with his embarrassment. “Reynard would never say it, but he wants that too.”

Taken aback, Gascon inhaled sharply, wondering if he could truly trust in those words. It seemed far too convenient for Reynard to wish to give up control to someone like him.

“So,” she continued, “I am going to tell you what you need to know.”

Glancing around and half expecting this to be a joke, Gascon arched an eyebrow. “And what’s that?”

“Sounding drives him wild. Every time, guaranteed.”

Gascon’s forehead creased. Sounding? What that some musical thing? “What is sounding?”

Meve sighed, lips pressed together. “I suspected as much,” she muttered to herself. “Perhaps we should start with what experience you do have.”

“I – what?”

“Sex,” Meve grunted, blunt and factual, “I’m talking about sex.”

Swallowing hard, Gascon really, really hoped that none of her guards could hear them. “It – you – why!?”

Meve rolled her eyes, apparently entirely comfortable with this conversation. She was very much alone in that, because Gascon had never been more uncomfortable. The queen was giving him sexual advice to fuck her top general. There had to be a catch. As far as he could tell, she didn’t even like him terribly much. She tolerated him because she had to, because without him, she had about two dozen men and absolutely no chance at all of reclaiming Lyria. So why would she give him advice to bag her second in command?

“For reasons that escape me, Reynard adores you.” She ignored Gascon’s surprised squeak. “Which is fine, except that you’ve got him lovestruck and distracted and frankly, I need my general at his sharpest. So fix it.”

Bewildered, Gascon sputtered wordlessly for several moments. “Fix what!?”

Her sigh was clearly disappointed and his gut clenched at the idea of disappointing her. “Fix him. Right now, you drive him to distraction. So I’m officially ordering you – go drive him out of his mind and give him everything he needs to be able to think straight again.”

Gascon’s jaw dropped. “You – are you serious!?”

Meve’s look was dripping with judgement. “Believe me, if I ever joke, you will know it.”

#rorveth #isendain #throne3 #iorveth x roche #meve x reynard x gascon #isengrim x eldain #thronebreaker #the witcher #wip wednesday

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7wanderingpaws · 4 years

Text

Simply, yours (11) (M)

Pairing: Baekhyun x reader

Genre: family AU, hapkido teacher AU, PhD AU

Word count: 6.1K

Warnings: cursing, shitty mature content

A/N: Whew, another 6K+ ... The happenings in this chapter were one of the first scenes I had in my mind when I started to write this story, huhu! Hope you like it, and let me know what you thougt. Your comments help me keep writing! 💖 Alright, Im drained.. Imma head back to study. Enjoy sweet readers of mine!

tags: @milky-baek @itsbaekhyunsbutt @luvhtears @shesdreaminginoverdose @cynthbee @jummyjammy @junmyeonnoona @littleflowercrown13 (if you want to be tagged/untagged please let me know!)

MASTERLIST

1 . 2 . 3 . 4 . 5 . 6 . 7 . 8 . 9 . 10 . 11

It just felt like yesterday you told Baekhyun you wanted to go home, and now here you were, holding his hand while he had a big gym back thrown over his other shoulder as you were making your way towards the platform to catch the KTX home. The crowds were crazy given the time of the year and it was making you anxious just a little bit.

“It's good we booked the tickets early,” murmured Baekhyun as you both stepped on the escalator leading downstairs. He stood in front of you which made you taller than him for a few seconds and he blessed you with a sweet smile. He reached out with his hand and caressed your protruding belly. Unfortunately, wearing a huge and thick winter jacket made it almost impossible to feel his gentle touch.

“You are always well prepared, my boy,” you praised proudly.

He hummed, retreating his hand and quirking his eyebrows at you seductively. “I like that nickname, my girl.”

You let out a snort and Baekhyun took your hand again as you got off the escalator.

“Pff, territorial, are we?” you teased.

This time, it was Baekhyun who let out a snort, squeezing your hand in warning because he knew your little game. He saw right through it. After all, you had been playing these teasing games with him since the beginning of this week and now it was Friday, Korean New Year happening just this weekend.

