#and whatever the absurdity it's probably closer to the truth than not

[bottombaron]

whenever i think abt writing Nandor and i get going thru a series of sequences of him behaving like a well-adjusted, caring, adult i have to stop myself, backspace several mental paragraphs and remember that he's basically a semi-captive lion being observed in a nature documentary and he functions on 92% Id

[mrfeenysmustache]

Like Looking in a Mirror

Summary: Sesshomaru really had very little use for mirrors, and maybe that had been a mistake. When his first child is born looking nothing like he expected, he comes to terms with having an heir who well and truly looks nothing like him. And then he learns to look a little closer. SessKag

Also read on: AO3

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Sesshomaru had never spent a ton of time looking in mirrors.

He had one, of course, and he would use it to give himself a once over if he was going somewhere or seeing someone important, but he knew what his own face looked like, and his clothing didn’t vary too much, and unless Kagome wanted to mess with his hair he just let it hang, so staring into reflective glass like others liked to do seemed like a waste of time.

Except today.

‘It’s like looking into the past. If you were human, anyway.’

His mother’s comment had tunneled into his brain and taken root, and for days it had bloomed and grown, evolving hands that dug down into the deepest parts of his heart to drag out complicated things he’d thought better buried and forgotten.

Like the fact that his oldest child, his first son and heir, didn’t look like him at all.

He’d never had any particular dreams about what his children would look like when he had them.

He assumed they would be strong.

He assumed they would have some arrangement of features inherited from him and whatever female he decided to sire them on.

He assumed they would be trained up similarly to how he’d been trained.

He assumed they would be yokai.

But his life had taken several very interesting turns and swerves, developing in ways that younger him would have found too absurd to even worry about.

Such as falling in love with- and mating and having children with- a human woman.

Which meant those children he’d never imagined would not look how he hadn’t imagined them which was a headache he didn’t have time to have, especially after all the introspection he’d had to do to marry a human in the first place, so he’d simply waited patiently for his first Hanyo child to be born. With only his own brother as any frame of reference for what a Hanyo looked like he’d kind of expected something like that: black or silver hair, blue or gold eyes, fuzzy ears, claws, fangs…. A child who was obviously more than human on first glance who would possibly even carry some of the markings of his heritage, but that was not what he’d gotten.

With Kagome’s last push, her wails of pain had given way to the wails of new life and the child she’d delivered had been placed in his hands bloody and brand new.

And human.

Rounded ears, blunt nails, black hair, dark eyes- which Kagome said would change over the months but they’d turned a shade of deep grey she’d said matched her own father’s- and not one stitch of fur or stripe of color or swath of silver or gold on his entire tiny body, Sesshomaru would have thought this wasn’t his child at all if it weren’t for the fact that he smelled like his child, and had yoki to spare spiking wildly at such a turbulent arrival.

His reaction left much to be desired. After months of nuzzling into his mate’s growing stomach and indulging in her desires to discuss who they might be, what they might look like and other such frivolous past times, staring blankly down at his new child was not the right response and he knew it.

He’d felt the weight of Kagome’s gaze on him the rest of the evening and into the next day, watching him carefully for any sign of what might have been going on inside his mind, but he didn’t know what was going on.

He was not this sentimental person who cared that his child didn’t look like him.

He hadn’t even realized he was capable of such sentiment.

‘It’s alright, you know? I understand if you’re disappointed. I didn’t… expect him to look so human. It probably feels bad to have a child look so human when you’re so… yokai.’

Her words had ruffled him, truth be told.

It wasn’t that that bothered him, he wasn’t that same hot headed, short sighted yokai he’d been when they’d first met, so caught up and preoccupied with things like blood purity and species separation.

But he didn’t know how to say he was bothered that this child he’d been watching her grow looked nothing like him and it was that simple fact that disturbed him.

So he’d simply reassured her he was just adjusting to these new feelings of fatherhood and all would he well in time.

And it had been well.

His son looked wholly human but he was definitely an inuyokai through and through. His lack of fangs and claws or silver and gold had not meant he would lack the speed, mischievousness, or stubbornness that came wrapped up in every inuyokai pup before him and he kept them on their toes.

And the children they’d had after him had all looked much less human.

And so he’d been able to bury his initial unease and forget about it.

His son was a strong and worthy heir no matter what he looked like, and Sesshomaru, above all, was proud.

‘It’s like looking into the past. If you were human, anyway.’

His mother’s words echoed again and he leaned a little closer to the mirror, his brows furrowing in concentration as he tried to imagine away his hair and eye color and erase the markings on his face.

What would he look like with plain skin? With dark hair? With human eyes? Is that where he would find resemblance to his first child, in erasing the things about him that made him visibly yokai?

He snorted.

He couldn’t do it.

He’d never been terribly imaginative anyway and looking past himself to see something different just wouldn’t work.

But he wanted to know.

“Father?” He heard from the doorway and he turned to see the very being that had been plaguing his mind these last hours, waiting patiently to be allowed inside.

Takehiro was half grown now, his teenaged years well upon him and chiseling away any last vestiges of the soft, roundness of childhood.

Smiling softly, bittersweetly, Sesshomaru nodded for his son to enter and then turned back to the mirror in front of him.

“Mother told me I might find you here.”

His voice was deeper- and when had that happened?- and his features were settled into a calm, even expression that Sesshomaru knew well.

It was one he preferred for himself.

Takehiro stepped up behind him and met his eyes in the reflecting glass, and Sesshomaru took a moment to look at their faces side by side, probably for the first time.

His eyes widened marginally.

Since the minute of his birth he’d held onto acceptance that his son’s lack of yokai features mean he just didn’t look anything like him.

But he had been very, very wrong.

His mother was right.

Staring into the mirror, Sesshomaru saw two reflections of his own face staring back at him, one emblazoned with all the physical markers of a demon lord, and one wholly human.

His son had never not looked like him, and for all his centuries, he felt very young and foolish.

Kagome had once told him that your children would teach you as much as you teach them, and he’d found that to be very true.

Especially now, as he got to see a side of himself he’d never been given so much as a glimpse of before.

And it was all thanks to this boy who’d been turning their world upside down since before his first breath.

Standing from the vanity chair, Sesshomaru turned and swept his son up into a crushing embrace, giving into a surge of emotion and indulging in a rare display of affection.

Not quite so afflicted with standoffishness, Takehiro’s arms wrapped around him in turn, but his confusion was evident.

“F-father?” He asked, and Sesshomaru stepped back with a slight chuckle and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“How may I assist you?”

His son’s placid face fixed into a hard frown.

“Sachiko spilled ink on the pelt you gave me for my last birthday. I demand retribution.”

Smile falling and soft feelings fading, Sesshomaru rolled his eyes and sighed, and gathered up his patience to deal with yet another petty sibling squabble.

[crushed-like-an-ant]

how to calm down an angry billionaire

Step 1. Deflect.

Peter was good at deflection. Always had been. It was a skill he'd picked up after people constantly tried to ask him about his feelings after his parents died, then again when Ben died. Any questions he didn't want to answer quickly turned into an animated conversation about whatever his mind thought of first (there had been that awkward time he'd asked a fellow orphan how their parents were), an apology and fast excuse to get the hell out of there (mostly worked except when he was panicking and the best he could come up with was a cheese making competition, that had caused a lot of questions Peter would rather never deal with again), or just flat out running away (sometimes he ran into poles or walls which was always a bit embarrassing given he was literally Spider-man). Sometimes Peter had to use all three options. So Peter knew when Tony finally decided to have the dreaded conversation about the whole not-my-first-time-holding-up-a-building thing, he would be able to deflect it. Or so he thought. Turns out, Peter had drastically underestimated the sheer stubbornness of Tony Stark.

It was a lab day, around three weeks after the incident where Peter and Tony had been stuck under a building and Peter stupidly let slip that he’d held up a building before. Peter had thought Tony had forgotten about his words. He was comfortable, tentatively confident and optimistic that it wouldn't be brought up again. He had no idea how wrong he was.

"Hey kid?" Tony said, cutting the comfortable silence between them as they worked, tone slightly hesitant. Peter should've picked up on it. He should've realised. But he'd grown complacent. So Peter ignored the dread pooling in his stomach and lifted his head from the mess of wires in front of him to look at Tony.

"Mr Stark?" he replied with a smile that Tony didn't return. Nor did he try to tell Peter to call him Tony. And that was how Peter knew something was wrong. Nerves skittered down his spine, clod fingers of dread snaking around his neck as nervous energy filled him and he began to tap on the desk. Anything to distract himself from the sorrow and worry shining in his mentor's brown eyes.

"Look kid, uh, I," Tony fumbled for words. Shit. This was bad. If Tony Stark was struggling to say something, you knew it was serious. Peter just stared at him in silence,unsure of what to say, anxiety coursing through his veins at the grimace that clouded Tony's features. What could possibly have gotten him into this mood? Had Peter done something wrong? Was he gonna, oh god, was he gonna take the suit? "Pete, I need to know what you meant when we were under the building," Tony finally managed to say, Peter relaxing. Oh. That was all?

"I just meant that I'd lifted a lot of heavy things," Peter half-lied, looking Tony straight in the eyes and lying to his face, mindful to make sure his tells were carefully under control. Training with Daredevil - despite Tony's misgivings about Double D - had been one of the best decisions Peter had ever made. He felt a twinge of guilt as he lied to Tony but it's not like he could tell the truth. And he wasn't really lying. Just withholding the entire truth. He shrugged nonchalantly, "Anyways, you reckon you can help me with this? I'm stuck. My mind kinda decided to go and die on me." Peter chuckled quietly. Tony wasn't laughing.

"I want to believe you, kid," Tony told him, "I really do. But I can't. You had a panic attack under there. What aren't you telling me Peter? Whatever it is, I'm here for you. You can tell me anything. And I don't want to pressure you into telling me anything until you're ready but I-I just-I need to know what happened. I need to know what you meant." Peter's resolve almost broke as Tony's voice broke. No. He couldn't tell Tony. Not only would Tony think he was weak, but Peter knew that Mr Stark would blame himself because he took the suit. Peter couldn't let him do that. Option one had failed him, so it was onto option 2. Make a quick exit without raising any suspicions. Yeah, he didn't think that was gonna work. Worth a shot though.

"Hey, Mr Stark," Peter said after checking his watch and pretending to look shocked at the time, "I'm really sorry but I have to go. I promised Ned we'd work on our Bio project tonight and I'm already seven minutes late." Mr Stark raised an eyebrow and pulled up a picture of Ned on his holiday in California.

"Nice try kid," Tony replied drily. Peter sighed, shoulders slumping. Time for option three then.

"I-I don't really know how to tell you, uh," Peter deliberately stuttered, guilt eating him up inside as he put on an act for Tony. For option three to work, Peter had to catch Tony off guard otherwise he'd react too quickly and lock the tower down. His act work, Tony's features softening and body relaxing.

"It's okay, bambino, take your time." And if that didn't make him feel like a horrible person, nothing would. Peter stood and padded over to some machinery near the exit, pretending to be trying to busy himself as he worked himself up to answering Tony when he was actually getting closer to the door.

"I, uh," Peter stumbled. Tony was now far away enough that Peter could easily run without being grabbed and stopped. The door was right there. Peter took his opportunity. He ran. Out the door, down the hallway, flying to the elevator. Pressing the button frantically, Peter groaned when nothing happened. Great. Tony had stopped the elevators. Sighing, Peter pulled the mask from his pocket and pulled it over his head, sprinting at the window. Peter burst through the window in a shower of glass, activating his web shooters as he fell, quickly shooting a web and catching himself. And he was swinging, swinging, swinging. Allowing himself to smile at his escape, Peter was unprepared when he was grabbed from behind by two cold metal hands. Thanks for nothing spidey sense. Tony flew a sulking Peter back through the broken window and into one of the meeting rooms, setting him down firmly in a seat. Peter crossed his arms, pouting as he pulled off his mask, Tony's Iron Man suit unfolding around him and the man stepping out, an unimpressed look painted across his features.

"You done deflecting yet?" Tony asked, a single eyebrow raised. Damn. Peter wished he could do that. Alas, no amount of practising in front of a mirror had ever given him the talent to lift one eyebrow and not look like a demented monkey. Time for a different strategy. Deflection had failed him. But Peter would not go down easy.

~~~

Step 2. Deny.

The unfortunate thing about this step was that Peter would always over-deny. He would deny everything or nothing. There was no in between. For example, he was once denying eating the last bit of chocolate and ended up accidentally telling May his name wasn't Peter and that he was an alien from outer space with a severe lettuce allergy. Don't ask. Peter really didn't want to relive that trauma. So although Peter always tried his best with denial, it never really worked out in his favour. Honestly, it was through sheer dumb luck that he managed to keep Spider-Man a secret from his friends and family for so long. It was probably some good karma that had been waiting for the perfect moment to help him out. It was a little late but hey, better late than never right?

"No," Peter blurted in a panic. Shock splashed across Tony's face as he folded his arms.

"Kid, you know you can tell me anything, right?" Tony told him gently.

"No," Peter exclaimed again, hurt painting the billionaire's face. "I mean, yes." Shitshitshitshitshit. Peter was an idiot. He had to deny everything - but not everything, Peter, remember the lettuce incident - so Mr Stark wouldn't find out. But Peter had always been shit at denial.

"Look, I know this is probably hard for you to talk about," Tony continued on, oblivious to Peter's internal panic, "but I won't judge you. I love you, bambino. You know that right? And I'll support you no matter what but I can't help you if you don't let me."

"No," Peter said. It was the only word he knew. Any more and he would have another lettuce incident or he'd end up rambling the truth. He couldn't do that. So his current vocabulary was limited to 'no', 'no', 'no' with a side of 'no'. Which wasn't suspicious at all. Totally.

"What the hell, kid?" Tony asked, mostly confused, slight irritation colouring his tone. Peter was hyper-aware of the thundering beat his heart was drumming to, the way Tony's slightly picked up when he said 'no', the sweat covering his body like a second skin. Tony's sigh sounded like a bomb to his sensitive ears, the sharp intake of breath before he spoke like a blaring alarm. "What did you mean when you said it wasn't your first time?"

"I didn't," Peter responded, brain not quite computing, "nothing happened." Tony's gaze narrowed. Shit. Was Tony going to take the suit if he didn't tell him? But Peter just couldn't tell him. He couldn't.

"Fucking hell Peter, just tell me dammit!" Tony exclaimed, running a hand through his messy brown hair in frustration. Peter knew - with the certainty that he knew his own name or the colour of his eyes - that denial had failed him. Time for Peter's next strategy.

~~~

Step 3. Stretch the truth.

When Peter's other strategies failed him, he turned to stretching the truth. It was simple really, just take the truth and dial it down from boiling hot to freezing cold and give it to the person on a silver platter with a charmingly innocent - and only slightly nervous - smile. Half-truths were easy to fool people with. Someone had said that the best lies were the ones based on truth. Peter couldn't remember who exactly had said that. He had never been very good with that sort of stuff, unlike MJ. So although stretching the truth was Peter's third option, he'd always been surprisingly good at it. People seemed to believe he was too innocent to be able to lie. Which was absurd because he'd spent ten years living with his Aunt and her terrible cooking and she still didn't know he hated her walnut date loaf.

"Okay," Peter conceded quietly and the rage slowly left Tony as he deflated like a balloon, looking smaller without all the fury. Peter sat down in front of Tony. "It was back in the fight with The Vulture and he threw a wall at me. I caught it and threw it back at him but he dodged it with his super awesome flying skills." Tony looked him straight in the eyes for a few seconds, Peter holding his gaze before Tony leaned forward.

"Cut the bullshit," Tony whispered, dangerously quiet, tightly compressed anger stemming from worry swimming in his brown eyes. "A wall wouldn't stay together if it was thrown, caught and thrown back. Even then, you wouldn't say it wasn't your first time while holding a building up unless you'd held up a fucking building already. And you wouldn't have a panic attack from holding up a building about something thrown at you. So stop lying to me, Peter Benjamin Parker." Damn. The full name. Peter released a heavy exhale, knowing he was beaten. He had to tell Mr Stark the truth.

"It actually was in the fight with the Vulture," Peter began, "so I wasn't lying about that. And I did have to catch a few walls." Tony raised his eyebrows at Peter's weak attempts at defending himself. "I went to his warehouse and he sent his flying suit at me. It wasn't particularly good at attacking 'cause it hadn't even touched me. I said that and Toomes told me it wasn't trying to." Tony inhaled sharply, clasping his hands together to stop them from shaking, Peter trying not to listen to how Tony's hands still hit each other gently. Enhanced hearing sucked sometimes. "He had directed the suit to take out all the supports in the building." Tony gasped, expression contorted into one of such extreme guilt and sorrow that Peter wanted to shelter Tony from the world for the rest of his days because goddammit he's seen too much and been through enough and couldn't the world just give him a fucking break for once? No one deserved one more than Mr Stark did.

"I took the suit," Tony whispered, voice thick with emotion, "I took the suit. It was your only protection, damn it, and I took the fucking suit!" Tony was yelling now, self-hatred and rage dancing in his wild brown eyes.

"It wasn't your fault, Mr Stark," Peter tried to tell him.

"How?" Tony scoffed, laughing bitterly, "How was this not my fault. I took the suit and you got hurt because of my mistake."

"It's okay, Mr Stark, you didn't know," Peter said.

"But I should've," Tony replied, "I should've known." Peter's features hardened, spine turning to steel. He wouldn't let Mr Stark blame himself for this. The blame was on Toomes and only on Toomes.

"Did you pilot the Vulture suit?" Peter asked firmly.

"What?"

"Did. You. Pilot. The. Vulture. Suit." Peter repeated, staring defiantly at Tony.

"No, of course not," Tony replied, slight confusion clinging to his features.

"And did you cause the building to fall?" he continued.

"No."

"Then it's not your fault," Peter told him simply.

"Kid, I shouldn't have taken the suit," Tony began, dropping his head into his hands. He opened his mouth to continue but Peter cut him off before he could say anything equally self-deprecating.

"Maybe," Peter allowed, "but then I wouldn't found out I was strong enough to get back up again. 'If you're nothing without the suit then you shouldn't have it'. You told me that. I thought the suit made Spider-man and I lost sight of what Spider-man really meant. God, I started out in a fricking onesie. That's what Spider-man represents. Not a hero with a multi-million dollar suit, but someone with nothing but their will to save others. Without you taking the suit, I never would've remembered everything Spider-man stood for.; With great power comes great responsibility. You gave me that tough love moment and I needed it. Now it's my turn to dish out some tough love for you." Peter took a deep breath. "You, Tony Stark, are being a fucking idiot. The blame of what happened in the past lies with Adrian Toomes, and Adrian Toomes alone. So stop this self-deprecating bullshit and use your fucking brain for once in your life. It. Was. Not. Your. Fault." Tony looked up at him, the self-hatred drained from his features, a slight smile adorning his lips which Peter returned.

"You're right, kid," Tony said, "when did you get this wise?"

"I've always been this wise, Mr Stark, I just wanted you to feel better about your lack of common sense," Peter joked, Tony chuckling.

"It wasn't my fault," Tony repeated. Peter tilted his head, confused at the strange undertone in Tony's voice only to see a fire lit in his caramel eyes. "I'm going to kill that son of a bitch."