Once inside the train, Baekhyun let go of your hand to let you sit by the window, while he was taking out necessary things for the ride. One tumbler with hot lemon tea for you, another one with coffee for himself, his sports management book and a notebook, and for you the small knitting kit to finish off the little piece you had been working on. With a thank you, you accepted everything he was handing you and he gave you a smile before placing the bags and winter jackets up in the holder and taking a seat next to you. Reaching over, he hovered his hand over the window pane.

“What?” you asked.

“Checking if it isn't too cold for you,” he murmured and seemingly calmed down when he got a positive result. “Can't have you catching a cold.” He sat back down, making himself comfortable. “You sure you don't want to have your jacket just in case?”

A smile of complete adoration decorated your face as you looked at his worried eyes that were boring into yours. “No, honey, it's okay for now. Don't worry too much.”

He nodded, though commented: “Heard you sneezing this morning while I was in the bathroom.”

You giggled, covering your mouth as people were still finding their places in the car. “I didn't know it was forbidden.”

“I'm just trying to make sure you're fine.”

“I am fine, I really am,” you reassured and wanted to lean in to give him a peck but was too shy since people were all around standing, some unpacking stuff.

He observed you with a gentle smile before nodding and turning to his book that was on his lap when his phone notified him of a message.

You usually didn't pay attention because you honestly aren't the type to do so. You already felt bad that he was constantly around you, and you constantly around him. You were pregnant, too sick and had too much of a high blood pressure, and he was neglecting his friends because of that.

“Don't think I didn't catch up to your little games, by the way,” he said nonchalantly, not looking your way and startling you.

You frowned at him but you sensed what he was referring to.

“If you continue, I can't guarantee what will happen.”

“Is that a threat?” you chirped, intrigued.

He gave you a handsome smile. “Whatever you like to call it.”

You bit your lip, remembering this week's happenings when you kept teasing him and doing everything the exact opposite of his preference or liking. He was just so easy to tease when you knew he couldn't throw you over his shoulder and tickle the living hell out of you, or have you his way as means of punishing you (pregnancy DID have pros).

This week while teaching the kids at the elementary school, they became too curious about you and your huge stomach. So, whatever Baekhyun said and tried to explain to the kids you passionately opposed to. So much so that the kids ended up giggling and going against Baekhyun's word that day, which really wasn't the best situation, given he was their master they had to respect. It seemed you were much more playful and willing to speak up with kids then his university team and Jiyoung. But he wasn't complaining, despite huffing at the kids' attitude and later at yours. Plus, Baekhyun was very busy with studies in his free time the whole of the past two weeks, so you might have been begging for his attention the entire time, without you knowing it.

Back to the current day, another couple of more notifications later and Baekhyun picked up his phone, scrolling through the messages. Although you were already going through your knitting threads, checking each knot with care, you still saw from your peripheral vision how he shot you a wary glance. He typed up a message and this time put his phone on silent before putting it in the holder in front of him.

Deciding not to comment, you continued, starting on the small gloves just as the train departed.

Baekhyun leaned in to your side, checking what you had been working on so diligently. When you started on this piece, you had asked him about the colours he liked so that you could use them. “What is this going to be?”

His breath tickled your cheek and you turned your head slightly to have a look at him. He followed you with his eyes. “Little gloves for out little ones.”

Another handsome smile and he pecked your lips, the action ending up with a tad too loud of a smooch for a public space but he enjoyed the reddening of your cheeks as he pressed another kiss to your cheek.

The entirety of the train ride, Baekhyun immersed himself in the book, highlighting important parts, checking his notes and scribbling more information around the paragraphs in the book. He looked handsome even when he was focused, tongue sometimes sticking out between his lips that were otherwise in a tight line. Watching him leaning over the book, you couldn't help but eye his strong jaw and handsome profile. A sight you knew so well; every curve, every plane, that straight nose, the plump lips and the straight chin. He seemed to be all straights and smooths, and you loved every part of it dearly.

“You know, your stare is burning.”

Few seconds later he looked up, catching you but you didn't even make an effort to not stare. He let out a breathy chuckle. “Hope you ain't getting horny here,” he murmured just for you to hear.

At that, you gasped and he laughed, knowing how embarrassed that would make you feel. “You wish! But it's you not getting any anyway,” you retorted in a shushed voice, turning back to your knitting, pretending to be offended.

“Is it really me?” he raised an eyebrow at you, handsome and all.

You ignored him, focusing way too much on the knitting, except you weren't and ended up making a mistake. “Shit.”

“No swearing while being pregnant,” he chastised, now back to his studies.

The way you took in a deep breath through your nose was loud enough for Baekhyun to hear, which ended up making him smile under his nose.

“I am throwing you off the train, Baekhyun.”

He put his pen down and turned to you, a thoughtful look on his face. “I read that our babies are big enough to actually recognize what is being said. They are able hear now. So this is the phase where we should make them listen to classical music and-” he looked at you pointedly, “not swear. Unless you want them as brats.”

When not replying, he added, reaching out to tap at your lips with his index finger. “So watch that mouth of yours.”

“If that's what you want,” you sighed nonchalantly, ignoring the burning of the touch of his fingertips on your lips. “I will comply.”

Retracting his hand, he had a lopsided smile on his face. “That's my girl.”

You rolled your eyes, though not meaning it. “So territorial.”

Baekhyun laughed.

Couple of hours later and both of you were in your respective homes welcomed by the typical countryside air filled with animals and hay. Your two homes were literally next to each other connected by one garden between both families.

Both Baekhyun's and your family were waiting outside together - already acting like one big family - but after twenty minutes of greetings, squealings, belly rubbings (mostly from Baekhyun's family) you made yourself comfortable at home, your legs severely swollen and tiredness taking over you.

Parting with your boyfriend was at first difficult, because you realised Baekhyun was going to his house and you were going to your own. It would be a first in a long time where you would spend the night away like this from each other, or at least you thought. You were hoping he would sneak in to your room in the middle of the night, or vice versa. You felt like you had the right to demand to sleep next to the father of the children you were carrying.

“I will come see you soon,” Baekhyun had whispered in your ear just before parting and his hot breath was still palpable on your skin now. He was incredible.

Your father calling out your name was what made you snap back to reality, momentarily embarrassed about the dirty thoughts you kept having the whole day. Geez. As weird and annoyed you were towards Baekhyun in the beginning of your pregnancy, where sometimes even his touches were unwelcome, now you were the exact opposite; you were growing guilt feelings towards him for using him for pleasures. But it wasn't like you were doing everything against his will. He was very much to blame, too.

“Yes?”

“What do you crave for dinner? Mum is already heating up late lunch for you,” he stepped into your small room where you were sitting on the heated floor, smiling pleasantly. You noticed the heavy wrinkles around his eyes.

“I'm fine with anything, as long as it's homemade,” you replied and crawled back on your mat that you rolled out earlier to lie down.

You father tsked. “I will bring more mats, it must be uncomfortable now, huh? You got used to sleeping on a soft mattress.”

Before he could turn to leave you called him back, lying down. “It's fine dad. I missed sleeping on the floor like this. I shouldn't have gotten too comfortable anyway.”

He sighed and joined you on the mat, sitting down cross-legged, batting shy eyelashes down on your protruding belly that your thick sweater could barely cover. “So, how are you feeling? Your mother told me something here and there but,” he shrugged, not knowing how to approach the topic, “are you okay?”

You smiled to yourself. Him being the typical father, he always kept distance between you two, not knowing how to approach his daughter, and leaving all the work to his wife. “I'm okay. It isn't easy but it's what I want.”

“I'm sure you two didn't count on three, though.”

You let out a quiet laugh. “No. It was a big shock but by now I am sure this is what it is supposed to be. Sounds cheesy, huh?”

Your father coughed, smiling to himself. “Is Baekhyun taking good care of you?” he asked, not looking your way as he was facing the door.