And it was then that he knew he fucked up.

~~~

Step 4. Try some breathing exercises.

Peter had always been shit at breathing exercise. He just didn't have the patience for them. While he was breathing, someone could be getting raped in an alley, a shop could be getting robbed, or a kid could be getting beat up. So - despite the constant reminders to just try the damn breathing exercises for the love of god - Peter had never done anything of the sort. How could he? With his enhanced senses, it was impossible to relax. Would you be able to sit there and breathe while screams rang in your ears and sobbing pounded in your mind? Naturally, this meant that Peter wasn't the most experienced when it came to said breathing exercises. Maybe he should've practised. Life always had a funny way of throwing Peter in the deep end headfirst and tied to a ten ton weight and expecting him to swim. However, he had once read in a self-help book that breathing exercises were good for calming people down, so he decided to hit fuck it for the sixth time in the last 48 hours and try it out. I mean, it was that or release an angry billionaire in a metal suit decked out with the most advanced weapons in the world (except for maybe what HYDRA had because honestly Peter knew better than to underestimate them and he mildly respected their cockroach-like survival skills) who was hell-bent on revenge and gave zero fucks into the world. The second option was beginning to sound quite tempting, Peter would be honest.

"Mr Stark, you need to calm down," Peter told the man gently, placing a hand on Tony's shoulder. Tony tilted his head up to look at Peter - rage splashed across his face, tension lining his body - before he shrugged off Peter's hand and jerked into a standing position. And the room was suffocating, suffocating, suffocating, because damn had Tony always been that scary. A cloud of darkness surrounded Tony, filling the lab up and winding itself slowly around Peter's neck, stealing the breath from his lungs. Tony stormed through the lab, footsteps like thunder, anger crackling like lightning. Desperately, Peter followed the billionaire. "Mr Stark, Mr Stark, please calm down," Peter pleaded with him.

"No," Tony spoke, voice cold and flat, tone totally devoid of emotion, so totally opposite to the fury painting his entire body like a second skin. "No I will not calm down, Peter. He dropped a fucking building on you. He deserves to die."

"But you don't deserve to live with the guilt of killing him," Peter begged, tugging at Tony's sleeve in a desperate attempt to stop the man from his warpath. Peter knew he could easily overpower Tony. But he was hoping it wouldn't come to that. "Trust me, I know how it feels to want revenge, I really do, but you have to let it go. Please, Mr Stark."

"Dammit Peter, he hurt you!" Tony shouted, whirling around to face Peter, features twisted and manically furious. "He hurt you a-and I wasn't there and you had to deal with being crushed by a fucking building and then you got up and kept fighting because of that sick son of a bitch so I swear to fucking god I will murder him." Tony's eyes held a frenzied wildness in them, chest heaving up and down, Peter could hear his heart racing.

"Mr Stark, try some breathing," Peter said out of desperation, completely and utterly out of ideas. "Just breath. In and out, in and out." Tony's momentary surprise shocked him out of his anger, confusion flickering across his face momentarily before the anger was back, stronger than ever. Tony pivoted on his heel and walked away from Peter, heading towards where he kept his suits and leaving a heavy sense of dread pooling in Peter's stomach and twisting his insides in knots. So breathing hadn't worked. Thanks for nothing self-help books.

~~~

Step 5. Hack the most advanced AI in the world.

When in doubt, do something potentially illegal. A mugger had once told Peter that after Peter caught her trying to rob a young man. That lady had been fucking badass. It was honestly a shame she's gone to prison but a criminal is a criminal. Turns out the lady had been responsible for a string of high-end bank and jewellery robberies. Peter wondered how she was doing. Probably not well, considering how shit the American jail system is. Peter always tried to find alternative ways to stop criminals, only really sending in the pedophiles, rapists, murderers and the more professional robbers. Sometimes people had no choice in the shitty hand life had dealt them and goddamn if Peter didn't get that. People were just pushed and pushed until they were left with nothing but desperation. Maybe if the government or any of the fucking American systems were better or did their jobs properly then people wouldn't have to steal just to keep themselves and their families from starvation. Maybe Toomes wouldn't have started his alien tech business and then none of this would have even happened. Peter wouldn't be in this situation right now. And Peter was now out of options. He had an angry billionaire on his hands and absolutely no idea what to do. So, he took the lady's advice and decided to do something potentially illegal. He hacked the most advance AI in the world. (What, like it's hard?)

"Hey FRI?" Peter called with a wince.

"Yes, Peter," the AI replied.

"I'm really sorry," Peter told her before bringing up FRIDAY's code. (A/N - I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT COMPUTERS SO THIS IS GONNA BE SOME VAGUE, QUESTIONABLE AF HACKING) Fingers flying across the keys of the laptop, Peter bit his lip in concentration, brows furrowed. He had to hurry and shut down Mr Stark's suits before he reached them and left to murder Toomes. Adrenaline coursed through his body, brain whirring to life like the computer before him as he deleted lines of code, rewriting and altering the code that created FRIDAY as he tore down the firewalls Mr Stark had built. Peter vaguely registered that this was probably illegal and that Mr Stark would most definitely be mad about this later but he quickly waved the thoughts away. He didn't have time for them, he didn't have time, he didn't have time. Barely registering what he was doing, Peter submerged himself into the world of numbers, immersing himself completely in the ocean of lines of code, fingers instinctively knowing what t do as though he'd been born to hack. Again, probably not a great thing that this was so easy. But computers had always made sense to Peter. After what felt like hours but was really only a few minutes, Peter was into FRIDAY's system. And with a few taps, Peter shut down the suits. Quickly exiting the browser, Peter dropped his head into his hands. He'd done it. With a long exhale, Peter relaxed, leaning back into his chair and running his shaking hands through his hair. An enraged roar broke the peaceful quiet surrounding Peter and he squeezed his eyes shut. Maybe if he ignored it, Mr Stark's anger would go away. He couldn't deal with this shit. Peter was too young to die.

"Peter Benjamin Parker I swear to fucking god-"

"You probably shouldn't fuck god, Mr Stark," Peter couldn't resist remarking with a shit-eating grin. "People might get a bit mad. And who knows, you may even end up pregnant which I can't imagine will be very fun."

"What the fuck?" Tony whispered into the silence that followed Peter's statement. "I don't even want to know what goes on in your brain." Peter hummed in agreement. To be honest, he had no idea what was going on up there half the time. He was just along for the ride. And hey, if it distracted Mr Stark from his anger then it was a win win situation right? (How Peter won in this scenario he didn't know but he didn't question it).

"It's the trauma," Peter replied flippantly, as casual as one would be if they were discussing the weather.