You melted at his name. “Yeah, dad, he is taking way too much care of me.”

“Good. I always knew he was a good boy and possibly the right one for you.”

At his words, you melted even more because he couldn't have been more right. At first, it was a shock to your parents that Baekhyun was pursuing you out of all the beautiful village girls that were his age. He did see you as a little girl for the longest time until you weren't a little girl, but a beautifully grown high school student, not too far from a full-grown woman. Despite your parents being against you two dating until you would at least finish high school and Baekhyun his military service, you two always stole some alone time.

“Thank you,” you said quietly.

Your dad turned his head slightly, not quite looking at you. “For?”

Pressing your lips together, you squeaked: “For allowing me to be with him. For letting me go to Seoul to support him. For accepting me as a pregnant woman with no marriage. For not pushing us. I know it must be hard and gossips in this village are reckless but… you and mum endure it and I just wanted to thank you.”

“I trust Baekhyun. I trust he will do something soon.” He paused for a moment, still not meeting your eye. “Did you talk about marriage, though?”

“Yes, not too long ago.”

“You will get married, right?”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Ye-yeah.”

Now, he looked at you, turning his head properly. After a little while, he murmured again: “I trust Baekhyun.”

Sitting down for dinner at the small table, you graciously took gulps of hot vegetable soup, loving the special taste your mother's soup had.

“Oh my, eat slowly dear,” you mother gasped, “you will have an upset stomach.”

“I missed your cooking so much, mum,” you whined, squirming a bit to try and find a comfortable position. Your back was giving you hard time.

“I missed you, my daughter,” she cooed and added more soup to your bowl. “Eat up, it will make you feel good. Is the heating okay in your room?”

You nodded. Given the house was a traditional one, your parents still used wood for heating up the ondol system. “It's perfect. Nothing can beat the effectiveness of floor heating.”

You mother being satisfied with the answers, smiled and caressed your back. “Did you go for the recent check-up before coming here?”

You nodded and swallowed. “Yeah. I will have to take some classes about correct back posture and some exercises.”

“Well, that is important. You already look like a pregnant lady with one just before giving birth.”

She was right. People were giving you wary glances if you ever walked alone, scared you might give birth right on the place but this was just half-way through your pregnancy. Little did they know it was three little ones inside.

You shrugged and she chuckled, muttering to her husband proudly: “Our little daughter.”

It was the first morning where you woke up alone and naturally with the chicks outside. They were chirping happily, eagerly waiting for someone to come and feed them while you heard the cows scoffing in the stables.

Lying on your mat, you were thinking how much you didn't like waking up alone like this. It was your childhood room, yes, but a person who became the most important human being in your life was not present.

“At least I have you guys,” you murmured, closing your eyes while you rubbed your stomach slowly, enjoying the peaceful atmosphere. Thinking about what could Baekhyun be doing in that moment, your phone vibrated, notifying you of an incoming message. You smiled, reaching for it, already knowing who it was. Yesterday, you both decided to stay at your parents' houses, though you did meet Baekhyun outside for a little bit, just to share little kisses and hugs before bed.

you up yet elephant?

Wow. You weren't expecting this nickname so early on in the day. It reminded you of your little game pretty fast.

Deciding to tease him, you didn't reply. Instead, you got up and greeted your parents who were already getting ready to work.

“It's New year,” you rasped, “how about you don't work today?”

“Oh, didn't someone get too comfortable in Seoul? You know we cannot go a day without work, honey,” answered your mother as she was about to enter the wooden porch to put on her boots. “I warmed up the vegetable porridge for you, so make sure to eat it all, or else Baekhyun will have my neck.”

You scoffed. “Trust me, he is harmless.”

“Good morning, mother! I hear I am being badmouthed since early morning!”

Your mother laughed, looking probably at Baekhyun who you had yet to spot. “Dear, you cannot compete with a pregnant woman's temper.”

“Is she mad?”