"The-" Tony broke off into angry, confused gibberish that Peter didn't even try to decipher. Crisis averted. Now to deal with the aftermath.

~~~

Step 6. Watch a movie.

Peter Parker wasn't good with emotions. Being a socially awkward sixteen-year-old genius had that effect on a person. Not to mention the fact that he had a crime-fighting, sarcastic alter ego. Yeah, he wasn't great with feelings. Especially not his own. And now he was attempting to help Mr Stark clam down after the whole Toomes-dropping-a-building-on-him-reveal thing. And the only way an emotionally stunted teenage genius superhero knew how to help an emotionally stunted adult genius superhero was something most people would not class as a healthy coping mechanism. Distraction. Preferably with a movie.

"Hey Mr Stark, wanna watch Empire Strikes Back?" Peter asked. Tony fell into a confused silence which Peter took as an agreement. "Yes? Perfect, let's go." Grabbing Tony's arm, Peter tugged him out of the lab and into the elevator, confusion splashed across Tony's features as they entered the movie room. Peter dropped onto the expensive yet incredibly comfortable couch in the centre of the room, pulling Tony down beside him. "Hey FRI? Can you please play The Empire Strikes Back."

"Certainly, Peter," FRIDAY replied, a hint of warmth in her robotic voice. The Star Wars theme filled the room, Peter lips kicking up into a smile at the familiar sound. And as the movie played, Peter reciting every single line with the characters, he felt the rage and tension slowly drain out of his mentor as he relaxed.

"Hey, kid," Tony whispered, interrupting Luke and Darth Vader's showdown. "I sorry for getting angry. I just... I just didn't know what to do. Instead of asking if you were okay I blamed myself and wanted to frigging murder a guy who's already suffering in prison."

"It's okay, Mr Stark," Peter responded with a smile, sincerity gracing his tone. "I get it. After Ben died, I found his murderer. I almost killed the guy," Peter chuckled without humour, Tony watching him with sad eyes, the movie forgotten. "Point is, I know how it feels to want revenge. Don't apologise for being human."

"You really are the best of us all, kid," Tony remarked, a smile adoring his face, features relaxed as he looked at Peter.

"I learned from the best," Peter replied with a shrug.

"Thanks, kid," Tony said, throat tight with emotion.

"I meant May," Peter joked lightly, the heavy emotion clouding the room vanishing as Tony laughed.

"Are you okay, kid?" Tony asked, seriousness settling over them again.

"Honestly?" Peter responded, "no. But that's alright. Because I will be." Peter held Tony's gaze, warmth blossoming in his chest at his mentor's caring eyes, as Darth Vader's voice filled the room.

"No, I am your father," Darth Vader spoke. Peter turned back to the movie, watching as Luke jumped and fell.

"You're gonna be okay, kid," Tony whispered, "we're both gonna be okay."

Because Peter would be okay. So Tony was okay too.

And if Pepper walked in three hours later to find them curled up against each other, fast asleep she never said anything. (She got FRIDAY to take a photo and saved it to Irondad and Spiderson - an unsurprisingly large file. She should probably get Peter to do a DNA test. They did look rather similar)

[aggressivelyclueless]

ouija board

in which it gets out of hand. . . but only a little

warnings: v spooky

(heads up this one’s kinda long, whoops lol)

(@qoinq-qhost u were looking for more danny being a lil shit? vvvv)

Sam was just about ready to get the seance rolling.  Thundery and weeping outside, candlelight inside - it seemed like a good night for it.  This time around, there were four of them: her, of course; Felicity, from third-hour, had brought the board; her bestie Star (who Sam had almost uninvited, as she hadn't been deemed goth enough, but she owed Felicity a favour and letting this slip was it); and Star's boyfriend-of-the-week, Jake (also not goth, and very much on thin ice).

They sat clustered together on the full-moon rug in Sam's room, a jumbo bag of Chex Mix forgotten on the floor by Jake's backpack.  Only the little brown bits were left.  "You're host," Felicity was saying, scooting up into a proper cross-legged sitting position and centering the board on the carpet between them.  She produced the most important piece - the polished wooden planchet - and dropped it into Sam's waiting palm.  "You start."

Star opened her mouth, almost thought better of it, and then asked, "Are we going to get a demon?"

"That's not how this works," said Felicity, shooting Sam a look to keep her quiet.  Felicity had the tolerance for questions like those, and the patience not to be cross.  "We're not summoning demons.  We're communing with the dead.  There's a difference."

"Is it still going to be scary?"

Sam bit her tongue.  With luck, it would be, and she wouldn't have to deal with Star's antics next time, whether they were at her house or not.

"I don't know," said Felicity, "Maybe.  We've never done one at this house before.  We might not get a ghost at all."

Sam shrugged, setting the puck down in the center of the board and keeping her first two fingers on it.  The others scooted closer, getting comfortable, and followed suit.  The candleflames throughout the room were perfectly still.

"Is there anyone here with us tonight?"

For a moment: nothing.  She glanced up into the empty air, as if she could spot a slinking shadow on the wall or a flickering shape hovering by the ceiling.  She couldn't, even though she wanted to.

Then the slight pull of the token under their collective fingers, and the drawn scraping sound as it crawled slowly across the board: YES.

So they weren't going to come up empty tonight.  She glanced over at Star, wondering how intense things would get before she'd bail.  Sam was certain that, at some point, she would, or maybe she was getting her hopes up.  Star didn't exactly look like goth material.  All things considered, this was probably the wrong scene for her.

But she had owed Felicity that favour.

"Why are you here, spirit?" Felicity asked, shifting a little in place.  Right to the point.

The planchet under their fingers was still.  Sam knew the rules better than anyone: if the ghost chose to answer, it would have to tell the truth.

The ghost chose not to.

Star's eyes darted to Felicity, but there was a hesitation before she spoke.  When she did, the words were wrung-out and barely there.  "Ask him if he's friendly."

"You ask him," said Jake, nudging her with an elbow.  Between the four of them, he was the least invested in the endeavor, seeming more bored than anything.  He shrugged, trying to scoot his letter jacket a little higher on his shoulders without having to take his fingers off the puck.  The jacket refused.

"Okay."  Star took a deep breath, turning her eyes back to the board.  The planchet, for the time being, rested on YES.  "Ghost," she said, somewhat uncomfortable at directly addressing the dead, "Do you mean us harm?"

Immediately, she could feel the wooden puck go cold under her touch.  It slid off YES, veered partway across the board, and went still again.  The chill at her fingertips vanished.

"Don't like the looks of that," muttered Felicity.  "Sam, you think we should call this one off?"

Sam gave it a moment of consideration.  "I don't know.  Maybe, but not yet.  Let me try once."  She cleared her throat.  "Spirit - will you tell us your name?"

The planchet didn't have to think about it this time.  Star could feel the cold tingling in her fingers again as it moved, slowly but deliberately, and spelled out: JAMES.  She frowned.

"What's your purpose here, James?" Felicity ventured, but the ghost revealed nothing.  The silence stretched on; finally, she sighed.  "Doesn't like me much, does he?"

"I don't know," said Star, which she thought sounded better than a flat-out no.  It didn't do any good; Felicity was already looking a little put-out, and Star reached up with her free hand and patted her on the shoulder.  "Don't feel bad.  We still like you plenty, even if that silly ghost doesn't."

Sam fought back a groan of distaste.  Whatever Felicity saw in Star, Sam was seeing none of it.  She wanted to tune Star out, didn't want to see her so distracted as if communing with the dead was a mere game.

If things started to hit the fan, Sam was sure she'd never want to come again.  In fact, she was starting to count on it.

But would provoking the ghost be worth it?  "James," she said, still contemplating it, "Why are you here?  What is it you're seeking?"

The puck meandered for a moment, as if conflicted.  It rested on the empty part of the board between F and S, turned around, and aimed mostly toward H.

That was when Star jerked her hand back, as if the planchet had burned her.  All of a sudden she seemed to be paying attention; Sam wondered if she had finally realized what, exactly, they were dealing with.  Whether she did or not, it was too late.  She'd disrupted the connection.

Sam had never seen it, but she'd heard the stories of what happened at sessions when someone did that.

Every single candle around the room went out at once.

"Star, what the hell," said Felicity, "Remember how earlier I said you couldn't do that - "

Star's already-high-pitched voice was pinched.  "Sorry, sorry!  It's just it got cold all of a sudden, I thought he wanted me to - "

Sam scowled in the dark.  "What are you talking about, no it didn't - "

"It did so!  Just now!"

"Oh for fuck's sake, I knew we shouldn't have invited you - "

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?"

The flash of lightning through the window made the ghost into a spindly and angular silhouette, floating in the air by the glass and jolting Star and Sam both out of their argument.  The planchet on the board, still under six fingers but by now forgotten, shot out from under them and flew across the room, bouncing off the side of the desk and skittering somewhere under the bed.

Oh, it was hitting the fan now, all right.  "This is your fault," Sam hissed through her teeth, glowering in Star's direction, but already her mind was racing to find a way to appease the disturbed spirit.  She'd held plenty of seances before, but generally found audience with lesser or fragmented dead.  Only twice had she been forced to close a session early.

Never had she met such an angry spirit before - and not only was it angry, it was in her room.

"Ideas," Felicity snapped, in an effort to keep Sam from boiling over, and in the same effort to keep Star from tears, "What do we do?"

"Run, maybe?" said Jake, but the sharp and thunderous BANG from the walls around them cut him off.  His eyes darted to the door, but it slammed itself shut before he could get up to his feet and make his escape.

"Hold on a sec, guys," said Sam, "Jake, sit down, we're not done yet - hang on, I said!  I got a flashlight."  She groped for her backpack, brushed over one of eight plushy spider feet, and yanked it unceremoniously into her lap.  Half-unzipping it, she produced the promised flashlight and clicked it once, twice, a handful of times in quick succession as nothing happened.  "Shit.  Shit shit shit - "

"There," Star whispered, her eyes fixed on the shadowy side of the room behind the bed.  She pointed with one manicured finger, making the rest of them turn to look.

The ghost was only there for an instant, hanging in the air as a smoky and ill-defined shadow against the hazy grey light from the window, but flickered away an instant later.  The pounding rain outside almost masked the haunt's staticky and echoing laughter.

Felicity put a hand over Sam's and tried not to squeeze it too hard.  Her fingernails dug in a little anyhow.  "Do you think we can still close this out?"  She didn't sound too hopeful.

"No," said Star, with a sudden and bone-chilling certainty.  "He's staying."

Sam looked over at her, agape.  How can you know that? she wanted to say, but her mouth had gone dry and she couldn't force it to move.  Star's eyes were on her; just for a moment, Sam swore there was a glint of something behind their usual blue-grey, but it was there and gone before she could be sure.

"We're staying," she said again, and this time Sam heard the echo in it, and this time the glint of green in her eyes lingered.  The ghost had her, appearing as a dark and swaying wisp in the air behind her, hands on her shoulders, keeping her still and calm.  Her eyes - the ghost's seyes - were on Sam, and a sudden, absurd thought struck her:

Isn't James his middle name?

The knot of rising terror in Sam's gut broke, and cold tingling relief poured over her.  For a moment she let it, willing the adrenaline to fade and the pounding heartbeat in her ears to settle, and then shifted gears.

That sonofabitch, I'll kill him for this one.

"No, you're not."

Star's head and the shadow's head cocked to one side in unison.  "No?"

Sam was locked on the spirit but her voice was directed at Felicity (and Jake, but to a lesser extent).  "Come here."

Felicity hesitated.  "What, are you serious - ?"

"Come here," Sam snapped, setting her first two fingers on the center of the board, ignoring the fact that the planchet was still misplaced somewhere under the bed.

"I don't like this," Felicity whispered, but followed Sam's lead regardless.

Star's fingers came out and rested gingerly on top, and Sam was certain that, underneath the veneer of shadows, the ghost was smiling.

"You listen to me, James," Sam commanded, with a seriousness that made Felicity and Jake both flinch, "You'd better get out of here."

Star's mouth turned up in a smile.  "And why's that?"

"Because if you don't, I'll banish you into next week."

"Sam," Felicity breathed, "I don't think that's such a good idea - "

"I'll do it," Sam reiterated, cutting Felicity off.

The smils on Star's face widened.  "Promise?"

Then the fingers on the board were moving, overcome by a pins-and-needles sensation that turned the board to static beneath them, and came to rest solidly over GOOD-BYE.

"See you then. . . "

Sam looked over and Star looked back at her with those big blue eyes.  She didn't seem distraught but Sam had to wonder how much of what had happened she'd remember.  She'd heard on several occasions that those puppeteered by the dead didn't tend to recall the influence, and Star wasn't horribly upset.

Still - she felt that ghost had crossed a line somewhere.  Crashing a seance, fine.  Overshadowing at said seance, even if he'd picked the least-favourite attendee?

That didn't sit right.

"You okay, Star?"

Star blinked once, twice, then cocked her head to one side and smiled.  "Of course I'm okay," she said, as if she hadn't been overshadowed at all, but the next thing out of her mouth, spoken with the utmost certainty, sent a chill down Sam's spine.

"He wasn't really going to hurt me, you know.  He let you win."

- - - -

Sam shut the door as the others left and then rounded on the ghost.  "I know you're still here.  There's no way you'd dip after a stunt like that."

(Damn right I wouldn't) said the shadowy thing under the bed, hauling himself out of the darkness a moment later.  In the light from the ceiling fixture overhead, the shadows fell apart, relenting to his more human texture and shape, and he shook the dustbunnies off once he got up to his feet.  In his hand was the forgotten token that went with Felicity's board, and he held it out to her.  "This is yours?"

Sam grabbed it from him, and only then did he get the impression that she wasn't entirely happy with him.  "You could have given me a heads-up, y'know."

"Hey, I was in the area, thought you could use a hand.  For goth cool points, or whatever."  Danny shrugged, leaning back and half-sitting on the side of the bed.  "I mean they do think you can scare off a real ghost now."

"And what the hell was with you overshadowing Star?" Sam went on, and at last the dopish grin at the corner of Danny's mouth vanished.  "So, okay, maybe I didn't want her to come.  But that doesn't mean you get to - "

"Wait, wait, hold on," Danny put a hand up in concession, "I didn't - well, I mean I did, but.  Listen for a sec, okay?  You don't like her, fine.  But I think something's up."

"Something's up," said Sam, nonplussed.  She crossed her arms, leaning back slightly in the desk chair and making it creak.  "You overshadowing people as a joke is what.  And whatever you were telling her in there, guess what  She remembers it now."

"That's what's up," said Danny impatiently, "I didn't tell her anything."

That made Sam pause.  "What?"

"You heard me.  But that's not it, let me say something else too.  I swear I'm not making this up: she saw me the second I drifted in the window.  I'm invisible and she's looking right at me.  The whole time.  It was like she was watching me."

"Bullshit," said Sam, wanting to believe it was.

Danny shook his head.  "You heard what she said.  After you banished me into next week."

"That you let me win," Sam recalled slowly.  In the moment, it had struck her as dumb-chills naivety on Star's part, but the way that Danny talked made it sound like she was serious.  Perhaps she'd just wanted to think that Star was that stupid.

"She knew it, and I didn't tell her.  I'm dead serious, Sam, she practically invited me to overshadow her.  I didn't even have to go all the way in her.  You saw it."

Sam had most definitely seen it.  "And what does this mean for the rest of us?  Or for you?  You're gonna tell me - what, she's going to miraculously guess you're half-ghost too?"

"I don't know - but you saw her the same as I did.  She wasn't scared of me.  Hell, I gave you guys a name and she was the one that didn't call me by it.  Like she knew it wasn't quite right."

"I get it," said Sam, thinking that maybe she would have been just as well off not calling him that either, "But what are we supposed to do about it?  Are you saying we should invite her onto the team?  Or what?"

Danny sighed, running a hand through his hair and letting it come to rest on the back of his neck.  He shrugged helplessly, his gaze picking out dustbunnies and imperfections in the floorboards at his feet.  "I don't know yet.  Keep an eye on her, maybe.  See if she starts saying things.  She's not as stupid as she looks, Sam.  Low bar, I know, but the last thing I need right now is somebody else to have to watch out for.  I know you don't like her.  I'm not asking you to."

He met her eyes then,  and the earnestness in them struck her.

"Just, don't let that put her in the way, okay?"

[noteguk]

for science | jhs | m

— summary; in which Hoseok hears through the grapevine that you give one of the best blowjobs ever, and he needs to test it to be sure. 

— contents and warnings; blowjob (duh), dirty talk, praising and stupid pet names, cum eating, deepthroating (the oc has no gag reflex), Hoseok finds heaven, kind of crack? Idk don’t take this seriously, college!au, hoseok x reader (with a mention of past Jimin x reader), studying sessions being interrupted in the name of science 

— words; 5,1k

Requested by anon! 

Hoseok could be kind of clueless when it came to some science-related things (and his high school biology teacher could attest to that), but one thing he knew very well was the scientific method. All that hypothesis-testing-stuff, or whatever the hell that was (okay, maybe he didn’t know it that well) had taken him out of some trouble in the past. It helped him see some of his decisions in a more experimental light, avoiding the terrible Olympic-somersault-into-conclusions that had gotten so many of his friends into awkward situations. And it shouldn’t even be said that he took quite a bit of pride in that — it made him feel very intelligent and he would take any stroke to the ego that he could get. 

So, when Jimin got a bit too tipsy and started babbling on about how you gave him the best blowjob of his life, Hoseok was, at the very least, cautiously skeptical. 

“You’re such a drama queen.” Hoseok rolled his eyes before chugging down a bit more of his beer. He was nowhere near as intoxicated as Jimin was, and he wasn’t planning on changing that. It was a Wednesday night, for fuck’s sake. He had to leave some thrill to the end of the week. “It probably was like… alright. Good, even. But the best one ever? Please.” 

“It was so much more than alright, dude.” Jimin threw his head over the couch’s back, looking like he just got washed up on the shore. His hair was a mess of clear strands, exploding on his head like a failed science fair experiment. “It was the best suck of my liiiiife. I wish she didn’t hate me so I could have that again.” 

He scoffed. Hoseok had enough filter left in him to avoid telling Jimin that the reason why you hated him was entirely his fault — what did he expect from three weeks of ghosting? Besides, if the head was that good, he would surely stick around for just a bit longer than two months. “Sure. Like the time that you almost died riding a roller coaster.” 

“Hey. I almost did.” Jimin’s eyes opened, presenting his friend with a dazed-out, unfocused brand of frustration. He was getting tired of not being taken seriously — didn’t Hosoek know that alcohol makes you more honest? He wasn’t making things up. Not when they were as serious as the well-being of his dick, or actual death. “It was some Final Destination bullshit, I’m telling you. Pieces of metal flying and everything.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He waved it off, leaning closer to Jimin so he could take the almost-empty can of beer from his clumsy hands, and placed it on the center table. “I think you’ve had enough alcohol for tonight, man. You have a class at ten tomorrow.” 

“I’m serious, dude,” Jimin pressed on. It was past eleven and Hoseok only wanted to sleep, but the other boy was clearly clueless about the lack of mutual interest in that conversation. “Aren’t you two friends or something?”

“Kind of. It’s weird,” Hoseok answered. You two had lingered in a hazy friendship space for a long time now, and he didn’t know exactly how to explain your relationship. He didn’t really consider you two close by any means, but you weren’t strangers or casual friends either. To be honest, he hadn’t thought too much about it until that very moment. “Why? What does that have to do with anything?” 

Jimin sighed, fumbling against the sofa. Much to Hoseok’s delight, he was starting to get sleepy as well. “You could ask her to suck you off,” he mumbled, “then you can feel it for yourself.” 

He laughed at that, unable to believe what he was hearing. “Jimin, you’re out of your mind if you think that’s not gonna backfire.” 

He blinked heavily. “Hm? Why?” 

Hoseok blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “We aren’t that close, and we haven’t done anything remotely sexual before this. It would be super creepy.”

“That’s not true,” Jimin spoke lazily, as if the words were starting to get hard to find. There was a pause so long after his sentence that Hoseok thought his roommate had fallen asleep. “I know you guys made out like at the beginning of the semester. Taehyung told me so.”

He was going to murder Taehyung. “It wasn’t like that. We were both drunk and it was super awkward afterwards.” Hoseok got up from the couch, leaving Jimin to groan and spread out his legs over the cushions. “Listen, I’m glad you two had fun, and I’m sorry you ruined it. But I’m not gonna ask ____ to suck me off just so I can know if you’re being dramatic or not.” 

Jimin smirked wickedly — or at least tried to, because his lack of facial control wasn’t doing him any favors. “Whatever you say,” he teased, “but I think you’re curious.” 

Truth was: Hoseok was beyond curious. The cogs in his head had started to move, and his brain was evoking lewd images of you so fast that he could barely follow. He would be pretending if he said that he never saw you under that light before, but, after the mess that was your makeout session, he had forced himself to jump into the friendzone before he managed to make things worse. 

Hoseok liked you very much, even if you two weren’t particularly close. He enjoyed spending time with you, he found you funny, smart, and way out of his league. But he wasn’t delusional enough to believe that you would actually say yes to sucking him off, especially so out of the blue. 

“I’m not curious,” Hoseok lied through his teeth, and he wanted to change the subject so much that his head was starting to hurt. “You’re gonna sleep here?” 

“Hm… yes… the couch is very comfortable.” Jimin closed his eyes and adjusted his body on the furniture. His baggy shirt was already halfway through his stomach and his pants had ran up to his waist, but the man didn’t seem to notice. “You don’t know what you’re missing out on.”

Hoseok rolled his eyes, moving towards the door. He needed to get Jimin some blankets, because the other was surely not getting up for the rest of the night. It was bad enough to babysit him for those few hours of intoxication, but infinitely worse to make him chicken soup if he got sick. Been there, done that. “I’m sure the couch is great.”

Jimin’s voice was soft and sleepy when he spoke up again. Hoseok was already in the corridor, and he almost didn’t hear him when he said, “I’m not talking about the couch.” 

Hoseok went to Jimin’s bedroom and grabbed his pillow and the blanket from his undone bed. Meanwhile, scenarios ran wild inside his head, having you as the main star. He didn’t know what was taking over him, but he wasn’t so quick to ignore Jimin’s story. Hoseok was faced with a fantastic scenario of a perfect blowjob, and the idea that it was so close to him was making his pulse quicken. Again: it would be absurd to ask you to do that, regardless of the motive behind it, and he knew that it would be awful for your already-strange friendship. 

No, he could never do that. He would not. 

But like… what if it worked, and you magically accepted his request? And what if, by some wonderful moment, some millennial alignment of planets, Jimin wasn’t actually being hyperbolic and you actually had the ability to give incredible blowjobs? Could he really let it pass without giving it a shot? 

He could see it as a scientific experiment, Hoseok thought, as a way to prove a hypothesis. It couldn’t hurt if he just— 

Oh my god, dude, shut the fuck up and forget about this. 

Coming back to his senses, Hoseok strutted out of his roommate's bedroom and walked toward the living room. By the time he came back with the blanket and the pillow, Jimin was already deep asleep.

~ 

Against his best efforts, that conversation remained stuck to the back of his mind for the next two weeks. Hoseok would find himself going back and forth on the idea of you having some strange, Marvel-worthy superpower when it came to sucking dick and, worst of all, the idea that his skepticism was making him miss out on it. Jimin was exaggerated when it came to, well, pretty much everything, but that didn’t mean that he would be wrong about that specific subject. That would be a logical fallacy, and that was also something that Hoseok knew very well. Bless his late nights on Reddit for that. 

Yet as the days moved along, and his curiosity was slowly turning into desire, he was forced to revisit the infamous night between the two of you, the one that Jimin had so mercilessly mentioned. Thinking back on it, it wasn’t surprising that your overconsumption of alcohol, added to the way that you two had grown close (both physically and mentally) had ended up with Hoseok laying on top of you, kissing the soul out of you and fondling your breasts in the middle of a party. It wasn’t the most dignified moment of either of your lives, but, well, it happened. 

One way or another, the night didn’t move forward. Even if Hoseok already had a tent in his pants, you two were far too intoxicated to consent, and were quick to fall asleep before the situation could escalate. Bottom line: Hoseok woke up with your tit in his hand, a nightmarish hangover, and the decision that the You-Subject would have to stay on hold for some time. 

And on hold it stayed. For an entire semester. And it would’ve remained that way if Jimin’s stupid mouth hadn’t started talking. 

So after two weeks of self-inflicted psychological torture, Hoseok slipped a hangout invitation amidst your texts. If you saw any second intentions behind his “haven’t seen you in awhile, wanna hangout? ;)” you didn’t let it show. The problem was that you weren’t really in the mood to go out, especially since you had a big exam coming up, so Hoseok ended up convincing you that he would stay quiet if you let him go over to your place. 

It was a bit harder not to notice the desperation in his proposal that time, but you ended up agreeing. Your thought process was that the boy would eventually realize that his hangout attempt was ridiculous and that he would leave you to study by yourself, and the two of you would reschedule that odd friendship session to when you weren’t drowning in textbooks. 

The problem was that you had been stupid enough to believe that your friend would actually keep his mouth shut. 

Hoseok was seated on the edge of your bed for so long that he was sure that his asscheeks were permanently imprinted on your sheets. Because he hated himself, he kept eyeing the digital clock to your right, and he was certain that he had spent the last fifty two minutes and thirty three seconds staring at the back of your head and trying to come up with a casual way to ask for a blowjob. 

He had tried a few times already, and each one constituted of him being unable to finish his sentence, instead looking at you like BooBoo The Fool until you turned back around to face your disorganized desk, sighing and trying to concentrate on your work. 

All things considered, he couldn’t actually believe he had escalated Jimin’s sailor tale to that point. He was out of his mind, that was a fact, and he had absolutely no clue how you would react once he (if he) found the words to ask you to sacrifice your mouth for science. 

God, he was an idiot. 

He cleared his throat and got ready to try one more time. “So… I…” 

You sighed heavily and turned around on the chair. “Hobi, this is the fifth time you’re starting a sentence and not finishing it,” you said, annoyed. “Can you tell me what the problem is? I have a test in two days and you promised you wouldn’t interrupt me if you came over.” 

“I’m sorry,” he didn’t like feeling like a kid being scolded, even if he kind of deserved that. Hoseok guessed it would be better to just take off the band-aid before he made an even bigger fool out of himself. “Let me just, like, explain the context of this. Otherwise it’s going to be even more strange.” 

Dropping your pen, you fully swirled the chair around, crossing your hands over your legs. He wasn’t expecting your complete attention anytime soon, and the seriousness in your stare made his courage falter for a second. It was such a stupid idea, you’d just end up hating him like you did Jimin. “As long as you make it quick,” you told him.  

Hoseok hesitated, running one hand through his hair. “Yeah, okay, so… like, a few weeks ago I was talking to Jimin,” he started, watching your face for any signal of an expression — confusion, disgust, anything. But he found nothing. “We were drunk, and he started talking about the time that you two were together. Like, sexually.” 

You blinked, unfazed. “And?”

“And… he told me that you give, like, the best blowjobs in history,” the words left his mouth before he could fully digest them. This time, he got a reaction out of you — a light raise of your eyebrows. “And, no offense, but I didn’t believe him. You know how extra he is about some stuff. Most stuff.” 

There was a moment of silence as you waited for him to go on, but Hoseok was too busy swallowing his thoughts down and feeling like he would collapse at any given moment. You sighed. “So what? You wanted to tell me that you don’t believe in my blowjob abilities? That’s all? Can I go back to studying now?” 

“No, that’s…” Now, things were starting to get complicated. Just take off the band-aid, Hoseok, don’t chicken out now. “I wanted to know if you could show me. Like, if you could suck me off. So I could... confirm that hypothesis.”

Every part of his brain was suddently hyperaware of how fucking stupid he just sounded. He had expected that another thick silence would follow, but his heart almost leaped out of your chest when you started laughing at him — like, full-chest, eyes closing, head rolling back laughing. “Are you serious?” You asked, taking one hand to cover your mouth before, at last, bursting out again. He felt like his ego was being stabbed with a rusty nail. “I can’t believe you, Hoseok. Took you all this time just to ask me if I could suck you off? For science?”

His mouth felt like it was full of cotton and he had to clear his throat before he found the force to answer you. “Yeah, I mean, only if you’re comfortable with it, of course,” he struggled to say, each word morphing into the next. His stomach had frozen up and the flight or fight response was starting to kick in. Had he really been that much of an idiot? When did his cock start dictating his words? “I… I know this is like, super creepy. I’m sorry. We can forget this ever happened and I’ll never talk to you again. I shouldn’t have said anything.” 

Suddenly sad, he waited as you settled back on the chair, wiping a small tear from the corner of your eye before you stared at him. There was still a smirk crawling up your lips, and he felt like the world was collapsing all around him  as the silence expanded around the two of you. He looked at the digital clock: it had taken him precisely three minutes to ruin everything. 

He sighed, shoulders falling. “Do you hate me? Why are you so quiet?” 

You bit down on your lip, your eyes narrowing as you took his form in. Hoseok was hot: point blank. He was also nice, and respectful enough to realize that he might have overstepped a few lines with his request — and, even if you couldn’t really understand it, you also weren’t bothered by it. And you certainly didn’t hate him. In a way, you were almost flattered. You would’ve been more if the comment had come from anyone else but your Danny Phantom ex. But that was a different story. 

The entire situation was just too funny to let it go. And, besides, you really wouldn’t mind sucking Hoseok off. It wasn’t as if you had never thought about that before. 

“I’m... considering it,” you told him, watching as his face lit up in a mixture of confusion and joy. He looked like a kid seeing Santa for the first time. “If you promise to shut up and let me study, I’ll do it. And if you agree to never talk about it again.” 

Hoseok blinked profusely, his mind short circuiting. “For real?” 

“Yeah.” You raised from your chair, walking closer to your bed. Hoseok swallowed hard and leaned back, placing his hands on the mattress for support. “But do me a favor: if it’s not that good, don’t tell me. It’ll hurt me.” 

“Yeah, alright.” He swallowed dry, every neuron in his brain trying to grasp what the fuck had just happened. His mind was the Spongebob office being set on fire, and he suddenly didn’t know how to deal with the anticipation booming in his chest. “I’m... not hard yet, though.” 

“It’s okay.” You kneeled in front of him, placing your hands on his inner thighs and slightly pushing them apart. Hoseok quickly got the cue, and opened a bit more so you could comfortably place yourself between them. “Just... relax,” your voice was almost a whisper then, and he felt his soul trying to leave him. That was insane. “Let me take care of you.”  

Your words managed to make him relax a bit, then he tensed all the way back at the feeling of your hands fumbling with his button. His breath hitched as you pulled the zipper down, fingers hooking on the edge of his pants before tugging them down his thighs. 

He felt exposed as his pants fell like a puddle around his ankles, his tongue coming out to wet his lips as you leaned in. Hosoek felt like he was dreaming when you started nibbling at his skin, kissing and licking his inner thighs as you slowly made your way closer to his aching member. 

“I can’t believe this is happening,” he barely got out before sighing, the tingles of your caresses on his skin shooting directly towards his cock, already semi-hard. 

You flicked your eyes up at him, humming against his thigh muscles. You were now so dangerously close to his underwear that he thought he would lose consciousness. “Were you daydreaming about it or something?” You teased. 

Maybe in a different position, he would’ve lied about it. But the truth came out before he could hold it back. “Ever since Jimin told me that, yeah,” he said. 

“Hmm… hope I live up to the expectation, then,” you purred, looking up at him with those doll-like eyes. Hoseok suddenly felt like he was losing his balance, his entire body burning in desire and expectancy. You looked like another one of his horny daydreams, but you were kneeling right there, in arms reach, and he didn’t know how he would deal with what was about to ensue. 

Your mouth was hovering above his clothed cock before he could notice and, delicately, you leaned down to place a kiss on it. The touch was tender, almost numb with the fabric standing between you two, and yet Hoseok shivered, biting down on his lip as one of your hands enveloped his erection. He watched, mesmerized, as you started lazily stroking him through his underwear, leaning your head to the side so you could place heavy kisses on him, at times giving his tip a few kitten licks until it was covered by a thin layer of your saliva. 

The sensation left him on edge, silently begging for more. By the time you moved back so you could undress him, Hoseok was a mess of shallow breaths and heavy swallows; his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as pleasure started to build up at the corners of his perception. Biting back a moan of relief, Hoseok raised his hips as you slowly pulled his underwear downward, allowing for his cock to spring free from its confinement. You had done a good job teasing him, because it was already fully hard when it bounced against his abdomen, red-tipped and leaking. 

His gaze oscillated between your face and his cock, watching for any reaction as you took one hand to his length, squeezing him firmly. “Fuck,” he let out a grunt, his overwhelmed body responding to the smallest of touches. 

You smirked at his reaction, taking a quick glimpse at his devastated features before moving back to what you were doing. Hoseok was so cute, you thought, liking the way he was so responsive. 

A shudder ran up Hoseok’s body when your tongue came out between your lips, placing delicate licks on his base. He loved the feeling of your warm muscle against his hardened member, his mind growing eager as you began tracing a path upwards, flattening your tongue against him. His breathing was ragged by the time that you reached his crown, a hum escaping your throat as you lazily swirled your tongue around his tip, covering him with your saliva. 

You took your time caressing his slit with your mouth, waiting until he was cursing and panting before you finally wrapped your lips around him. At first, you only took his tip in your mouth, sucking so slowly that Hoseok whined and buckled his hips from the bed, trying to make you move faster. 