You laughed, walking to the door to get a glimpse of him. He was in his sports pants and winter jacket, though his hair was messy, probably also just woken up. “Elephant has been up for a while now and she is not mad.” And you left back inside, not liking the cold breeze coming from outside.

“Go, have breakfast with her, Baekhyun” nudged him your mother and was already going out, not sparing you a glance. “Me and dad will be outside.”

Baekhyun greeted her one more time before taking off his sneakers and entering the house, closing the door behind him so that the warmth wouldn't leak too much.

You were just about to sit down when you felt his hands on your hips and his breath on your neck, his cold nose digging into your cheek sending chills down your spine. You squealed. “You're cold!”

“And you're hot,” he murmured, not moving at your protest, enjoying your reactions too much. He slid his hands further around your stomach and a bit too low. “You're okay?”

“Yeah,” your breath hitched at his touches, already ignited inside. “Elephant has been wonderful without the bad hunter.”

“Offended?” he asked in a gentle voice, referring to his text earlier.

Letting your head fall on his shoulder, you replied: “Not at all. Not even a bit.”

He chuckled and you realised how much you missed the sound even though it hadn't been that long you two separated. “Alright, I will take that.”

“You want porridge?” you asked, and squeezed his hands on your belly. “It's still fresh.”

“Is there something else?”

“Like what?” you scoffed ready to move forward to sit down, but he pressed your back to his front.

“You?”

Your heart went into a slight overdrive. “Baekhyun.”

“Hm?” he played innocent. “We are alone now.”

You turned around and finally looked at him properly, making sure to pin him down with a stern gaze. “Now there, naughty boy, not in this house. But…” you trailed off, avoiding his stare before finding his hopeful one, “a kiss…?”

He smirked and leaned in right away, pressing his lips to yours in a small, welcoming kiss that wasn't supposed to lead anywhere, only to convey one message: good morning, my love, I missed you. Baekhyun moved his hands from your hips to your face, cradling you carefully as you made one last step towards him to get as much closure as your belly was physically making it possible for you. You stood on your tippy toes, curling your arms around his neck to bring him closer to you, and he let out a low “mhhhm”. Smooching your lips a couple more times, he leaned back, giving you an affectionate smile as he ran his thumb under your eye. “Let's have that fresh porridge, then.”

And so you both moved to sit down and chatter the early morning away, munching on the porridge and drinking fresh tea until Baekhyun's phone let out a ding, notifying the first message of the day. He grabbed it, reading it before typing out a fast message and putting it away quickly.

“Who is writing you during New Year?” you asked, trying not to show too much interest.

He pressed his lips together. “You won't like my answer anyway, so let's not talk about it.”

“What, Jiyoung doesn't have her own family to spend the holidays with?”

He sighed. “She is just worried about the competition-”

“It's in July, Baekhyun,” you emphasized, already exasperated. “It's January now. Plus, she kept messaging you yesterday too!”

He called your name to get your attention and you shut your mouth. “We have a competition in two weeks between the universities!”

You pursed your lips in dissatisfaction and crossed your arms on your chest, just to realize your breasts were aching. Without wincing too obviously, you put your hands back in your lap. “Well, can she chill for at least this weekend?”

“I told her to let it go,” he retorted and grabbed his phone, opening kakaotalk quickly to show you.

Let's deal with this next week. Enjoy your holidays.

You knew his chatting style. He was being official and indifferent when he wrote in capital letters and used diacritics.

“Satisfied?”

Giving him a slight frown, you shrugged and turned to collect the plates when he grabbed your wrist to stop you. “Hey, answer me.”

“It's fine, really. Elephant will now clean up, hm?” you said, giving him a smile.

“I should be the one offended. You didn't even reply to my message this morning,” he pouted, ignoring your attempt to flee from the situation.

“I understand. Sorry for overreacting,” you mumbled, not meeting his eye.

He didn't say anything, instead he turned to collect the dishes and move them to the kitchen. “How about we take a walk in the village? Let's relive some old memories,” said Baekhyun when he reappeared from the kitchen, hands in the pockets of his pants.

“Sure,” you smiled and attempted to get back on your fee. He came quickly to help you, knowing your back must have been hurting. “Thank you, honey.”

He hummed, tapping your back gently before giving you a peck on the lips. “Let's meet outside in ten?”

“I still need to freshen up, let's make it thirty.”

He laughed. “Sure. No rush, okay? We've got the whole weekend, just for ourselves.”

After letting your parents know you were heading out, hand in hand you took a stroll around the village, saying hi to the neighbours and old friends. When some of the old high school classmates spotted you two, you were welcomed by howling and claps which made you embarrassed to no ends.

“You guys took it to the next stage, eh?” called one of your old classmates eyeing you up and down, and Baekhyun couldn't help squeezing your hand protectively.

“Shut up, Kim, do you even get paid,” you snapped, recovering from the blush.

He gave you a nervous laugh. “You sure grew a sharp tongue.”

You rolled your eyes but both of you laughed, instead talking about the times you didn't see each other and exchanged the news.

You relieved so many past memories, it left you feeling all nostalgic.

“Did you even have any girlfriends?” rumbled Baekhyun once you separated and moved to the outer fields of the village. “I remember you could barely look at a boy back in the days.”

“What, is the bad hunter jealous?” you teased, an excited skip in your step.

“Sure,” Baekhyun scoffed, “he has nothing on me.”

“Eyyy, self-condent men never appeased me.”

“You, sweet cheeks, are asking for a punishment.” Baekhyun, strangely, didn't have the playful glint in his eyes. He seemed deep in thought for some reason, but you weren't about to go too deep into that, given he would get back to his normal sense soon.

You just let out a hum instead of an actual answer.

As you walked on, him and you both met lots of old friends, all of them reaching out to touch you - which was fine when it came to your friends, but Baekhyun's girl classmates touching you was a bit off. Despite that, you politely answered.

“Aren't you afraid of the birth? I mean… it's three kids!” said one, with long black hair that shone beautifully even in the gloomy January daylight.

Trying not get triggered with the images of birth and all the possible things that could go wrong, you just smiled. “I can't escape it, can I?” you said, looking up at Baekhyun who gave you a tight-lipped smile.

“You will be fine, I'm sure. Anyone with Baekhyun by their side must be just happy,” she exclaimed, not even glancing at you.

You shifted on your feet uncomfortably, suddenly wanting to go home.

“Oh, please,” pinked Baekhyun, laughing nervously.

“You're right,” you agreed a tad too loudly, “and he knows it, too. His self-confidence knows no barriers.” Looking up at his surprised eyes, you gave him a spiteful smirk. “Shall we move on, honey? My feet are killing me.”

“Then Baekhyun didn't change much,” replied the girl, a wide smile on her face.

“Well, it was nice seeing you, Kyunga. I will see you around,” waved Baekhyun, squeezing my hand so that I would move with him.

“I hope so!” shouted the girl at your retreating backs.

Walking in silence for a little bit, Baekhyun finally spoke up: “Wanna tell me what's eating you away?”

“Nothing at all.”

“Liar.”

You sighed, stopping. “Listen. All is good. It's you who threatened me earlier, isn't it? You're being all moody.”

“What, so you can get jealous and I can't?”

You snickered. “You better enjoy it then,” you said, not showing satisfaction that finally, it wasn't just you to get all worked up for nothing, “because I am not letting it go.”

That evening, both of your families were eating together, this time at Baekhyun's house which wasn't much different from your own. The entire time till dinner you kept being just like the whole week. Going against him, sarcastic and mean although you both knew you didn't mean it. Despite that, during dinner he was getting slightly ticked off and ended up glaring at you and staring you down with a stern gaze that said it clearly: stop it or…!

And you wanted to get a taste of that “or…!” part very badly which was why you didn't stop.

“Baekhyun, how is teaching going?” asked your father kindly, the whole family grouped around a dining table on the floor. The dinner was consumed in a pleasant manner, both families enjoying their kids being home. Baekhyun's parents seemed to be extremely protective of you, Baekhyun's mum explaining she wished to have a daughter but instead got a boy. Hence she was careful around you, making sure every wish in your eyes was fulfilled.