Wordlessly, you simply placed your palm against his thigh and pressed him back down. Even if that was the last thing he wanted to do, Hoseok accepted your order and settled back against the mattress, grunting as you continued to tease him. 

“Please, put it all in,” he begged, starting to lose his trail of thought. “This is torture.” 

And maybe another day you would have taken a bit more time torturing him, but, that afternoon, you were kind of in a rush to finish studying. So you complied. 

“Oh, fuck, fuck.” His eyes shut and his head was thrown back as you fully sank down on his cock, your tongue flat against him. Before he could stop himself, his hand flew to your hair, yanking at the strands as you moved back up, your hand pumping the parts of him that you couldn’t reach. 

“God, your mouth feels so great…” He moaned, back arching as you reached his tip once again, licking it before sinking back down — you took him just a bit deeper that time, and the motion didn’t pass by unnoticed. He was really starting to believe Jimin, and he wondered if maybe he should’ve been more worried about the entire rollercoaster situation. “Ah, that’s it. Just like that.” 

You moaned around him, the vibrations making him cry out, desperate. Hoseok couldn’t hold himself back from moving closer to the edge of the bed, his other hand clenching your bedsheets between his fingers as you continued to swallow his cock like it belonged in the hot confinement of your mouth. 

“Oh— oh my god, baby,” he grunted, pulling at the strands of your hair. His mind was starting to get hazy, his chest fluttering in a mess of sighs and heavy breaths every time that you sank down on his member; every time you flicked your tongue against his sentitive slit or pumped his base. “That’s really good, you take my cock so well.”

You looked up just to see the mess that Hoseok had turned into. With his mouth parted and eyes glazed over, he looked like he was about to fall apart at any second. He was watching you in complete awe, his eyebrows falling to form a beautiful frown of concentration; tongue coming out to lick his lips. He was so fucked out that you felt yourself getting riled up by his image, a pool of wetness accumulating between your thighs. 

“You look so pretty like this.” He exhaled, unaware of his own words. Hoseok was too busy following your swollen, redden lips as they wrapped around his member, your cheeks hollowing after you sucked him with all that you had. Even the small amount of droll around your mouth was enough to make him throb in your hold, a grunt escaping him. “With these — fuck — those pretty lips around my cock, shit. I could watch you forever.” 

You hummed around his member again at his words, the vibrations shooting directly at his core, where a rising heat had dangerously grown stronger, signaling his upcoming orgasm. Hoseok loved the way you actually looked like you were enjoying yourself, moaning and whimpering around his cock as you took all of him in your mouth, eyes closing every time he throbbed inside you. The eagerness in which you took him in, like you were starving for his cock, was one of the filthiest images that Hoseok had ever seen, and it was one that he knew would haunt his dreams for the years to come. 

When you removed his cock from your mouth with a dirty wet sound, Hoseok was about to complain before he saw you licking down his length, one of your hands holding his cock away from your face as your tongue started to play with his balls. It was an odd feeling, but not an unwelcomed one, and it kept him on edge for a little while longer while you played with him. 

With a timid whimper, you looked up at him as you licked your way back up to his tip. The image was so hot that he almost fainted, a deep moan escaping his throat when you took him back inside your delicious mouth. 

And the truth was clearer than Hoseok had ever expected: Jimin was right. 

“Fuck, babe, how did you get this good?” Hoseok grunted, trying his best to focus on the picture-perfect image of your lips wrapped tightly around his throbbing cock. He could tell that his release was starting to build up at an alarming rate, his thighs growing weaker every time you took him inside you. “Oh my- Ngh! Fuck! Oh my god!” 

Hoseok’s mind was wiped clean when he felt his tip hitting the back of your throat, his hips buckling up as your throat clenched around him. He was pretty sure he was in heaven then — if he focused, he could hear angels singing all around him — , his pleasure overtaking every cell of his body as you continued sucking the soul out of him. 

“Holy fuck, do that again,” he begged, his voice much higher than before. You didn’t need to be asked twice, because, within a second, he was crying out at the feeling of your throat wrapping around his cock one more time; his hands holding tightly to the roots of your hair. The only reason why Hoseok hadn’t started fucking your mouth yet was because he wanted to have you in control, giving him the best head of his life without any interruption. “Fuck, fuck— Baby, you’re so fucking good at this, fuck.”

There was a vague raising of his hips to meet your movements, making him hit the back of your throat again and again, the lewd sounds you were making filling the room. Nothing in his life had ever compared to that instant, he had ever felt a pleasure as great as he did at that point, and he knew it was about to snap. 

“God, I’m gonna cum,” he sobbed, finally closing his eyes and letting the pleasure take over. “Fuck, you’re so good, I’m gonna—“ 

Hoseok filled your mouth with his cum, dripping down your throat when you swallowed around him. His head was spinning and his muscles were trembling, and that time he was unable to hold himself back from thrusting up against your mouth, trying to prolong that divine sensation for as long as he could before, at last, collapsing against the mattress with a final, shaky moan. 

He barely heard you when you got up to your feet, his mind floating above his body as he tried to get himself back together. With the little force that he still had inside him, Hoseok leaned on his elbows and stared at you like you were made of gold. “Fuck, ____.” He breathed out, and the only thing he could say was, “What the fuck?” 

You giggled at his reaction, thumb cleaning a bit of cum that had painted the corner of your mouth. “I appreciate your feedback,” you teased, pointing over your shoulder, to where your desk stood, forgotten. “Now that you have your answer, can I study in peace?” 

“Y-Yeah, sure,” he struggled to say. “I’ll... stay quiet.” 

You smiled brightly. “Thanks!” 

He thought about thanking you right back for giving him the best orgasm of his life, but he thought that would make everything much more pathetic. So he didn’t. 

Hoseok eventually found the motivation within him to put his cock back inside his underwear, clumsily pulling his pants back up. He found himself in the same position he was before everything went down: dumbfounded, staring at the back of your head as you worked on your textbook. The red numbers on the clock told him that just ten minutes had passed, and yet his life had completely changed. 

All that he wanted was to return the favor — it was the fair exchange, after all. Hoseok sat up at the edge of the bed and spoke up, filled by a newfound courage. “Wait. Don’t you want me to take ca—”

“Shut the fuck up, Hoseok.” 

His mouth fell shut and his courage deflated just as quickly. Maybe another time.

[maastrash]

Person A and Person B are friends and neither of them have a date for Valentine’s Day, so they decide to order takeout of some kind and watch a movie together. At some point, hidden feelings are revealed. umm elorcan, obvi, because i am nothing if not predictable 🤪

isa... babe... i swear i actually did start writing this around Valentine's day... but... i am CLEARLY a mess.... please accept my VERY late elorcan present 😳

Valentine's Day Confessions

a/n: surprise i am alive ;)

Elide cursed as she grabbed the steaming hot popcorn bag from the microwave. The decadent buttery scent filled her cozy apartment as she poured it into her favorite mixing bowl. She was about to pour in the m&m’s when she remembered who exactly was joining her tonight - Lorcan. And her friend was not a fan of chocolate. If you asked her, the man simply had no taste.

It was Valentine’s Day and the pair had decided to have a singles awareness celebration. Since their entire friend group was filled with couples they were each other’s only source of company on this dreaded day. Truthfully, Elide despised Valentine’s day. Seeing countless couple posts on Instagram and stupid lovey-dovey shit everywhere only made her more bitter. She hadn’t had a boyfriend in a long time - too long. If she was being honest, she had always thought Lorcan would make a move on her one day. Though at this point, it had been years of banter and flirting with absolutely nothing else, so she had pretty much lost all hope. She would just have to accept that she would forever be in the friend zone, but of course, that was easier said than done.

She settled into the couch with her favorite stuffed animal when the doorbell rang. Lorcan, she assumed.

“It’s open,” she called.

“Elide, I could have been a killer,” Lorcan chastised as he took off his leather jacket and shoes at the front.”

“What killer rings the doorbell?” she shot back.

“Ok fair point,” he said, quickly settling down next to her.

“What do you wanna watch?” she asked, turning to Netflix.

Lorcan shrugged, “Your house your rules El.”

“Lorcan,” she grumbled. “You know I’m too indecisive for this.”

He had the audacity to laugh at her misery, “I know, but it’s funny watching you struggle.”

“I already know no romance movies. I’ve already seen enough lovey Snapchat stories to last a lifetime.”

“Agreed. Did you see all the shit Rowan and Aelin have been posting?” Lorcan asked with a laugh.

Elide laughed too. “Can’t be worse than Lysandra and Aedion.”

Maybe they were just cynical because they were both single, but at the moment Elide didn’t care. It was fun to joke around with Lorcan.

“Let’s watch an action movie then,” Lorcan suggested.

“John wick?” Elide asked, already clicking play.

Lorcan smiled, “Sounds like a plan.”

The movie had barely begun before Lorcan was shifting his massive frame to lay down, placing his head on Elide’s lap.

"Lorcan," she groaned. “You’re heavy as fuck.”

He mockingly gasped, “I’ll have you know I’m on a diet Elide Lochan.”

“It’s your absurd height, stupid,” she whacked him, but he was laughing the whole time.

“You’re warm,” Lorcan whined, sounding much like the five-year-olds that Elide taught every day.

“I have blankets right over there,” she said, gesturing to the basket overflowing with various throws.

Lorcan only stretched his legs out and adjusted himself on her lap. “If you don’t get up I’m gonna sit over there,” she said motioning to the new armchair she recently bought.

“When did you get that?” he asked, finally speaking.

“A few days ago because you literally take up the whole couch when we hang out.” She actually got it for decoration, but bantering with Lorcan was entertaining.

“You’re dramatic Lochan.”

“I’m dramatic?” Elide asked, as she stood. “I’ll show you dramatic.”

She walked to the armchair and plopped down crossing her arms and legs.

She was about to add another dramatic remark, but before she could she felt the chair give way. Suddenly, she was on the floor.

“Ouch,” she mumbled, once she registered the pain she felt on her ass.

“Elide, are you okay?” Lorcan asked, making his way over.

“Yeah I’m fine,” she muttered. “But I am never buying Ikea furniture again.”

In all honesty, it was probably her faulty building skills, but she was not going to admit that at the moment.

She tried to stand but pain shot up her ankle. She had landed on it weirdly, due to her dramatic crossed leg position.

“Wait for me Lochan,” Lorcan said as he carefully picked her up bridal style from the ruins of what once was her armchair.

“I could’ve walked,” she said softly against his chest.

That made Lorcan chuckle. “You were barely standing, El. You would have hobbled at best,” he said gently, placing her on the couch. "Let me get some ice. Your ankle already looks pretty swollen."

“I think it's just aggravated. Old wound,” she tried to say it with a smile, but it probably looked more like a grimace.

Lorcan’s eyes softened in understanding. “Ice won’t hurt though.”

Elide nodded and Lorcan took to the kitchen freezer in search of ice. He returned moments later with a bag of frozen peas wrapped haphazardly in a paper towel. He helped situate her ankle on a pillow so it was elevated and gingerly placed the bag on top.

“Shit that’s cold,” Elide couldn’t help but hiss.

Lorcan laughed softly and Elide smiled. Lorcan’s laugh was one of her favorite sounds. It was rare to see him smile and laugh openly when they were with their other friends, but when it was just them she saw it more often. She liked to think that it was because he was comfortable enough with her to show the real Lorcan.

“That’s the point, Lochan.”

“Get us some drinks, Salveterre,” she chuckled. “There is no better medicine than alcohol.”

“Whatever you say, boss,”

“I have a bottle of wine on the top shelf,” Elide called when she heard Lorcan rustling around.

“Got it,” Lorcan said, returning with a cup of wine. A cup.

“I was too lazy to find the glass,” he said in response to the look she gave him.

Elide stuck her tongue out at him before accepting the cup. “Let’s drink every time Keanu Reeves shoots someone,” she suggested.

“Elide, I think you would throw up if we did that.”

Elide rolled her eyes, “I’m not as much of a lightweight as I was in college, Lorcan.”

He raised a brow at her statement. “We’ll see about that."

As he expected, it had barely been 20 minutes, and Elide was already a giggling mess.

It only took 10 more for her head to fall on Lorcan’s shoulder.

And after another 10 minutes, Elide was onto the honesty.

She had hung out with Lorcan one on one many times, but nothing as intimate as a movie night on Valentine’s day where they were practically cuddling.

“Ok Salveterre truth or dare,” Elide slurred, turning to look at him.

“Elide the movie isn’t over yet,” he said pointing to the screen.

Elide gave him a look and paused the movie, “I’m too drunk to pay attention, plus we’ve watched this movie like five times,”

“Fine,” He laughed, giving in, “I say dare.”

“I dare you,” she said, poking him in the chest, “To kiss me.”

Lorcan almost spit out his wine. “Elide, you are way too drunk to be saying things like that.”

“I’m serious,” she said, setting her wine cup down for emphasis.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you since the day I met you, but you clearly only want to be friends.”

“Elide -”

“I know I’m not your type,” she said, her eyes dropping to the floor. “It’s fine, we can forget about this and blame it on the alcohol. It doesn’t have to be weird between us.”

She felt his hands on her chin, tilting it so they made eye contact.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you since the day I met you too. Elide Lochan, you are smart, kind, and pretty much out of my league in every single way. ”

She felt her cheeks flush at his admission. “Please just kiss me already, Salvettere.”

Without another word, his lips were on hers. Soft and sweet, a perfect first kiss, but she wanted more. She kissed him harder and opened her mouth. He took the hint, his tongue sweeping into her mouth. He pulled her closer, her heart was beating wildly against his.

Elide shifted so she was straddling his lap. She grinded against him and let herself get lost in the way he felt. The way he made her feel.

Lorcan shifted slightly as if he was going to lay her down. It would have been perfect, but Elide’s ankle turned too quick and she grimaced, breaking the kiss for a moment, but that’s all it took for Lorcan to pull back.

“Shit. Sorry, Lochan. I forgot about your ankle.”

“No I’m fine,” she panted breathlessly, trying to pull him back in.

“Maybe we should stop for tonight,” he said, brushing the hair from her eyes.

Elide grumbled, “stupid cock blocking ankle.”

Lorcan laughed again. “I can get you set up in your bed before I head out.”

Elide couldn’t help the pout, “Stay please?” she asked, wrapping her arms around his chest.

He smiled softly. “Anything for you, El.”

They readjusted on the couch so they were facing each other, this time cautious of Elide’s ankle. Lorcan pressed a soft kiss to her forehead and Elide tucked herself closer to his side. It wasn’t long before both of them became drowsy thanks to the alcohol and their heartfelt confessions.

And as Elide began drifting off to sleep in Lorcan’s arms, she knew this is how she wanted to spend every night for the rest of her life.

Tags:   @illyriangarbage // @court-of-fuck-me-daddy // @girlnovels // @julesherondalex // @ifangirlninja // @dreamerforever-5 // @queen-of-wings-and-fire // @rhysanoodle // @jemma-nessian-and-elriel // @books-and-words-addict-blog  // @nightinshadow // @wolffrising // @the-regal-warrior // @dreamingofalba // @abillionlittlepieces // @alitzeldiaz // @kylizzles // @queenmaas // @illyrian-bookworm // @aspillofstars // @b00kworm // @tswaney17 // @girl-who-reads-the-books // @theshadowsinger-and-thefawn // // @perseusannabeth // @sweetlyvillainous // @awesomelena555 // @notyournymphetish // @ladywitchling // @aesthetics-11 // @sjmships // @iammissstark // @illyrianwitchling13 // @moondancer-204 // @sjm-things // @foolsinlovex // @sayosdreams // @welcometothespeaknowworldtour  // @stardelia // @julemmaes // @thewayshedreamed // @texas-shaped-waffle-maker // @keshavomit // @superspiritfestival // @wannawriteyouabook // @verryberriess // @courtofjurdan // @bookstantrash // @sannelovesreading // @ahappyhistorianreader // @cass-nes // @my-fan-side // @junsuichow // @sleeping-and-books // @yumna402 // @lordof-bloodshed // @emcarstairs578 // @gisellefigue08 // @maybekindasortaace // @starborn-faerie-queen // @empire-of-wildfire // @loveofbooksandwine // @sanakapoor // @silentquartz // @a-omgnaomithings-love // @aimee1602 // @jlinez // @creamcheesechicken // @steamedlattes // @sahsahprova // @elriel4life // 

[supercorpkid]

Aftermath.

Supercorp, Kara Danvers x Daughter!Reader, Lena Luthor x Daughter!Reader.

Word count: 2290.

It’s been an entire week since Lena’s been home. You want to pretend that you’re fine about it, but this is insane. It’s insane, right? You had a really crazy and terrible experience involving none other than Lex freaking Luthor (who’s currently still chilling in his prison cell, probably planning other insane things), and your moms are fighting over Rao knows what.

You’ve been sad all week. And guilty. There’s no amount of ‘this isn’t your fault’ that makes this feeling go away. You just wish you could remember what happened, or at least that you could do something about it. You feel like you’re stuck inside a storm. Waiting for things to just get better already, but everyday you wake up, the sky is grey and your family is broken apart.

You hate how Kara says ‘Lena’, with guilt and pain in her voice. You hate how her eyes are constantly filled with tears. You hate when she says stuff like ‘let’s do things we never got to do’, and eats ice-cream at midnight while watching sad movies, unable to pretend she is unaffected by the whole thing. She should at least fake it, shouldn’t she?

You hate how Lena simply refuses to ask about Kara, even though you can see it in her face that she’s dying to know. You hate that she’s throwing herself into work in a non-healthy way. You hate when she pretends she’s not at all hurt and she just tries to be nonchalant about the fact that she’s not home. She should at least show you that she cares, shouldn’t she?

But the thing that you hate the most is the fact the none of them tell you anything other than that it’s not your fault. You just don’t know what started it all, how bad is it, and how long this is going to last. One thing you know for sure is that this can’t last forever. You can’t handle it.

“Hey.” Maya shakes her hand in front of your face, trying to get you to focus on her. “You cool? You’ve been acting kinda weird all week…” She nuzzles her nose in the crook of your neck, breathing deep. “And I miss your pretty smile.”

“Sorry. Just, um, things are weird at home.” But you still bring her closer hooking one arm around her back.

“I knew this day was coming.” Jamie says, sitting in front of you, on your lunch table. “It was too many ‘almost’. I knew one day you would catch your moms having sex.”

“I wish.” You whisper and they both furrow their brows at you. “I mean, I don’t. Definitely don’t want to see that, but it’s better than where they are right now.”

“They’re fighting? Wanna make them a romantic dinner again?” Jamie asks with a smile and you roll your eyes thinking about the last time you got involved. Things did not end up well.

“They are not.” You sigh. “They had a fight I know nothing about.” You raise one eyebrow at Jamie, who quickly put things together. “Then, Lena never came back home, and she’s staying in a hotel, so-”

“Holy fuck, babe.” Maya straightens up right away to look at you. “That’s messed up. I’m so sorry.”

“They’ll be fine.” Jamie dismisses both of you with her hand. “Honestly, your moms are so in love with each other. And besides, haven’t they gone through, like, way worse stuff in their relationship and totally got over it?”

“I guess.” You shrug, still not convinced. She’s right, they have. But you were never in the middle. “But I can’t shake the feeling that it was my fault.”

“You can’t make two people fight and don’t remember.” Maya says trying to ease your mind, unaware that in your life that’s actually more common than she would think.

“It’ll be fine.” Jamie ends the subject, so none of you spill important information and you try to distract yourself.

You fail.

“Hey, do you want to work on your robotics project today?” Maya asks and you furrow your brows. Wow, you didn’t even remember you had that going on in your life. “It could help you take your mind off… You know.”

Moms fighting and maybe never getting back together? Yeah, you don’t think so.

“Um… Maybe next week.” You shrug. “There’s still time.”

“Well, then maybe we could go to my house and play video game.” Jamie suggests looking at Maya, who shakes her head agreeing. “You can show Maya that game you made.”

“Sounds fun, but I’m really not in the mood.” You sigh and look at them staring at each other, trying to come up with something else. You give them a little smile. “Really guys, I’m fine. I just want to go home and chill with Kara a little. I feel like she needs me.”

“Ok, babe.” Maya kisses your cheek lightly and whispers. “I’m here. You can talk to me if you want, or not talk. I’m still here, ok?”

“Thanks babe.” You smile at her, and then at Jamie on the other side.

“Whatever it’s best for you, little Danvers.” Jamie adds.

Nothing is best for you right now. Except Kara and Lena’s happiness.

And they are definitely not happy. There’s no amount of ‘let’s fly around the house’, ‘let’s build something together in your lab’, from any of them that can fake that. And so if they’re not happy, you are in the same situation.

“You have to clean your bedroom.” Kara says when she opens the door, at night, and you look up from your books. “An alien could be hiding under that absurd amount of clothes in the corner, and you would never know.”

“Let it have a home.” You shrug.

“No, no ‘let it’. Baby.” Kara comes close and holds your hands. “I know you miss your mom, but there’s no reason why we will just stop doing stuff we normally do because of that.”

Tell that to all the showers you’ve been skipping since she was gone. Tell that to the meals you have been skipping all week. Tell that to your sad face.

“So, your bedroom is tidy and clean?” You raise an eyebrow and she lets out a chuckle.

“I love you. Did you know that?” She kisses your hand and smiles. “I’m so glad you exist.”

“You’ve been saying that a lot lately. Maybe you miss saying that to someone else?” You raise one eyebrow at her, and she gives you an extremely sad smile.

“Same eyebrows move.” She winks at you and you know she’s talking about Lena and how this is literally her move. “Come on, let’s eat something. And you can clean your room before bed.”

“How do you feel having to tell me to clean my room?” You ask, following her to the kitchen and she laughs.

“Like a mother.” She smiles harder at that, and you roll your eyes. She’s such a dork.

Kara goes through the cabinets and fridge to find out that if you two were in an apocalyptic situation, you wouldn’t survive a day with the food in your house. She promises she’ll go grocery shopping the next day (which you only half believe), and you both decide to go with instant noodles.

“So, um, mom texted and she asked me if I wanted to go spend the night at the hotel with her.” You tell Kara while she looks at the boiling water with puzzling eyes. “I don’t want to leave you alone, but I kind of feel sad that she’s all alone there too, and like-”

“You should go.” Kara cuts you off, still interested in the pot in front of her. “Do we put it on now?”

“Are you seriously asking me how to make instant noodles?” You smile, rolling your eyes playfully. “Scootch.” You bump your hips on hers, and take control. “So, you’re going to be fine here alone?”

“Of course!” Kara smiles and you look at her to see how real she’s being. You look for any signs of her sadness being too much. You look for watery eyes, pouts, anything. “It’s one night. I’m not a toddler, I can go one night alone.”

“Well…” you think about making fun of her, but you bite your tongue. “I just want to make sure you won’t go ‘sad burrito’ on the couch.”

“I won’t go ‘sad burrito’.” She promises. “I might wrap myself and blankets to watch TV, but I promise not to be sad about it.”

“Maybe you should go to aunt Alex’s house.” You say, and Kara holds your face between her hands, squeezing it gently.

“I’ll be fine. Go see Lena. You know that if she asked for it, she really needs you.” Kara kisses your forehead. “Go give her some love.”

“You can come too…” You raise your eyebrows a few times, but stop when you see Kara’s sad expression. “Fine. I’ll see you tomorrow, sunflower.”

“See you tomorrow, little one.” Kara smiles. You hesitate, looking behind you a few times, but Kara shoos you with her hands, so you fly off to Lena’s hotel.

Talk about weird! Lena living in a hotel room it’s the definition of ‘something is wrong with the world’.

“That’s, um, nice.” You say, when you go inside the room and Lena chuckles, wrapping her arms around you, and kissing the top of your head.

“It’s temporary. I didn’t have time to look for a real place.” She gives you a smile, and strokes your cheek gently while fully analyzing you. “Have you lost weight?”

“Unlikely.” It’s your answer, but it’s a lie. You probably did lose some weight, since Kara simply forgets to eat, and she’s surviving on ice-cream and whatever is left in the fridge for a week. And you just don’t want to bother her with the fact that you need to eat, because you’re a freaking alien and you eat like one.

It doesn’t matter what you say anyway, because Lena knows the truth, so she is definitely ignoring you and calling for room service. She orders so much food, you have to tell her to stop. You! Of all people!

“So-” She lets out, like a breath, while sitting on the couch next to you, and wrapping her arms around your shoulders. “How are you?”

“Scared.” You fall further into her comfort, and breathe in her familiar smell. Home and flowers. “I don’t want our lives to be like this from now on. I-I know it’s my fault-”

“Not your fault.” She interrupts you. But it doesn’t matter, because you don’t believe her.

“Tell me how I can make things better. Tell me how I can fix this.” You ask, and Lena tights the hug kissing your head a couple of times.

“My baby.” She sounds like she’s about to cry, and you’re already too far gone. Tears streaming down your face non-stop. “Stop taking everything upon your hands. This problem is not yours to fix. And you have done nothing wrong to have to make things better.”

“I think you’re forgetting that I burned my training center to the ground?” You look back at her, and she cleans your tears. And then hers.

“That wasn’t you. You know that damn well.” Lena says with a serious expression. “Lex was responsible for all of that. And now you’re back, and you have nothing to worry about, ok?”

“But mom, if Lex knows he can use me, won’t he try that again? And maybe be more successful this time?”

“Remember when I believed your thoughts blocker was a mind wiper?” She asks, making you agree with your head. “Turns out, it could be a mind wiper with a few changes. So, I did them, and now he doesn’t even remember you.” She smiles softly. “You’re safe now. He won’t do that again. And if he ever tries anything, your momma and I will stop him, ok?”

“How did he know about me in the first place?”

“Lillian. But she won’t talk about you with him ever again.”

“Did you make her forget about me too?” You ask, almost sad about it. You don’t want Lillian to forget about you. You like seeing her eventually, and she’s being so nice lately.

“No, baby. She wouldn’t do anything that could harm you.” Lena says with a smile, putting your hair behind your ears, and you furrow your eyebrows at her. “Lillian has done a lot of terrible things, but none of them it’s destroying the family name. And you, babygirl, might be a kryptonian, but you’re also a Luthor.”

“So, you trust her?”

“Well, she has proven herself in the last few days, so… With you? Yes.” That makes you smile a little, and when you hear a knock on the door and you see food on the other side of it, that makes you smile even more.

Staying with Lena one night is not enough. You can see it on her face that she needs more than that. But when you fly back home in the morning to get ready for school, and you find Kara sleeping on the couch, all wrapped up in blankets definitely looking like a ‘sad burrito’, you know she can’t be alone either.

You wish you could divide yourself in two and be with them all the time. You wish they would just talk. And you wish you could turn back time and undo whatever mess you made while you were mind controlled. But you can’t do either. So, you just hope that what you can do for now is enough. And you pray to Rao this storm ends sooner than later.

[dropssofjupitter]

Of Pride and Promises - P. 2

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader 

Summary: It has been a mere three weeks since your breakup with Draco Malfoy. Though your feelings haven’t changed, circumstances have. 

Word Count: 2.1 k 

Warnings: Angst-ish(?), swearing, sectumsempra, fist-fights, blood (minor?), aftermath of a breakup 

Requested? - Yes

Masterlist          Part One

A/N: For the lovely nonnie that requested it! I hope you like it! (I’m not exactly happy with it but hey, something is something!) [This work has not been beta read. Any mistakes are mine and mine alone] 

Edit:  I would also like to announce that I am looking for one, possibly two, beta readers! If you are interested please let me know!

Loving Draco Malfoy was like wading through quicksand. The more you resisted, the stronger the pull. Until eventually, you were pulled under. 

That’s what it had been like for you. That’s what it had felt like. You were suffocated and sedated until you couldn’t think straight, until you couldn’t see straight. Your hands were no longer your own, your magic was merely an extension of his. Everything that you owned, was his to use. 

Until you broke free. And then suddenly you could breathe. You felt lighter, you felt happier. You felt like you were more. But every time you saw him in the halls, every time you passed him in the Great hall, every time you so much as glanced in his direction, an intense wave of hurt and pain swept through you. 

And Draco only seemed to be getting worse. Dark circles clung to his eyes like forgotten friends, his cheeks had sunken in, and his skin was a brand new shade of waxy white. He looked sickly, often reminding you of the Victorian children that haunted the paintings in the Slytherin common room. You were no fool. You knew that although the breakup may have been hard on him, it was nowhere near the severity of whatever threatened him now. 

“Merlin, is that Katie Bell?” Pansy whispered to you, her chin propped up on her hands as she shamelessly stared at the girl who had just entered the Great Hall. “She looks like shite,” she said with a laugh, dragging her gaze back towards you. 

“Yeah Pans,” you replied, stabbing your fork into one of the many potatoes that lay on your plate. “Being cursed will do that to you.” 

The girl groaned, paying no mind to your snarky comment as she sat back in her seat, arms crossed over her chest. “And there goes Saint Potter, probably trying to be first in line to the pity parade and get all the sympathy points.” 

You sighed and rolled your eyes, chancing a look over your shoulder at the scene unraveling in the middle of the Hall. You had to hand it to Pansy, she had nailed Katie’s description perfectly. The girl looked almost as haggard as Draco did. 

You watched uninterested as Harry no doubt grilled the poor girl about the happenings of her curse, your hand perched under your chin. You were about to turn back to your food and to Pansy, who had not stopped talking to you apparently, when your eyes caught on Draco’s form. 

He seemed frozen in place at the entrance to the Hall, unmoving as he looked at Harry and Katie in what appeared to be mute horror. He locked eyes with Potter and turned around, quickly making his way out of the Hall and down an unknown corridor. Harry soon followed him, and it was pure instinct that drove you to stand up from the table and follow after the two boys, much to Pansy’s dismay. Something else was happening here, and whether it had to do with Draco’s distance before your break up or not, you were going to find out just what the hell it was. 

Chasing after Harry, you frantically tried to match his pace, running into students and Professors alike as you turned corners and skidded down hallways. It was a miracle that you hadn’t run into a wall yet, truly. You watched as he disappeared from view, ducking into the usually haunted girls bathroom. With a frown etched into your face and nary a thought to the consequences, you followed him. 

Curses being flung across the bathroom at lightning speed met you on the other side of the door, and you had to duck almost immediately to avoid being hit. You lay flat on the ground, mumbling things like “What the bloody hell could have set them off in three minutes?!” as you fumbled for your wand with one hand and protected your head from shattered stalls with the other. 

You crawled forward as soon as your wand was in your grasp, dragging yourself through the wrecked toilet stalls and avoiding most of the spells being hurled across the room as you prepared yourself to intervene. You moved into a crouch, murmuring a quick shielding charm before walking through the door half torn off its hinges and into the middle of their duel. 

“Wands down -” You were barely able to get a sentence out before you had to dodge a curse sent by Potter himself, drawing your arms into your body as you heard him yell “Sectumsempra!”

Draco was flung across the room, his body hitting the floor with a dull thud. Both you and Harry looked over at him, pausing your actions as you realized that he wasn’t moving. “Draco?” you called out anxiously, taking a step closer to him. That was when you saw the blood blooming on his shirt and bleeding into the water. “Merlin,” you muttered to yourself, wasting no time in rushing over to his body, hands shaking as you tried to remember the proper healing spells. 

“What the hell did you do to him, Potter?!” you yelled, looking over at Harry quickly before looking back at Draco. Dozens of cuts had opened up on his body, continuously bleeding and showing absolutely no signs of stopping. “Shit shit shit shit.” You hated to admit it but you still loved him. You still loved how it had been when you were with him. And you were so, so scared that you would lose him like this. So suddenly. 

As if he could hear your thoughts, Professor Snape appeared out of nowhere, quickly rushing to Draco’s side and sending a long, slow look at Harry. 

“I don’t know what to do,” you said, rushed as you stared down at Draco. “They won’t stop bleeding. He won’t wake up.” The professor placed a seemingly comforting hand on your shoulder before wordlessly beginning to move his wand over Draco’s body, murmuring a spell underneath his breath so quietly that you couldn’t catch what he was saying. You didn’t care. The blood that had previously been pouring out of Draco’s body was returning to it, and the wounds were sealing. 

Footsteps sounded behind you, and you realized that Harry was running away. You shouldn’t chase after him. Not when you were no longer with Draco. And certainly not with a Professor standing right next to you. But all rational thought had left your mind, and all you could think about was making Harry pay. So you stood, and you ran. 

If you thought that Harry was fast before, he was even quicker now, running as if he knew he was being pursued. And maybe he did. But that just made it more satisfying for you as you ran him down, slowly but surely beginning to catch up with him until you hit him with a stunning hex and sent him careening to the ground. 

“What the fuck was that Potter! What, do you preach the absence of curses until it’s convenient for you like a fucking hypocrite?”

Students and staff alike were turning to watch the exchange, gathering nearer as they sensed a fight. It was likely that you didn’t have much time before you were stopped so you decided to make it count. The stinging hex was wearing off by now, you knew it would be. So you kicked his wand away before pocketing yours. If they wanted a fight they would get one. 

Harry turned to look at you, quickly standing up and getting to his feet. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The way he turned up his nose and squared his shoulders told you that he was trying to appear confident. The sweat on his brow and the shiftiness of his eyes also told you that he was epically failing. 

“Is that really how you want to play this Potter?” you asked, danger creeping into your voice as you squared off with the boy wonder. 

“Well it’s how your boyfriend wanted to play when he threw a hex at me,” he retorted, taking a step closer to you in a challenge. 

You barely had time to think before you were punching the Chosen One. Punching him poorly, might you add. You were pretty sure that you heard a faint crack from your thumb. But the blood that had begun to spurt from his nose made your minor injury all worth it. 

Harry cried out, falling back and to the floor as he immediately held one hand up to his nose. He looked at you in surprise, and it only took a few short seconds before a teacher was calling out your name and dragging you up towards Dumbledore’s office. 

You passed Snape on the way up, making eye contact as you noted the unconscious Draco in his arms. You nodded once, more towards yourself than towards him, before turning your gaze back to the professor currently lecturing you on the do’s and don'ts of fights at school. You tuned them out and every interaction after. 