While Baekhyun was answering politely, you noticed his phone blowing up again. Honestly, you weren't even sure if it was Jiyoung or not, you had had enough by then. Not entirely sure what you were doing, you stood up as quickly as physically possible and excused yourself for a while, saying you needed some fresh air.

On your way, you caught Baekhyun's eye, but you made sure you were cold before grabbing your winter jacket and leaving the house to put on your shoes on the wooden porch. Deciding the best destination was the stables where warmth was always around, you marched over, meeting the cows in a pleasant coo. The fire was gently sizzling in the corner providing just the perfect temperature for you to stand in your unzipped jacket.

“Ah, I missed milking you, my cows,” you said as you went from one cow to another, greeting them and caressing them between their eyes gently, earning satisfactory nodding from them. They were so cute, you let out another coo until you heard someone clearing their throat at the entrance.

You turned your head to spot Baekhyun watching you carefully. You sighed, turning to face the cows again. “I want to be alone.”

He said your name gently, stepping in and letting the door close shut as he tried to approach you only for you to make two more steps ahead. “What's wrong? Why are you acting like this?”

“I said I want to be alone. Just leave, Baekhyun,” you answered and moved towards the wooden ladder that would lead you up to a small loft where you stored the hay.

“Hey, don't do this,” he said as he saw you walk away. He moved after you, which only prompted you to speed up your pace, quickly grabbing the ladder and climbing up as you tried to lose him. Of course it was silly. There was no way out once you were upstairs in the loft. You would end up being trapped but maybe that was what you wanted.

“Come back, missy!” you heard him and you almost let out a giggle, but instead a squeal left your mouth quickly climbing up as you felt his presence behind you. Once up, you made a little run to the opposite side but he caught up, grabbing you from behind and you let out a scream.

His hand was fast on your mouth. “Shhh, why are you screaming?”

You wiggled, wanting to shake him off but his grip tightened and he turned you around swiftly before pressing his lips to yours fervently in hopes to shut you up. You squealed again against his mouth, trying to fight him until you couldn't fight anymore, completely melting in his arms as he kissed you senseless, opening your mouth and tasting you.

You hummed in satisfaction, eyes closed, bringing your arms around his neck to get a better taste because he was going strong on you. He was pushing you backwards until there was no more space, until he laid you gently in the stack of hay and hovered over you, pushing your legs apart with his knee so he could climb over you comfortably.

“Since when did you become an attention seeker?” he breathed down onto your mouth as both of you were gasping for air. “Constantly teasing me, going against me, and now fighting me, hm?” he asked in a low voice and he pressed his forehead to yours, demanding answers.

“And so the bad hunter caught the elephant,” you murmured and to answer him, you added: “Kids changed me.”

Baekhyun smirked, shaking his head gently before affection took over his gaze again. “Kids, kids, kids. Well, I want to know about you, sweetheart,” he murmured, slowly pecking your lips before moving his lips lower, kissing a trail down your jaw and neck. “Why is mummy this upset with daddy?”

“Oh god, here we go again,” you sighed at the words he used and closed your eyes when he bit down a tad too harshly, “but I think I'm starting to really like it. So don't stop.”

You felt him smile against your skin while his hand slipped under your sweater, caressing your belly before dragging it up, teasing the underside of your bra.

“Take it off,” you sighed. “Take me.”

Baekhyun grabbed your breast over the material, massaging it and you hissed in pain. He leaned back right away, monitoring your face. You smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, they are aching.”

“Ah, baby,” he smiled gently, and pressed his forehead to yours yet again. “I'm sorry you have to go through all of this.” He spoke, but his fingers still pushed down the material off of your breast so he could have access to the skin. You closed your eyes, the smallest of his touches giving you the utmost pleasure. Much gentler, he massaged your breast and nosed your cheek, earning another hum out of you. “I made you like this.”