~~~~~~~

You couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity that the tables had been turned on you. Yet again. Instead of you waiting in the dark to confront Draco, he had waited for you. You had known he was there as soon as you had closed the portrait, your eyes catching on his barely illuminated form as he sat in front of the fireplace. 

“I suppose I should ask you why you aren’t asleep yet.” You threw his words back in his face as you walked over to the couches, deciding to not even try and avoid him. Your arms were crossed protectively in front of your chest, a poor attempt to try and prevent what was probably about to come. 

Draco raised his hands under his chin, propping it up in a habit that he had learned from you long ago. “Why were you there,” he asked slowly, still not turning his head to look at you. It annoyed you, but you would let him have this for now. 

“I was tired of being lied to.” It was the truth, and that was more than he deserved. 

He clenched his jaw and turned to face you, his eyes narrowed. “You could have died. Didn’t you stop to think about that at all?” 

You sat down in the arm chair to his left, arms and now legs crossed in defiance. “I didn’t think that I would be barging in on a duel. It’s not my fault that you and Potter couldn’t keep it in your pants.” 

“This isn’t a joke!” His voice echoed across the common room and you froze. His gaze was level with yours, eyes glaring at you and hands clenched into fists. “You could have died!” 

“You could have too!” 

“That’s different!” 

“How? How is it different Draco.” At some point you had stood up again, a finger pointed in his face in your anger. The sheer familiarity of the situation was hitting. The two of you had been in these kinds of arguments many times before. “See this self-sacrificing bullshit is why we broke up. Because you couldn’t realize that your life was worth just as much as mine!” 

“No, we broke up because you got scared,” he retorted, standing up and matching your stance. “You got scared that I was actually being self-sufficient for once and you couldn’t handle not being in control!” 

You knew he was deflecting. You knew that the two of you were both lashing out, emotions high from the day that you had, but still you recoiled slightly. “Is that really what you think?” 

He just stared at you, stubborn ignorance formed in every fraction of his being. 

You swallowed thickly, straightening your clothes and taking a step back from him. “Alright then. Gad we cleared that up.” You turned around and took but two steps before you moved to face him again. “And for the record? I was scared. But I was scared that you were recklessly risking your own life because you couldn’t handle even the slightest threat to mine. Not because I wasn’t in control.” You paused, clenching your jaw as you searched his face for any type of reaction. There was none. “I guess today just proved that breaking up had been the right thing to do. Goodnight Malfoy.” 

You didn’t stop walking until you made it to your room with the door closed securely behind you. Letting out a breath, you allowed your body to sag against the door. You weren’t even sure if you could call that conversation closure. It felt more like another couples spat if you were honest, but you had meant your words. 

From now on, you didn’t care what Draco did. You didn’t care if he was sneaking around at odd hours of the night, or looking positively zombie-like. He wasn’t your problem anymore, so you were going to stop making him one. You were done with him. For good. 

.

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[bloobeary]

The hallway light is off when he gets home, but the one over the stove was on. Bucky knows that Steve did it on purpose so that Bucky wouldn’t have to stumble around inside in the middle of the night. It makes his heart stutter in his chest no matter how many times he sees it. So sweet, that guy of his. He’ll buy Steve some flowers, and make him breakfast and kiss him stupid tomorrow.

He toes off his boots at the door, and sets his bag down on the couch, that way it won’t make as much noise. There’s a few hours of night left before the sun starts to come up, a few hours before Steve peels himself out of bed and heads out for a run.

He’s asleep now, Bucky notices from where he creeps in through the bedroom door, arms around Bucky’s pillow, sheets around his hips. He’s even wearing one of Bucky’s old t-shirts, one that he’s sure he tossed in the hamper before he left. His mouth is a little open, and his hair is going every which way, and Bucky loves him so much it hurts to breathe.

He’s not around enough-- he knows this. Not that it’s on purpose, or Steve would ever hold it against him, but Bucky knows he misses him when he’s gone, just like Bucky misses Steve when he’s gone, too. But Steve gets all quiet and sad about it, mopes around like a droopy flower until Bucky gets home and refuses to admit that it’s hard on him. Usually, it doesn’t take much more than Bucky gluing himself to Steve like a burr to a sock for his smile to reach his eyes again, but Bucky’s not stupid. Plus, Natasha tattles.

Steve goes on ops just as much, ex-Captain America doesn’t get sidelined just because he changed uniforms, so Bucky doesn’t sleep much when Steve’s not around. He sits in bed staring at the ceiling until he can’t take it anymore. Things get fixed when Steve’s gone. Not that any of them are the ones that need to be fixed, but Bucky just needs something to do with his hands. He wonders if Natasha tells on him, too. They’re real pieces of work, two peas in one fucked up pod. They’re figuring it out.

The truth is they work too much, both of them. In and out of the house like it’ll hold them hostage if they stay for too long. Retirement comes up every so often, but even though Steve doesn’t carry the shield anymore, and Bucky’s not the Winter Soldier, they never get around to it. They’ve got too much time coiled in their bones to sit still, he thinks.

Really, Bucky doesn’t trust himself to ever leave if he gets used to being around Steve all the time. It’s hard enough leaving after they’ve got one day off together, Bucky can’t figure what it’d be like to take any actual amount of time off. After the helicarriers and everything else, Steve grabbed Bucky by the shoulders and said dont ever disappear on me again. Bucky shares the feeling. He thinks if they were to retire, officially and on paper, he’d never let Steve out of his sight again. That such a bad thing? He hears it in Steve’s voice, though he’ll never say it, not like that at least.

Bucky undresses quickly, quietly, on his side of the bed, back to the window so he can watch Steve sleep, make sure he doesn’t wake him up. He should shower, really--there’s dried sweat and what feels like a layer of grime caked onto his skin, even though he washed off the dried blood somewhat unceremoniously before debrief and he stinks. He should shower, but that would add ten minutes between him and Steve. It’s a selfish, unhygienic thought, but one he has anyways.

Steve takes a deep breath and stirs a little, and Bucky goes still, holds his breath until he settles again, face tucked into the pillow. Bucky’s heart feels too big for his body, then, and he decides that a shower can wait. He’ll change the sheets the next morning, as penance.

He crawls into his side of the bed, and wraps his arms around Steve’s middle, tucking his face into the rise of his neck and taking a breath. He smells clean and warm and a little like lavender--something about some fancy lotion he bought recently, his brain supplies-- he smells like home.

Bucky hopes a little distractedly that Steve will wake up on his own. He wants a kiss or a thousand and his heart yearns for Steve’s smile, but he also knows that once Steve’s up, he’s up. Bucky’s been jealous of him forever. How the hell can you get out of bed at three in the morning and be ready to go without so much as a cup of coffee? Standing there all chipper, eyes a little tired but bright nonetheless while the rest of the Howlies scraped themselves off the dirt trying to find some sort of energy. He could blame the serum, but the truth is he’s always been like that, even when he was too sick to stand. It’s absurd, is what it is. Bucky takes a breath and presses his lips to the back of Steve’s shoulder.

Steve doesn’t wake up quite, but he does lean back against Bucky’s chest, warm. It’s not a kiss, but it’ll do.

Not such a bad thing at all.

“Buck?” Steve asks sleepily, a few hours later, once the sun is filtering in through the blinds. He yawns and stretches a little. Bucky doesn’t even have to look at the clock to know that it's six-thirty on the dot. “When’d you come home?”

“Few hours ago.” He mumbles, and he feels Steve turn in his arms, and put a hand on his chest right over his heart. Bucky opens his eyes. The fine smatter of freckles over Steve’s nose greet him, and he can’t help but smile. “I love you,” He says, sincere, and Steve smiles, finally. Nearly a century’s worth of hearing it, and it still makes him blush. Some primal part of Bucky's ego swells with that. If he were anywhere near half awake he's probably puff his chest out like a fucking rooster or something equally stupid.

“Aw hell,” He says, laughing a little at himself before leaning forward to give Bucky a quick kiss. “I missed you. You okay?”

Bucky nods and holds Steve tighter, closer. “You gonna go run?”

Steve thinks about it, at least he pretends to. “No,” Steve says finally, simple as that. Bucky kisses him again.

Bucky could sleep another ten hours, and Steve’s liable to let him, even if he himself won’t. Steve puts a hand in Bucky’s hair and scratches at his scalp softly; it feels good, but Bucky makes a face, cause it’s dirty and greasy, and he really needs that shower. “What?”

Bucky shrugs. “I need a shower.” He says but makes no move to get up. “I stink.”

“You don’t.”

“Liar,” Bucky says, and then has to yawn right through it. “Don’t let me keep you if you got things to do.” He mumbles, resting his head against Steve’s collarbone.

It's mostly just so Steve doesn’t think he has to waste his day next to his exhausted and frankly quite dirty boyfriend. Not that said boyfriend will complain about lazing in bed all day next to him. In fact, that’s at the top of his things to do today list. He’s so warm and soft and right there. Bucky slides his hands up under Steve’s shirt, pressing them against his back. Bucky feels like he’s made of silly putty.

“Ain’t a damn thing in the world that’s more important than you,” Steve says, says it in the way he gets sometimes, all serious like he’s under oath or something. Bucky bites him and then kisses right over it.

“We work too much,” Bucky mumbles, feeling himself fall back into that syrupy sleep state. His hand is still in Bucky’s hair. He yawns again, and Steve smiles, kisses his nose. “Should take a vacation.”

“Should retire.” Steve one-ups him.

It’s a joke, kind of. Only it’s not.

“Yeah, we should,” Bucky says. He means it. He means it this time. “Sit on the porch and read the newspaper, and then fuck like married people at the end of the day,” Bucky says, and Steve laughs. He yawns again, and Steve says something, maybe, but he doesn’t quite catch it.

“Did you mean it?” Steve asks later, much later, when the sun’s going down again and they’ve both showered. He’s sitting on the opposite end of the couch, holding a cooling mug of tea in one hand, sketchbook open but untouched on his lap.

“Mean what?” Bucky asks, looking up from his phone. He pokes his socked foot into Steve’s hip when he doesn’t get an answer. “Hey,” He says, frowning a little. Steve won’t look at him, embarrassed for whatever reason. “Come here.” He asks, and Steve dutifully sets his cup down and snaps his sketchbook closed before scooching over to sit near Bucky. He throws an arm around his shoulders and manhandles him around, a little so that he’s sitting up against Bucky’s chest.

“Mean what, baby?” Bucky asks again.

Steve shrugs, and then sighs. He turns to look at him. “That we should retire.”

Bucky blinks and then thinks about it. He could do without shipping out every couple of days, he’s getting old, after all. They both are, technically, but Steve wears it better. Probably because he did all his sleeping in one go. Even then, Bucky’s a year older, so he has well earned the right to complain, thank you very much.

“Yeah.” He says, and it surprises both of them. Steve turns to look at him, eyes wide, mouth half caught on a smile like he’s not sure he should yet. “You?”

Steve nods. “Yeah, I think… I think I did.” He says, and then a smile curls onto his face. Bucky laughs at him, for good measure, and Steve kisses him. “I miss you, you know.”

“Aw, babe,” Bucky teases, resting his chin on Steve’s shoulder and hugging him close.

“Oh, Lord.” Steve chuckles and tries to squirm away, but it’s half-hearted, and Bucky’s got too good of a grip on him for it to work. “You miss me?”

“Course I fucking miss you,” Bucky says, honest, and Steve surprises him by grabbing him by the chin and kissing him. The angle is a little weird, but it doesn’t matter.

“So what now, huh?” Steve asks, and Bucky shrugs.

“Sit on the porch,” Bucky suggests, and Steve snorts.

“We ain’t got a porch.”

“I’ll get you a house with a porch that wraps all the way around it, like in that movie you made me watch,” Bucky says, and Steve laughs.

“The Notebook?”

“Sure.” Bucky says, not sure himself of the name but he does know that the end made him get a little teary-eyed, and Steve full-on cried, like snot-bubble cried, and they didn't let go of each other for the rest of the day. Not a very comedic romantic comedy.

“Yeah, and what else?" Steve asks, still half-joking. "Could we get a dog?"

Bucky thinks about it, thinks about how somewhere in the middle of Europe they found a stray litter of puppies, how Steve carried three of them zipped in the front of his jacket until they found the nearest inhabited town, how he tried to hide how upset he really was when they had to leave. Bucky takes a good long look at him, how there's still a light dusting of blush on his cheeks, and puts a hand on his face.

“Whatever you want, doll.” Bucky says, and he means it.

[ginanosakka]

You’re Wrong

Masterlist

The Scars You Hide | Next

You tried to focus on the words of the textbook in front of you, but after an hour of studying, it was becoming hard to care about what stops you from flying out of a car when you turn and how to create a math equation out of it. It didn’t help that it was late in the night that you finally found time to study, your mother dragging you out on a shopping spree where you were forced to smile and nod at whatever she wanted you to wear.

‘I don’t understand why everyone likes shopping so much,’ your thoughts ran off as you looked at the new clothes that laid in the bags sprawled across the floor for your maid, Jun, to put up while you were at school tomorrow morning.

When your phone dinged you jumped at the sound, but before you could even check what the message was and who sent it, something hard smacked against your window. With your unchecked phone in hand, you crept towards the window, cursing your parents for giving you the room on the first floor of your enormous home. Pulling the curtains gently as if whatever had come knocking wouldn’t notice you, you peeked outside and immediately let out a breath of relief.

“What are you doing here?” You whispered after throwing your window open and pushing your curtains to the side.

Katsuki stood outside your home, wearing a hoodie and sweatpants paired with those combat boots he seemed to love more than life. He looked nuts, and maybe he was if he decided to jump your gate and throw things at your window, but the look on his face told you that this wasn’t a time to give him shit on his matching skills.

“Just let me in, dork.” He grunted, and you complied silently by stepping to the side.

That was the first night of many nights when Katsuki couldn’t bare to be alone with his thoughts and came to you to fill in the silence with nonsense. He’d let you complain about your mother, your father, and your maid with only short responses and noises of acknowledgment. When he’d finally jump back out your window at an absurd time, something you worried about since Mina told you how he had a set bedtime for himself, you’d lay in bed with your heart full until you could finally sleep.

Maybe it was how much you talked and complained about your superficial problems. . maybe that’s why everyone hated you.

“You have to talk to her!” Mina huffed, tailing behind Katsuki on his patrol, both of them on duty protecting the city.

Obviously, Mina was more worried about rekindling a fire that was never truthfully lit than stopping a mugger.

Katsuki was doing his best not to shout at her, after the restaurant incident, he’d been forced to do damage control on his image. The reports wasted no time making a story out of it, calling him a temperamental monster for yelling at you. When he watched the video back on a popular tabloid site, Katsuki couldn’t help but agree as he saw the look in your eyes. Still, that was probably nothing to how you looked when he walked away all those years ago, but it’s not like he looked back then.

All it took was meeting you again for you to start taking over his life again, not only conquering his media image in hours, but also his mind with all the hypotheticals. It was hard for Katsuki to see himself as a father, but he’d been one for six years without even knowing. He wondered what your son looked like now and how he acted. Did he have a short temper? Does he even have a quirk?

That was another thing that bothered him; the fact that he didn’t feel any emotions about whether or not his child was quirkless. His whole life he saw people without quirks as weak — he couldn’t count the times he mentioned you being quirkless, let alone Deku — but it was like he couldn’t draw any anger or disappointment at the thought of his son being perfectly average. After looking at that picture, all he wanted to do was get to know his own flesh and blood, and he was still pissed that you took that away from him.

“I don’t want to talk to her and I never will. I’ll take her to court to get my kid if I have to, but I want nothing to do with some spoiled princess.” Katsuki spat, and Mina was beginning to get fed up with how he refused to listen.

She snatched him by the arm, forcing him to turn around and look at her. Even now Katsuki’s glares still sent a shiver down her spine, but she was much more frustrated than scared right now. His red eyes went against her black and yellow ones, neither of them being acknowledged by bystanders who moved around them on the assumption that this was just two heroes discussing something they had no business listening to. That was only kind of correct.

“Her dad threw her out when he found out! She had no one but herself, Katsuki! . . . I don’t even know how she’s surviving, and by talking to her and helping her, you’ll be helping Ryu.”

Katsuki’s glare melted at the last word she spoke and he found himself whispering, “his name is Ryu.”

The tension had vanished into thin air at the mention of his son’s name, the warmth that engulfed his body not being one he’d ever felt before. He’d never even met the kid and he already had Katsuki wrapped around his finger, and Mina knew it. A grin spread across her face when she realized it, and with that, the first phase of her plan was complete. Neither of you may know it, but the son you two shared could bring you two together.

“How was school?” You asked Ryu as you both walked home from his daycare, the school being a small walk from your cozy home and quite safe due to being in the less populated area of the city.

“Boring,” he snorted and you couldn’t help but chuckle at his displeasure. “No one cares about my quirk because stupid Nora can glitter in the sunlight!”

“Does it matter? You like your quirk, don’t you?” You raised an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right. . Did you ever get bullied for not having a quirk, mom?” Ryu looked up at you, his big e/c wide and curious for what kind of answer you’d give him.

‘Why do children have to ask tough questions? What happened to why the chicken crossed the road?’ You sweat dropped, and quickly tried to come up with a soft but honest answer.

You didn’t lie to Ryu about things, not even about why he was now your only family, but you didn’t present him hard truths that you didn’t think he was ready for. Basically, you gave a blanket answer; a broad answer that wouldn’t hurt him. He was only five after all, why the hell did a five year old need to know about dishonor and abandonment?

“Well, no,” you started gently. “My dad, your grandfather, kind of made sure that didn’t happen and I didn’t know that I was a thing until I was older.”

Until I met your dad.

You ran a hand through his hair and pulled him closer as you walked, “and now I definitely don’t need a quirk when I have you to protect me, right?”

Ryu smiled a smile so bright that you wondered if he could rival the sun, and it warmed you to the very core. That smile was what you lived for, it was the reason you found yourself and wanted to be better. You couldn’t imagine where’d you’d be right now if he hadn’t changed your whole world, the thought of living in your father’s shadow being unthinkable now. You’d trump him, you’d trump his entire company, and you’d trump everyone who used you.

‘I’m strong because of you.’

“Of course, I’m your hero!” Ryu cheered.

“That’s right,” you chuckled.

You came up on your house, and the smile and warmth you once had was taken from you so suddenly that you stopped in your tracks a few feet away from your door. Ryu gasped from beside you and you heard his bag drop to the floor, but you knew his shock was the complete opposite of yours. Both of you were looking at the tall blonde man that stood in front of your door, leaning against it staring into space until he heard the bag drop. His red eyes fell on the both of us and you stopped breathing, not sure of what to do, or better yet * what he’d do.

“You’re Dynamight!” The first words were spoken by your son, his high pitched voice nearly yelling those words as he took a few steps forward.

You watched Katsuki’s reaction carefully, trying to prepare yourself to get Ryu away from him if he even so much as snapped at him. This wasn’t how you wanted them to meet — you didn’t want them to meet at all — and from your last interaction, you weren’t sure if he even wanted to meet Ryu. Yet all you could do was watch for the time being.

Katsuki looked him dead in the eyes, his usual resting bitch face, but there was something soft about it that shocked you. He was in his hero uniform, probably coming straight here from whatever hero work he was doing, and there was no question on who told him your address.

You’d most definitely be strangling a certain pink pixie later.

“Yeah, you’re Ryu, right?” Katsuki said, talking the next few steps towards him and bending down to be his height.

Ryu’s face was out of your sight, but you could imagine he was exploding with happiness. “Yeah! How did you know? Did you come to recruit me for your agency?! Mom, did you know?”

‘If I knew he was coming I would have sent you across the country.’

“I didn’t, but why don't we invite Mr. Dynamight in? He’s probably tired,” you suggested.

“Oh yeah! Come in, we can talk about hero stuff and I can show you my toys!”

Ryu took Katsuki’s hand as you walked past them, brushing Katsuki’s shoulder gently and ignoring how your body yearned to feel that warmth more closely. You unlocked the door and let Ryu lead him in, closing the door behind them and taking off your heels. Both of you were technically still in work attire, yours being business casual while his was. . hero official?

Katsuki was probably unnerved by Ryu’s talkative nature, but you simply went to the kitchen like you usually did when you got home and rummaged the cabinets for your tea. As long as they were both in close range, you could take a second to pull yourself together so you don’t throw your child’s idol and father out of your home if he so much as breathes in a way you didn’t like. If you were to act out now, you’d really have to sit down with the boy, and if you weren’t ready for them to meet, you certainly weren’t ready for that.

Your tea kettle didn’t even get to whistle before you took it off the stove, pouring the piping hot water into a cup with your tea and adding the sugar. The noise had died down in the living room where you could hear Ryu tell Katsuki all he knew about him — which was a lot — and you were staring to become concerned that Bakugou had possibly said something that hurt his feelings or kidnapped your child, but those theories were put to rest when footsteps came into the kitchen.

“He talks as much as you did.” Those words affected you more than you’d like to admit, not expecting him to want to make any connections between you and the son you both shared.

“He’s my son,” you stated the obvious. Turning around to face him with your tea in hand, taking a small sip of the burning hot liquid as you gazed at him with cold eyes.

Katsuki didn’t know what else to say, he had no plan for what he’d do once he got here, only getting your address from Mina and refusing to ask for advice. He had never walked on eggshells with someone before, it was usually everyone else trying not to piss him off. He didn’t know if he was scared of you, or how wrong he was about you. He didn’t have a clue that you were living a normal life, and once he came across your house in such a small neighborhood without gates and security, he felt even more guilty about yelling at you in that restaurant.

“When I told you to tell me when you’re ready to meet him, I didn’t mean just show up at my house.” You said, and as calm as it sounded, he could tell that you were picking your words wisely. She obviously didn’t want Ryu to know who he was yet, and he didn’t think he wanted to either with how happy the kid was to see him as his idol.

How would he see him if he knew he was his dad?

“How did you do it? . . I mean, what do you do now?” Katsuki asked, choosing to ignore your initial statement and get the answers he was seeking.

You were getting tired of being questioned, but this is what you get for reaching out. “If you’re asking how I’m able to take care of us, it’s because I started my own business with the money I had saved up. Next question,” you answered casually as you continued sipping your tea.

“. . Why did you tell me now?”

He noticed that question seemed to break your composure, your cold and aloof expression turned sorrowful and your eyes stayed glued to your cup. Katsuki didn’t understand why he felt his stomach drop at the sight of it, but he blamed it on the guilt he already felt.

“Ryu started asking about you more. . and I thought maybe it was because I wasn’t spending enough time with him. . but the more time we spent together the more questions he’d ask about you. I had to face the facts that I can’t play the part of mom and dad, and he deserved to meet his real dad even if we never get along. He deserved to get to make his own impression of you,” you admitted.

Katsuki was once again speechless, but the spotlight was quickly torn off of him.

“He’s my dad?”

A/N: Annnnd we have a new chapter! I hope you enjoy, and thank you all for all the love on this book 🥺! I appreciate all the comments and revolves so much! Muah!

Taglist <3 : @fandomgirllover @cloudsgathering @that-bipolar-renegade-romantic @jazzylove @that-chick212 @bonbonthedragon @misssugarless @insomniac-nerd-posts-things @bakugous-bakahoe @pinkykookie17 @animexholic @arielting @samkysnks @simpforeveryone @saucey-kneecapzz42020 @damnirina @fireworkemoji102 @deneuves @tsumuuumiyaaaa @ladybeautiful18 @vintage-teddyxo @mirakeul @regalmigraine

[personasintro]

games n' sex | ksj drabble

𝘀𝘆𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀; game date sounds perfect, until it slowly turns into something more and you and your boyfriend are ready to take another step in your relationship

𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿���: fluff, smut

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: strong language, protected sex, virgin!jin, virgin!reader, nerd!jin, they're both kinda nerds, fingering, first time sex, jin has a huge dick (can't believe I just wrote that) 

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 7.6k

a/n: commissioned by the amazing @hyacinthgrrls​! this was supposed to be 3k but it ended up being longer😳 thank you for your patience!!

𝗺.𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 | ☕️

“So, tell me again, why are you wearing those glasses?”

Your boyfriend asks without even looking at you, eyes too focused on the screen that’s in front of him as he clicks the computer mouse repeatedly.

“I look like a nerd with them,” you answer, snorting when you see him from the corner of your eyes giving you a side glance. “And I look smart in them.” you add to clarify, glancing back at the screen of your own laptop.

You’ve been dating together for six months, but doing nothing and playing games is still one of the best dates. You’re able to enjoy yourselves, get frustrated together and then laugh it off. Someone would call the two of you nerds, which you probably are, but not that you or Seokjin care.

“You’re a nerd,” he points out, screaming out of pain when you repeatedly smack his arm. “No, no, no! I lost! Why would you hit me?” he whines frustredly, a satisfied smirk appearing on your lips as you see a big ‘game over’ on his screen.

“You called me nerd.” you tell him, raising a brow as he innocently shrugs his broad shoulders.

“You could’ve just wait until the round is over.” he mumbles, causing you to glare at him but even if he noticed it, he ignores you and starts another round.

That little shit. He’s teasing you, he knows how much it annoys you when he ignores you. The little twitch of his mouth says it all and you groan, clicking your mouse furiously.

“This is such a bullshit, I don’t know how to play this. We should’ve played The Sims or GTA, not whatever this is called.” you roll your eyes when white big letters ‘game over’ appears on your screen as well.

“First of all, The Sims and GTA are lame. And Fortnite isn’t lame, it’s one of the best games on the market right now. How can you be so disrespectful?” he scolds you, causing you to sigh in annoyance.

“You didn’t think of The Sims as lame when you were literally competing with me who will build a better house. It seemed like you enjoyed it more than I did.” you point out, remembering when you were playing the mentioned game just a few weeks ago.

“I wasn’t competing!” he exclaims, his neck getting red which causes you to raise your brow in obvious disbelief.

There are three reasons when his neck gets red. When he’s got too much attention, gets frustrated or when he’s lying. It’s obviously the third option and it’s quite amusing to see he’s still trying to stand up for himself, when the two of you know you’re right. It’s always funny whenever he gets worked up over something so silly.

“You even danced when you claimed that your house looks better!” you exclaim, laughing when he stutters over his words but doesn’t have anything to say back, so he shakes like a scared dog before he lets out a sigh of defeat. “See, I was right.” you still mutter, ignoring the glare he gives you this time.

He turns back, his attention focus on another round which makes you whine and shut your laptop. “This game is no fun.”

“You’re saying that because you don’t know how to play it,” he points out, making your eyes roll even though you know he’s right. “Come here, I’ll show you.” he says, patting his lap as he slowly pulls away with a desk chair to give you a better space.

“Fine, but if I’m not good at it we’re gonna play something else.” you grumble, standing up to sit down onto his lap which is surprisingly even more comfortable than the desk chair you’ve been sitting on for forty minutes.

Of course, it is more comfortable. This is your extremely handsome boyfriend we’re talking about, every chance you get to be closer to him is exciting. Even if it’s him showing you how to play one of his favorite games.

When you finally find the right position on his lap, Jin pulls the chair closer to his desk so the two of you can see the screen clearer. Jin sets a new game, a set of characters filling up the screen as he clicks on a random character.

“Why would you choose her? I want Thor.” you point towards the character that symbolizes one of the Avengers.

“Why him?” he asks, tone laced with curiosity as he clicks on him and chooses him for the game instead.

“He’s hot.” you shrug, causing your boyfriend to snort at your honesty and answer.

“Because he’s hot? You know he’s just a character, right?” he snickers, straightening himself as if he’s the one playing this round.

You know he’ll enjoy giving you tips and explaining this game to you. He loves to do that even when you can play a certain game just fine, without his constant tips and advices.

“I didn’t mean him as a character in this game. I meant Chris Hemsworth, obviously.” you roll your eyes, causing him to snort.

“Since when do you like Chris Hemsworth?” You can’t see him, with you being turned with your back to him, but you can hear the frown on his lips clearly.

“I don’t,” you shrug, “I just love him as Thor. Have you seen him with his hammer showing off those strong arms and when he creates storm with all the lights—“

“Okay, okay. I really don’t wanna hear my girlfriend gushing over some guy who plays a fictional character,” he mutters behind you.

You giggle, ready to tease him about him being jealous and it’s absurd how this topic got into your conversation in the first place, but just as you’re opening your mouth your boyfriend shushes you.

“Now pay attention, the game is starting.” he says, eyes already swallowing the whole screen as he starts giving you instructions.

Ten minutes later of Jin's constant talking, mixed with whining and yelling whenever you lose, you’re the one who whines. You were just getting a hang of it and then your character got killed, and you don’t even know how that happened. Jin’s frustration is the only thing that keeps you entertained, you just love how worked up he gets over a game. After another ten minutes, you’re finally able to play the game without any kills of your character but even then, Jin doesn’t remit himself from his sudden orders and exclamation. When you finally kill a fair amount of enemies, you jump in delight and excitement completely oblivious to Jin’s grunt and hands on your hips.

“Princess, calm down.” he mutters behind you, only causing you to turn around and shift in his lap. Again, he glares at you looking through his thick eyelashes.

“What’s the matter? Did you see that? I’m practically a pro at this game!” you exclaim in excitement, doing a funny dance which causes him to curse underneath his breath.

“Jesus fuck, stop moving.” he pleads, causing you to stop as you frown.

Confusion laces your make-up free features, before you finally feel it. His covered bulge that’s hardening, poking you in the ass. When realization hits your face, you gasp loudly as you stare at your boyfriend with open mouth. He blushes, avoiding your gaze as he tries to play it off with a cough but that only makes you grin at him. You barely get to see him so shy and embarrassed, although there’s nothing embarrassing about this.

“Are you getting hard?” You don’t mean to tease him, not wanting him to feel embarrassed, but you can’t help it but to feel a sudden rush of excitement rushing through you. A different kind of excitement than you winning a round.

“Can we just ignore this happened? I’m freaking embarrassed.” he murmurs, leaning his forehead against your back so he hides his flushed face from you.

“Why? You don’t have to be embarrassed, Jinnie.” you tell him, hand reaching behind to stroke his thick black hair.

“I just got hard over you squirming in my lap, I think that’s a valid reason to be embarrassed.” he says, voice muffled by your back as you giggle.

“Why? I find it hot.” you shrug, causing him to snort in disbelief. He doesn’t believe you, you’re just trying to make this better and not to embarrass him.

And to prove your point, you squirm yourself again this time intentionally, making sure you aim at his hardening length that makes him wrap his arms around you.

“Y/N,” he warns you, trying to stop you but you only press even more making him gasp.

Even you can feel yourself getting aroused from the lack of friction, but just the thought and the littlest feeling of his dick rubbing against you drives you crazy.

“Don’t start something we won’t finish.” he tells you, groaning when you roll your hips against him.