“Yeah, you did,” you said and mouthed on his cheek that was turned to you. “And I love it. So don't you dare feel guilty, Baekhyun. We still have half of the way ahead.”

“Oh, sweet cheeks, the bad hunter is having very bad thoughts right now. Far, far from guilty,” he rasped as he nibbled on your earlobe. “Your boobs are huge, your belly is huge, your hips and thighs are rounded. I'm salivating over here exactly because I did this to you.”

“Oh my god.”

You don't recall Baekhyun ever talking to you in this manner and you didn't know it would turn you on this much. His hot breath on your skin, his touches, his mind. Jesus. You were a whimpering mess, wiggling your hips for him to get the damn clue to start doing his job.

He leaned back and sat on his knees before he massaged your thighs; first the outer side, then the inner side until he smoothened his hands over the button of your pants, opening it with his expert fingers. His eyes were attentive, checking your reaction but the blush on your cheeks and the blown out pupils told him more than enough.

Slowly pushing down your pants, he followed suit with his. He hovered over you once more while his hand found the sweet spot you needed him at the most, testing it. “Hmm, dirty talk can get you this wet. Baby girl,” he hummed in bliss, mouthing on your neck.

“You haven't got used to it yet?” you laughed quietly and gasped when he pushed two fingers in, letting out a moan.

Baekhyun wordlessly continued his ministrations and you brought him in for a feverish kiss, all tongues and saliva, the need for each other too strong to even care. When the pressure was building up steadily in your tummy, he retreated his fingers.

“Are you comfortable?” he whispered, lining himself up with your center as he grabbed your hand to intertwine your fingers.

“Yeah,” you breathed loudly, “just get in already.”

“We are really doing it in the stables, huh,” he said, chuckling and he entered you slowly, unable to resist any longer. The belly was by then quite the restriction between your bodies but Baekhyun did not mind doing extra work if it meant pleasuring the both of you.

You let out another moan shamelessly, not caring any of your parents could be outside in the quiet evening.

“Does this mean the babies can hear us doing this, too?” you whispered, meeting his focused gaze as he pulled out completely before slamming himself inside, his groan muffled as he hid his face in your neck.

“Fuck,” was what he said, shuddering with the adrenaline rush as he kept sliding in and out of you, none of you hiding how good it felt to finally be connected like this. Baekhyun adored this horny side of you, and he swore sex while you being pregnant was more exciting than ever before.

It was getting immensely hot despite it being a freezing winter outside, the hay keeping the warmth your two bodies created well. Baekhyun kissed you in the last seconds, feeling your walls tightening around him and he himself wasn't far from seeing stars from the overwhelming bliss of you around him and your face that was now shiny with sweat and heat.

“I love you,” you muttered with your eyes closed.

“Look at me, angel,” he gritted through his teeth, heartbeats away from crossing the edge. “Look at me and say it.”

With all your willpower you snapped out of your ecstacy and stared into his fucked out eyes that still gave you reassurance, safety. “I love you, Baekhyun. Too much.”

He managed to smile and heard you scream when you exploded around him. “I love you too, my baby. My only one,” he whispered while panting, and followed you soon.

Helping the both of you ride out the high, he moved around, not wanting to slip out of you just yet, but he had to. His arms were about to go completely numb as he tried to hold himself over your belly, and so hissing quietly at the sensation, he lied down next to you, his clothed chest rising up and down.

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered, collecting the sweat around your forehead with the back of your hand. “This was mind blowing.”

Baekhyun snickered, turning his head to look at you. “It was. You sounded gorgeous.”

Not bothering to get all embarrassed, you turned on your side and laid your head on his chest, his arm coming to circle around you. Although you were all sticky and wet, you felt like on cloud nine. “So the happenings of the trip - the elephant was caught by the bad hunter. And our babies can now hear us having sex.”

Your boyfriend laughed out loud and pressed a loud kiss to your hairline, as he caressed your shoulder. “That's about right. They might be too wild in the future.” He trailed off before suggesting: “So should we just have a round two then?”

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