Even the music from the game is completely ignored by the both of you. Thank god, you’re not calling and playing with Jungkook or Yoongi. If they heard the two of you, they wouldn’t let you live. They often tease you about your sex life, just because they’re two dorks who likes to embarrass you and Jin. And you’re usually the one who seems to be confident, opening your mouth to tell them something and turn the topic around, so they’re the ones who are left embarrassed. The truth is, you and Jin haven’t had sex yet. There’s no particular reason behind that, you just never talked about it openly and you thought he doesn’t want to have sex yet. You want it to happen naturally, you don’t need roses and everything planned like in those teen snappy movies. Your desires are often taken care of as Jin pleasing you with his mouth or fingers or you giving him a handjob or a blowjob. As much as Yoongi and Jungkook think the two of you probably play games rather than have sex, that’s not completely true. Yes, you do play games. A lot. But that doesn’t mean you and your body isn’t screaming for Jin. You’re patient and there was never a reason to bring that specific topic, not when you satisfied yourselves just fine without him actually sticking his dick into you. Maybe it’s taking longer because you’re both virgins. Even you giving him a handjob and blowjob used completely new to you. Just like him using his mouth and fingers. It took some time to learn each other’s bodies but you love how natural it all felt. Still does.

“We always finish,” you remark, “I want you.”

“Fuck,” he gasps, and you swear you feel his dick twitching inside his sweatpants. “You want my mouth or fingers?” he asks, letting you rub yourself against his lap as he latches his mouth onto the crook of your neck.

“You,” you gasp, throwing your head back at the feeling of his mouth and dick. “I want all of you.”

You realize what you’ve just said. Your juices already stain your underwear and just the thought of his dick inside you makes you squirm with much more neediness. You don’t even know where is this coming from. You were always okay just with him using his fingers or mouth, or both.

But it seems like you’re the only one who realizes your words.

“You’ve me, princess. You’ve got all of me.” he says against your skin, leaving sloppy kisses down your neck as you circle your hips.

“No, Jin. I wanna have sex with you. Now, like right now.” you tell him, his mouth stopping as he freezes underneath you.

You almost fear you crossed a line or something, and you even stop your movements as you just quickly sit down onto his lap while biting your lower lip.

He shakes out of his shock and shoots a set of questions at you.

“What? All of a sudden? Are you sure?”

Giggling, you take his hands into yours as you play with them. All while still turned with your back to him. “Yes, I don’t wanna wait any longer. If that’s okay with you, of course. I love you, and I know you’re the one for me.”

“If I’m okay with it? Princess, you’ll be the one who gets to be stuffed with a dick. Not me.” he says, causing you to snort.

“Jeez, thanks. You made this better.” you tell him ironically, causing him to sigh as he lifts up your hips and turns you to the side, so he can see at least side of your face.

“No, what I mean is... that this is something you’ve to think about. You’ve to be sure because once it happens, once I’ll take it, there’s no going back.” he tells you, gently tucking his fingers under your chin before he turns your head to face him.

His eyes sparkle with generosity and love, just affirming you that he really is the one.

“You’re acting like you’ve had sex before. You’re a virgin too.” you snicker, pointing out quite obvious fact only two of you know.

“Yeah, well, guys don’t care about their virginity that much. It’s not as important to them like to some girls.” he shrugs, explaining himself.

“Them? Are you saying that it’s important to you?” you question him, seeing him giving you a slight smile.

“It’s important to me that it’s with someone I love. That’s why I waited so long and haven’t sticked my dick to the first girl who offered.” he tells you.

“Can you not like, talk about other girls and how much of them wanted you?” you snort, seeing him giving you a cocky smirk.

Having a handsome boyfriend is a crazy ride. Plus, if that boyfriend is prettier than you. For fucks sake, even men in the shopping center are checking him out.

“It’s not my fault I’m so desired,” he jokes, but stops when he sees you glaring at him. “No, but really. It’s not as important to me as it might be to you, but like I said, I want to have sex with someone I love. And you’re that one for me, I’ve known a long time ago that I wanna lost it with you. I just wanna make sure you really want this.”

“Of course, I want this,” you cup his face into your small hands and caress his cheeks with your thumbs. “I don’t need this to be romantic and all that shit. All I want is you and I feel like right now is the right time.”

“Aren’t you saying that just because you’re wet?”

“Oh my god, Seokjin. No, I’m not.” you roll your eyes, voice raising to prove your point.

“You’re not what exactly? Wet or saying this because you’re wet?” he asks, pointing with his fingers to mimic the two different things.

Letting out a loud whine, you hear him laugh as his whole body shakes. “I’m not saying this because I’m wet. Plus, I think I’m no longer wet after this conversation.” you grumble, crossing your arms over your chest as you look away from your boyfriend who seems to have that one specific shit eating grin.

“Oh, come on. Don’t get mad at me now,” he fakes a pout, nudging your shoulder with his forehead before he gives it a soft peck. “I just really want to know if you’re hundred percent sure. That’s all that matters to me.”

Looking at him, you’re met with the same soft and loving eyes you fell in love with, and you can’t help but kiss him. He’s surprised by your sudden reaction, but grabs your face for a better angle as he starts moving his lips. Your tongues dance together, feeling one another before he gently bites onto your lip although, he does it too harshly and you gasp.

“Ow, fuck, Jin!” you scold him, holding your lip as you feel a metal flavor in your mouth. “Why would you do that?” you exclaim, looking at your wide-eyed boyfriend.

“I’m sorry!” he apologizes quickly, “I was trying to do that thing they do in a movies, I didn’t think I’d bite that hard.” he reasons, softly tugging your hand away as he eyes your little wound.

There’s just tiny blood, nothing major but he still stares at it with saddened gaze. You can’t holding, bursting in laughter which causes him to look up at you confusingly.

“We’re such a losers.” you tell him, still laughing.

He sighs in relief, shaking his head before a tiny smile plays on his lips. “I’m sorry.” he apologizes again.

Waving him off, you let him know it’s okay and you’re nowhere near finished with him. Turning around, you sit onto his lap rather clumsily, but Jin’s strong arms are there to hold before you’re finally seated and facing him. Nudging his tone with your own, you kiss him again. This time, he controls himself and doesn’t try to bite off your lip. He’s more careful, even though he groans into your mouth with neediness. Rolling your hips into his, you go back to your previous movements that lights up the fire through your veins. It feels good, so good that you feel your panties sticking to your heat and desperate for more touch. Understandably, it’s not enough even though it feels nice. But nice is not enough.

Detaching your lips, Jin flickers his eyes open in a silent question of you pulling away. Licking your lips that taste like him, you look at him through your hooded eyes almost pleadingly.

“I need you, Jin. Take me to your bedroom.”

He nods, understanding the frustration and need behind your words. He feels the same and that’s why he doesn’t hesitate when he tightens his hold on you and stands up. Automatically, you wrap your legs around his frame and silence your squeal by pressing your face into his shoulder. Just as you’re about to compliment his strong arms, and how stronger he’s became ever since he started working out with Jungkook, you’re not able to voice out your thoughts when Jin stumbles onto something and almost sends the both of you onto the floor.

“Jin!” you yell, holding him for dear life as he curses and stumbles some more before he finds a balance.

“Fucking slippers. I told you not to leave them in the middle of the room.” he scolds you, causing you to gasp.

“So, you’re blaming me because you’re clumsy?” you ask him, a frown settling on your face as he tries to open the door to his room.

Luckily, he manages to do that successfully without no injury or danger. He walks you towards his bed, softly pulling you down although he still glares at you. “I’m not clumsy, you’re just too messy.” he blames you, causing you to gasp in disbelief.

“I am messy?” you exclaim, finger digging into your chest as you stare at your boyfriend who starts to chuckle before he hovers over you.

He connects your lips in a soft kiss, silencing you with those plump lips that you can never resist.

“Uhm, you’re. But I love you and your messiness.”

You should be offended he thinks of you as a messy person, which you’re not. Okay, maybe you leave things a certain way and forget to put them back to its place, but it’s nothing too dramatic. You know he’s just teasing you and doesn’t take it too seriously.

He’s kissing you, exploring your mouth like it’s the first time you’re kissing, savoring every moment while his hands travel down your body before you urge him to take off your clothes. You don’t have to voice it, Jin understands you perfectly when you lift your hips up and squirm in your place. He smirks against your kiss, loving how needy you are even though his heart is beating so fast against his rib cage that he fears you can feel it too. He can’t believe today is the day he can make love to you.

He’s taking off your sweatshirt first, catching your earring onto the fabric that causes you to cry out as he’s trying to fix it in a panic. Repeatedly, honest but hectic, words of apology leaves his mouth until he finally manages to take it off without ripping your sweatshirt or causing you any harm. He takes off your glasses that have no real meaning, tossing it onto the mattress beside you but they bounce, falling down the floor.

“Jin, those were expensive!” you scold him, trying to see if they’re in one piece but your boyfriend kindly nudges you to your shoulder.

“No, they weren’t. Aren’t they from Bershka?” he shrugs, kissing down your neck.

You’re trying really hard to think, to talk back at him but it’s almost impossible at the feeling of those damn soft and tender lips.

“Fifteen thousand won is still expensive.” you try to argue, knowing how shitty your argument is. They weren’t that expensive, but they’re pretty and it’d be a shame if they broke because of Jin being careless.

“No, it’s not. If they’re broken, which they aren’t, I’ll buy you a new ones.” he tells you simply, causing you to snort at how easy he throws this argument out of window.

“I bought them last year, they don’t have them anymore.” you grumble back, causing him to groan as he’s working on your sweatpants trying to undo your knot.

“Oh my god, woman. Are you gonna argue me this whole time?” he asks in disbelief, eyes flickering to yours before he lets out a chuckle when he sees your smirk.

“Maybe.” you shrug sassily, however he decides to ignore your teasing and yells in triumph when he finally undo the knot.

Taking off your clothes doesn’t take too long, this time with no harm on your part or your clothes, although he still tosses them onto the floor carelessly. You don’t even comment it anymore, knowing it’s pointless and it’d just evoke another round of bickering. You finally understand what Yoongi meant when he said the two of you are fighting like an old married couple.

Jin has seen you naked couple of times, but you squirm underneath his darkened gaze because knowing what you’re about to do feels much more intimate than ever. He notices your tinted red cheeks and your eyes drifting elsewhere, avoiding him. He catches your attention by reaching for your face, caressing your hot cheek as he smiles.

“You’re so beautiful.” he says softly, your cheeks flaming even more.

It’s nothing new, Jin makes sure to tell you how much beautiful you are almost every day. But it still brings shots of joy and shyness through your body like it’s the first time he has ever said such thing. Most of the time he tells you you’re beautiful in the most inconvenient time. Like that time when you were sick and he surprised you with a warm soup, seeing you with a greesy hair and red nose while snot kept running down your nose.

“Go away, I look ugly.” you told him that time, covering your face with a thick blanket.

But he just laughed you off, shaking his head before he slowly put down the blanket and exposed your sweaty face. “You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever laid my eyes on.”

He told you and even though you didn’t believe him, considering how awful you looked back then, the honesty that was in his eyes is the same one he holds right now.

His words of love and honesty sends relief rushing through your body and you allow yourself relax, not wanting to feel any discomfort that he’s seeing you naked. Jin’s fingers travel down your neck, slowly touching your chest before he moves down your stomach. Every move he makes, his eyes flicker to yours as if he’s checking your reaction, and it warms your heart. Biting onto your lower lip, you take a deep breath when his fingers hover over your heat.

“Open up for me, princess.” he whispers, not budging as he waits for you to react. He gives you space to back out, this is different than all the times you were intimate together, so he’s extra careful with each move he makes.

However you don’t need him to be extra careful, of course you appreciate it, but you’re hundred percent sure of this. That’s why you spread your legs and allow his eyes to see your glistening core. His breath catches in his throat and he almost starts to choke but he plays it cool, gulping furiously with widened eyes. It makes you giggle, finding his reaction natural and amusing. Also, it strokes your ego quite a lot knowing the sight of your heat makes him react this way.

Spreading your folds, he starts rubbing your wet pussy while biting onto his lower lip. Moaning, you spread your legs even more to give him more space especially when he starts kissing your thighs. He drinks you in, looking up at you through his hooded eyes and thick eyelashes, all while peppering your exposed skin with soft kisses and fingers spreading your wetness. He sinks his finger in, cursing when he feels your walls clenching around his single digit. Circling onto your clit with his thumb, he leans down before he latches those plump lips replacing his thumb. Arching your back from the mattress, you gasp when he starts making out with your clit, while still pumping his finger. Your juices leak out of you, embarrassingly almost too much, but you don’t seem to care. Your attention is solely on your boyfriend and how much he pleases you. He takes the opportunity to sink another finger in, penetrating your tight hole even more. It feels so fucking amazing and you plead him for more.

Your attentive boyfriend, whose goal is to make you feel good, listens to you and adds another finger. This time, you feel the stretch even more and you moan loudly when he curls all three fingers inside you. He rubs your velvety walls, picking up the pace until your legs are shaking and he recognizes as a sign of approaching orgasm. Ten more pumps of his long fingers, the knot in your stomach loosen up and you’re letting go, finally cumming around his fingers that rides you through your orgasm.

He takes that time, and the fact your cum is stripping down his fingers and your heat, he adds another finger. You gasp, his name leaving your mouth at the sudden pressure.

“I know, princess. I just need to stretch you out some more.” he says, deciding to pull out when he sees your face scrunched in discomfort.

Flickering your eyes open, you look at your boyfriend who takes his glistening fingers from your cum into a mouth. He cleans them off, making sure he’s looking straight into your eyes as he does it. You gasp, slowly sitting up as you lean towards him and connect your lips. He yelps in surprise into your mouth, not expecting you to kiss him so suddenly but he welcomes it. The fact you’re kissing him despite where his mouth just was, and that you can taste yourself on his tongue, drives him insane as he groans into your mouth. Your hands travel down his chest, caressing him through his shirt when you slowly pull away.

“You’re wearing too much clothes,” you comment quietly, biting your lip when you see his smirk. “We need to change that.”

And you do. He helps you taking off his clothes, your eyes and hands too busy touching his broad shoulders that you’ve always admired. His movements are quick and he doesn’t show how horny he is to finally feel how it feels like being inside someone. No, it’s not like that at all. He takes off all of his clothes slowly, kissing you every now and then as you urge him to keep going. It’s almost like he’s waiting for you to stop him any second. Not because he wants to stop, but because he’s thoughtful enough to make sure you still want this. Warmth spreads all over your heart and when the last piece of clothing is taken off, which happens to be his boxers, you pull him closer and kiss him passionate and hard.

He’s surprised, but kisses you back with the same intensity. You can feel the love through your kiss, it’s magical. You’ve never felt about anyone this way, and it’s not just because he’s your boyfriend. But even when the two of you met, he was such a spectacular person that sparked a light of interest inside you.

“What was that for?” he asks breathlessly, as soon as you pull away.

Shrugging, you smile at him. “I just love you so much.” you admit, his features softening even more as he pouts for some reason.

“I love you too, my princess.” he says, kissing you again before you’re laying down and spreading your legs.

Gulping, he looks at your heat before his eyes are back staring into yours. “Are you, really like, really sure about this?”

“You seem more nervous than me. I’m the one who is gonna be stuffed with your dick, after all.” you tease, hearing him groan causing you to shrug.

He’s the one who said it like that. You’re just repeating his own words.

“I’m serious about this, Y/N.” he tells you softly, but his voice still holds some kind of seriousness that makes him even hotter.

He’s so fucking hot, you can’t believe he’s your boyfriend. From his beautiful black hair that almost fall into his eyes that adds major points to his sexiness, to his naked form that shows how broad and muscular he is. He’s no bodybuilder, but you can see his fit stomach and biceps that are definitely proof of his hard work of working out. And his intelligence and the dork side of him, just adds to his sexiness. It’s an interesting combination but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“If you really ask me that one more time, I swear— yes, Jinnie, I’m sure about this.” you sigh, appreciating that he’s so thoughtful and constantly checking up with you.

As much as you appreciate what he’s doing, you’re too horny and you want to feel him. There some kind of nervousness because well, you’ve never experienced what you’re about to do. But you’re rather excited and giddy, wanting to take this next step, both in your life and relationship. It feels right.

“Okay.” Is all he says, adding a special softness into his tone as he pulls away and gives you a perfect sight of his hardened length.

Gulping, you almost forgot how long and thick he is. It definitely sends a wave of arousal and nervousness at the same time to your body. Luckily, Jin doesn’t notice your widened eyes and the way you dryly gulp as he reaches for the nightstand beside your head. If he noticed, he’d surely ask you the same question he’s already asked too many times.

When he shuts the drawer with a loud thud, louder than you both expected causing you to flinch, he sheepishly grins and apologizes but you just shake it off with a quick wave of your hand. Your attention is back onto his hardened cock that slaps against his stomach, while your boyfriend’s hands are too busy opening up the condom wrapper. Slowly sitting up, his eyes flicker to yours but are back to the silver wrapper completely oblivious about your next step. As soon as you wrap your small hand that barely hugs his length, he gasps and jerks forward in surprise.

“Come on, keep going. Open it.” you urge him, slowly squeezing him as he gulps and nods.

However, he seems to grow even more frustrated when he can’t open it even with using his teeth causing you to laugh.

“What the hell? I can’t open this.” he complains, cheeks red and evident frown decorating his face.

Hiding a snort, you take the condom from your frustrated boyfriend’s hands, opening it up with ease. Arching a brow at him, you smile when he shyly coughs and tries to hide the same red tint that his cheeks have. Although, before you can tease him a little bit over the fact he really has condoms in his nightstand, since you really haven’t planned this, you notice something different.

“Extra large?” you ask, studying the wrapper with widened eyes as they turn into a mere smirk. Looking up at your boyfriend, you don’t see the look that you expect him to have.

You expect him to be cocky, confident because despite of his nerd and dorky personality, this man can really find his confidence in the most bizarre situations which makes you love him even more. Guys are usually confident about their dick size.

Aren’t they having some comparison competition of their dicks size?

But not your boyfriend. His cheeks seem to get even more red while he innocently shrugs.

“Ah, it’s... nothing.” he murmurs, causing you to chuckle.

“It’s nothing? You’re gonna rip me in half.” you exclaim, giggling when you see the terror in his deep brown eyes.

“No! I wouldn’t— we don’t have to continue.” he sulks back, trying to hide his aching length with hands over it but he’s doing a poor job at it.

“No, no. That’s not what I meant,” you assure him, cursing yourself for teasing him. It’s not the right time to do that. “I was just joking,”

Kinda. There really is a chance he’s not going to fit.

“Come on, Jin. I’ll be fine, I’m waiting for you.” you tease, waving him with a condom before you hand it to him.

Slowly, he takes it and gulps when you lay back and spread your legs for him. You watch him clumsily putting it on before he’s checking if he’s done it properly. He’s so cute, yet sexy when his muscles flex with each movement.

When he’s pleased with himself, he hovers over you and kisses you slowly. You melt into the kiss, nothing else on your mind than your boyfriend’s lips and him as the person you love the most. Gasping into his mouth, you’re surprised when you feel his hand over your heat before he dips his three fingers in and scissors them while he’s trying to do the best to penetrate your hole again.

“I know, I know,” he murmurs against your lips, but doesn’t pull away entirely. “I gotta do this.” he says, pumping them all over again.

This time, he’s trying to penetrate you even more than the first time and it takes two minutes until you’re falling apart again and having the second orgasm of the day. You’re more than aware that you probably won’t have any orgasm during the actual sex. Your cum leaks down Jin’s fingers as he pulls them out but doesn’t put them in a mouth this time. Through hooded eyes, you watch him smearing your cum all over his length that’s securely wrapped in a condom that glistens from your juices. Your pulsating heat clenches around nothing, finding this extremely hot and exciting.

When he hovers over you again, you know it’s time. His hands on both sides of your head and eyes locked into yours, he licks his plump lips as he opens his mouth. “You ready?”

You nod, stuttering over your words knowing he wants to hear you say it, rather than give him a nonverbal answer. “Yes, ready.”

Jin takes a deep breath, which comes out shaky before he wraps his hand around his length. Giving himself a few pumps, your cum a perfect lubricant to make the act easier, before he’s ready to enter you. However, he doesn’t expect you to jerk and yelp so loudly that he backs away immediately with a terrified look.

“What’s-what’s wrong?” he asks right away, staring at your closed eyes and red cheeks.

“That was my... other hole,” you scold him, “you were about to...”

You don’t need to finish for him to understand what he’s done and what you mean before his own cheeks are back to red color. Along his neck that shows his embarrassment even more.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I thought— I’m such an idiot.” he sulks, almost ready to cry as you chuckle at the situation and reach for him.

“No, just be careful.”

His head snaps up, eyes staring at you. “You wanna keep going?”

He sounds genuinely surprised. Poor guy, he probably thought you don’t want his dick anywhere near you. Not after he almost entered into a wrong hole, the whole situation is ridiculously funny despite of your heart hammering in your neck from the fact it could all go wrong.

“Of course,” you assure him, hiding a smile that he still notices. “Just be careful, make sure you... y’know...”

Oh, fuck. Since when do you get this awkward?

“Ah, yeah, of course.” Jin nods before he hovers over you all again.

This time, his eyes stay attached to his length while he makes sure he enters you well.

The first second of his tip poking your clit makes you shiver, your whole body ready to take him while you can’t believe you’re about to lose your virginity. And the fact it’s with someone you love deeply, it makes it all even more special.

When you feel him against your heat, ready to push in, you hold your breath while you’re trying to keep yourself relaxed.

“Oh fuck,” you curse, already feeling him stretching you even though he’s not even in.

He eyes you carefully, moving when you give him a short nod to let him keep going. With each gasp and inch he pushes in, he really makes sure he can continue as he starts filling you in. Tears prickle in your eyes, the stretch seems almost too unbearable while you feel like you’re being ripped in half. When Jin tells you that he’s not even halfway in, you almost cry out loud but you’re doing your best trying to control your reactions. You know as soon Jin would see you struggle to take him too much, he’ll back out immediately. His hand goes back between your legs, shaky fingers circling your clit as he’s trying to make this more bearable for you. It helps, not too much but it’s definitely better since there’s at least some kind of friction. As soon as he’s all way in, and he doesn’t fail to inform you about that, you finally let out long and shaky breath that you were holding. The feeling is so weird, not comfortable at all, but bearable even though you feel like he’s poking your stomach. You look down, eyes widening when you see an evident bulge of your stomach that’s Jin’s dick. He looks down, cursing at the sight as he goes to kiss you.

“You’re doing so good, princess.” he praises you, letting you adjust to him while he whispers praises all kind to your ear.

This is it. You’re not a virgin anymore.

You don’t feel any triumphant feeling because of it, although there’s so much love inside your heart knowing you’ve taken this huge step with your loving boyfriend.

When your arms and legs are wrapped around his much bigger body than your is, you tap his back telling him to move. He looks skeptical but nods as he starts pulling out. You cringe at the feeling, breathing through it before he slowly enters you again. He repeats this, making the feeling and tension better even though you can’t feel any pleasure yet.

It’s an instinct, his body telling him to go faster and harder on you, but he’s controlling himself so much. All because of you. He doesn’t want to hurt you and even though, he knows you’re not enjoying this as much as he is, he’s trying to do his best to make this memorable for you.

He doesn’t know that it already is pretty memorable for you.

When you start to feel the slightest pinch of pleasure, you let out a soft gasp mixed with a moan that Jin recognizes right away, he lets himself relax more and does what his body tells him to. He starts thrusting into you with more swift and steady thrusts, which after a few seconds turn into faster and needy ones. Face burrowed into the mattress that’s right underneath and beside your neck, he’s grunting and falling apart with each second. Caressing his back, you coax him and tell him how amazing he is, how much you love him.

“I love you s—“

“A-aaaahhh,” he cuts you off with a low and loud moan, his body stopping all of a sudden as his hips jerk before his heavy body crushes you.

He fills up the condom, chest heaving with harsh and fast breaths like he just ran a marathon.

Did he just cum?

You let your boyfriend stay like that until he fully recovers from his orgasm, still recovering yourself over the fact it took him three minutes to cum. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, especially after he just discovered why everyone praises sex so much. He understands now.

Pulling out of you, he lifts himself up as he sits onto his knees and stares at you with flushed cheeks and shy gaze. “I’m sorry.”

You frown in confusion, slowly sitting up as well, ignoring the ache between your legs and emptiness that Jin has left there. “Why are you apologizing?”

“I-I thought I’d last longer, you didn’t even cum.” he murmurs embarrassingly, sliding off the condom with a cringe while he tosses it into bin that’s in the corner of his bedroom.

He avoids your eyes, slowly sitting back into his previous spot as he wishes he could just bury himself.

“It’s okay,” you tell him softly, reaching for his hand thag you caress gently. “I came twice. Please, don’t worry about it.”

“But you didn’t even enjoy it!” he exclaims, suddenly growing frustrated why you’re so fine with this.

He’s so fucking embarrassed and the look in your eyes screams pity.

“How do you know that? I enjoyed that, Jin, trust me. Maybe I didn’t cum or was screaming out of pleasure, but this was the first time we were doing this. The feeling was so foreign but I know it’ll get better next time, and then better and better, until we can’t get enough of it.” you tell him, coming closer to him as you bump your foreheads before you kiss him.

He doesn’t object, letting you kiss him while he kisses you back before you pull back and he sighs.

“Are you sure?��� he mumbles softly.

“Of course,” you nod, “Three minutes aren’t that bad. I thought you’d last less to be honest.” you comment causing him to glare at you.

“Y/N!” he exclaims in embarrassment, trying to hide his face but you don’t allow him to, gripping his hands tightly in your smaller ones.

“I’m joking, I’m joking!” you laugh, shaking your head. “I can’t believe we’re not virgins anymore.”

For some reason, Jin smiles and stares at you. As you’re about to ask him while he’s staring at you, he beats you to it and his soft voice resounds in the room.

“Me too, and I can’t believe we hadn’t planned it as well. It just happened and I can’t believe it did. I love you.” he confesses.

“Aw, come here, I love you too.” you gush, reaching for another kiss which he gladly gives you.

“But I still can’t get over the smell of sex.” he scrunches his nose as he starts sniffling which makes you snort.

“Well get used to it,” you pat his shoulder, standing up.

You don’t care that you can feel his eyes on your naked ass, silently admiring your body you used to be insecure about. Turning around, he tries to masks the fact he really stared at your ass but fails miserably as usual.

“We’re not gonna play Fornite or other games that much anymore.” you smirk, crouching down to pick up your glasses that for Jin’s sake, are untouched with no damage done.

“No games?” he asks with open mouth and doe eyes, causing you to snort.

“Who’s the nerd now?”

“I’m not nerd!” he says, standing up as he helps you to pick up your clothes.

“Whatever you say,” you mumble, teasing him which you do successfully when you see him pouting from the corner of your eyes. “But I could really play another round of fornite after we take a shower.” you suggest, his eyes lightening all of a sudden as he nods.

“Yeah, let’s go!” he calls out in a complete excitement as he rushes to the bathroom that makes you snicker.

“Nerd,” you mumble, not expecting him to hear you.

“I heard you!” he yells, obviously hearing you.

A soft smile plays on your lips as you put your glasses on top of his desk, following your boyfriend to the bathroom.

The whole day is spent with you two playing games, ignoring messages from your friends before you go for a round two.

But it’s not Fornite or any game that Jin can gush about.

Because you happen to be the only thing he loves to gush about, and his determination to make you feel good and understand how making love really feels, is his next task that you happily obey.

[pm-my-hubbies]

Who Are You Talking To | C.E

Summary: Reader is fed up with Chris not spending time with her on her week-long break.

Pairing: Chris Evans x Black!Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Warning(s): None!

A/N: I accidentally shared this through my personal account! I apologize for any confusion if I tagged you the first time!

Chris was ecstatic when I informed him of the dates for my Fall Break.

He planned out everything we would do together. From planting a blanket in the middle of a park for a lovely picnic to strolling through farms for a pumpkin to carve and sit on our porch. He did all of that.

Yet he’s one strike away from me slapping the shit out of him. He’s been blowing me off every second and I’m due to return for work in two days. We hadn’t done any of what he promised we would accomplish together weeks ago. Instead, he handled work business downstairs for the first part of the day and followed that up with indulging in his own hobbies. I wasn’t a part of any of it.

To add on to it, his Zoom sessions weren’t successful and that prompted him to radiate negativity. Dinner time consisted of him giving me short answers or grunts and through it all, I remained optimistic. I figured being positive and not calling him out on his behavior right then would flip a switch in him to acknowledge how he was acting towards me but nothing happened.

My feet connected with the cold wooden flooring, goosebumps rising on the parts of my body that were exposed because of the tank top and pajama shorts I wore. The clock read 11:54 p.m. I’m praying Chris let Dodger out for the last time this evening.

The volume of the television in the living room increased the closer I dragged my feet to where I presumed he would be resting. Turning the corner, Dodger was the first one I spotted as he slept soundly on his stuffed animal right by the entrance to the room. Chris, on the other hand, watched CNN on blast as if he was an old man struggling to hear; his arms were folded across his chest while he laid on his side and blankly stared at the bright screen.

I rolled my eyes at the absurdity of my week spent at home. “Chris.” I called in a firm voice that was loud enough for Dodger to only blink his eyes open and instantly travel back to Dreamland.

My boyfriend only shifted his gaze to look at me. “Hm?”

“Did you let Dodge out one last time?”

“Mm-mm.”

Breathe Y/N, breathe. I let out a soft sigh as I bent down to gently shake the canine awake. “Dodger, honey. Let’s go outside.” I knew from Chris’ response he wouldn’t be letting our dog out anytime soon. The man would probably drag himself down the hall to bed as the sun rose for a new day.

Dodger simply obeyed my soft command by standing and putting on a show of dramatically stretching. As we made our way towards the back door right behind my miserable boyfriend, I made sure to cut my brown eyes at his lounging figure and hoped he could feel my glare.

Once again, my skin tingled as the cool night air caressed my legs and arms. To keep myself warm, I folded my limbs across my chest, rocking on the balls of my feet. My eyes managed to follow Dodger’s sniffing silhouette in the darkness but as soon as he began the squat for a number two, I looked away.

By now, Chris had shut off the loud tv. Finally.

“I thought you said we would be hanging out for my Fall Break?” I questioned with my back facing him as I kept my eyes on the dog.

“What?”

“I thought you wanted to hang out with me for my break. Week-long, might I add.”

“We are.”

“No we’re not, Chris. And you know it.” I sighed as I moved to slide the door closed but ceased my movement to leave an opening for Dodger in case he finished early. With my hands on my hips, I rotated around to stare down Chris. “You’ve spent every single day downstairs taking care of business with A Starting Point and work, which I have no problem with. It’s what you do afterwards that bothers me. Barely talking to me or not at all and then you sit down here to do whatever. I was trying to be positive and give you your space but now—”

“But now your little feelings are hurt, right?” he snapped. “You’re hurt because I can’t devote 100% of my attention to you on your little break? News flash: everything isn’t about you, Y/N. So, stop your whining and actually think about what I’m going through.”

This would’ve shattered a younger version of myself. But after years of reflection, I realized I was always given the opportunity to fight back instead of wallowing in my tears.

First, I glanced to my left. Then to my right. No sign of life. I grimaced at my boyfriend. “You must not be talking to me.” I indicated with a point towards my chest. “You must be talking to this goddamn wall.” I sassed, jabbing my thumb to the wall behind me.

Suddenly, for the first time in the year Chris and I have been together, his eyes were size of saucers as it dawned on him what he’d done. And how I responded.

Tonight, was his first time taking his anger out on me. Yes, we’ve had our arguments, but those moments were different. This happened to be the time where the world was against Chris and rather than rely on me to comfort him (as I usually would), he was victimizing himself. He probably expected my body to rack with sobs at the harshness of his words, but I was through with that shit tonight.

“Since you wanna pull a Karen on me, your ass can sleep on the couch tonight.” I punished him. In that moment, I felt the softness brushing against my legs. Dodger was finally in. I pulled the door closed all the way this time and locked it. “Come on Dodger, your dad is being an asshat. You can sleep with me.”

Chris was frozen in his spot as the both of us moved past him. I made sure to give him a little bump on the way with my shoulder.

While waiting for Dodger to grasp his animal in his mouth, I observed him throw Chris a quick glance as if telling him that he fucked up. Funnily enough, our dog was the first to exit the scene and hold his head high as he trekked to the bedroom.

“I’m locking that fucking door tonight. Don’t even try it. You made your bed, now lay in it.” I dictated.

~*~

Surprisingly, I slept like a baby. Maybe it’s because I finally said something to Chris about his behavior lately. The previous nights, he would slumber away while I laid awake wondering if we would even spend time together before I headed back to work. Calling him out felt right.

I took care of my morning routine before unlocking the bedroom door and calling for Dodger to wake up. What I didn’t expect on the other side was the tray we roll out for sick days to be standing in front of the door.

Dodger was planning on being difficult as he hadn’t moved from his spot. This gave me ample time to study the tray with a covered meal placed on top and a horizontally folded card with my name scribbled on it.

“You were right last night. I have been distant throughout your break and I’m sorry for ruining the plans I promised. It’s a short amount of time left with you but we’re going to get started early. Eat the breakfast I made for you and then freshen up by putting on your favorite dress. Meet me at the car by 11.”

I chuckled at the message but decided to follow his set of instructions, nonetheless.

~*~

As promised, Chris drove us to the pumpkin patch further away from where we lived for more privacy and intimate time together. We spent the whole ride discussing last night’s events and catching up on the conversations we were meant to have throughout my week in our house. When he parked the car, he suggested we snap as many couple selfies but made sure to emphasize the idea of him taking pictures of me.

“They’re for my phone.” He lied through his teeth as I raised a brow at his idea.

The truth: Chris yearned to share pictures of me on his Instagram. At least half of his feed consisted of me, Dodger, or nature and rarely ever himself. I worried he would lose followers for never updating them on how he was doing but he dismissed my worries with a kiss to my forehead and a, “It’ll be fine, who cares?”

For a while, we explored the farm with our hands linked and eyes moving about at the pumpkins of all shapes and sizes. It wasn’t until we’d reach the halfway point did I realize we didn’t have an exact clue as to which type of pumpkin we were searching for.

“I was thinking one of those big, tall pumpkins.” Chris answered after I asked him what our goal was.

“The ones that look like an orange squash?”

“Yeah.”

“Why…?”

“I don’t know, I’ve always wanted one.” He shrugged. His face held a gentle look of content.

“Well, if a squash-lookin’ pumpkin is what my big baby wants, then a squash-lookin’ pumpkin is what he shall get.”

Chris released my hand to wrap it around my waist and pull me closer to him. I felt my cheeks heat up as he placed a kiss to the crown of my head. After all this time together, he still managed to have me acting like a schoolgirl that somehow caught the attention of her longtime crush.

“Thank you baby.” He answered. “I know I already said this twice; through the note and in the car. But, I’m truly sorry for how I acted last night and the days before that. I was stupid in bottling everything up and not confiding in you like I normally do. Doesn’t justify any of what I said last night but I figured you had a lot on your plate and didn’t want to bother you with my own.”

I paused my walking to glance up at him with what I hoped was love in my eyes. “Chris, you could never bother me. As a couple, we talk to each other. Even if we’ve got problems of our own at the same time? I want you to come to me and I come to you so we can figure things out.” I stood on my toes to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw due to his towering figure. “I love you and accept your apology.

“I love you too.”

“You better. Because my ass wouldn’t be helping you find that ugly pumpkin to make you happy.”

“Hey!” he pouted before I shut him up with a kiss.

Taglist: @chaneajoyyy​ @daddyslittlecaptain​ @tantricevans​ @liquorlaughslove​ @nina-skyee​ @pinkgirlinablueworld​ @norababora @bakarilennox​ @rubyy98​

[hencethebravery]

v i c e  v e r s a

This is the extremely brief story of how a rebellious, narcissistic little whelp fell in love with a smarmy, mustachioed bureaucrat (and vice versa).

+ Agent Mobius sits in an unremarkable cubicle in an unremarkable corner of an unremarkable building in a famously remarkable city. He wakes up and pages through his old travel magazines and not infrequently spills some of his coffee all over them. His subscription expired a year or so ago, and for whatever reason he has not been able to find the time to renew it. He finishes his breakfast and walks a couple blocks (if the weather’s nice) before hopping on the train another 30 minutes to the office, where he always greets security and they sometimes greet him back.

Agent Mobius has been working for the CI division of the Internal Revenue Service for the last 15 years, and he has been maddeningly close to catching Odin, the CEO of Asgard, Inc., for about 10 of those.

He’s worked other cases of course—made an impact in a plethora of other ways (his superiors take comfort in the consistent quality of his work), but they so rarely consumed him with the same degree of ferocity as this one. And it’s not because he’s been trapped within a “will they, won’t they” cluster-cuss with Odin’s impossible son (his youngest) for about 3-4 of the 10 years mentioned.

And no, it’s not a conflict of interest; if anything, he’s undercover.

B. (”Bee”) is his favorite co-worker. He knows almost nothing about her but is completely committed to making sure that he is her favorite co-worker. He’s winning her over. Absolutely.

“That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard you say, Mobius.”

He scoffs and adjusts his belt. He has almost certainly said things dumber than that.

Mobius treats himself to salads from Sissy’s Café 2-3 times a week. They’re on the pricier side because they’re so large, which is really the only way to eat a salad, otherwise you’re still hungry and it was nothing but a waste of money and wilted lettuce. On a seasonally comfortable day he’ll grab it to-go and grab a table at a small park nearby, which is generally speaking one of the nicer parts of his day, unless of course—

“You are terribly predictable, I hope you know.”

Mobius huffs and stabs his fork into a particularly thick bit of spinach and avocado. “You say that as if you’re not, which I find hilarious.”

“Well you would, I am famously quite funny.”

He tries to ignore the fact that the code-word “Young Prince,” has finally gotten the haircut he’s so desperately needed (even more so does he try to ignore the fact that he’d been the one to suggest it). Loki is in black today (surprise, surprise) despite the bright, warm sunshine, and his t-shirt fits snug across his shoulders.

“Nice haircut,” Mobius notes between sips of his ever-warming seltzer.

Loki gives the barest hint of a smile, which is unfortunately one of Mobius’ favorite things, if only because it is one of the few real things about the man.

“Not that you asked, but I stopped by because I have some information for you.”

Mobius sighs. Loki loves claiming to have information, which Mobius more-or-less loves to follow-up on despite the fact that it is unreliable about 85% of the time. Happily enough for Mobius, Loki isn’t a huge fan of his father either, although he is a fan of his father’s money, which doesn’t really work in the IRS’ favor.

“Oh?” Mobius replies, disinterested. “And I’m sure it’s just as helpful as your last little ‘tip’ was.”

“More, actually, and frankly I’m offended by the accusation.”

“I’m sure you are.”

The few seconds that follow would be familiar to anyone who had for whatever reason been observing this strange almost-mating ritual that had been occurring over the years. A comfortably quiet exchange of mutual gazing where Loki secretly admired the bent in Mobius’ nose, and Mobius secretly admired the crinkling around Loki’s eyes when he did that almost-smile he reserved for a lucky few.

Loki clears his throat and reaches across the table for the seltzer, taking a sip whilst decidedly ignoring the look of disbelief on Mobius’ face.

“Excuse me—”

“Yes, excuse you, if you’ll recall I was about to share some very valuable information. The most valuable, you might say.”

The last time Loki interrupted Mobius’ lunch with “valuable information,” he’d wasted an ungodly amount of time and money pursuing a lead (and raiding the office of a rather well-respected Senator) that went nowhere, all because this Senator had made a pointed and correct comment at some rich-person function and Loki has never been able to not take something personally for even one moment in his absurd little life.

“And why should I believe you this time?”

It’s the fidgeting that gives it away—how starts tapping his fingertips against the empty can, his eyes looking anywhere other than at Mobius. That maybe he’s telling the truth this time.

“I’m... tired, I guess.”

“You’re ‘tired.’”

He looks up, briefly, before he returns to this out-of-character bit of looking anywhere else.

“My brother’s off... saving the world,” he starts with a sneer, “Sylvie’s about to have a family—”

“She’s still your family,” Mobius interrupts, “don’t be stupid.”

“But that’s classic me, isn’t it?”

Mobius silently disagrees, but he’s so afraid to burst this bubble of self-awareness—to ruin what has started to feel like a critical, life-changing moment, that he cannot possibly bring himself to speak.

Loki opens his mouth as if he has more to say, but he closes it and places a small black hard drive in the middle of the table instead. When Mobius looks closer, he notices that it’s engraved with a small bolt of lightening. His heart starts to tap in a series quickening, uncomfortable beats. 

“Loki—”

“I’ve had it for a while,” he admits, “if you knew how long you’d probably want nothing more to do with me.”

Mobius has made the moral arguments before; probably to the detriment of the argument itself. That no single man should be able to accumulate so much wealth—that his notoriously stuffy, humorless job is “really important, actually,” and stopping his father could help a lot of people, least of all his own son, and “good god, Loki, what the hell are you even trying to prove?”

“It’s for admittedly selfish reasons,” he continues before Mobius can correct him, “regardless of the final outcome.”

“Why’s that?” Mobius croaks, wishing his tie was just a little bit looser today (so goddamn tight, every single day—)

“Well,” he grins, looking back up at him, finally, “if you’re not undercover, there’s no... what’s the term? ‘Conflict of interest?’”

“Yeah,” Mobius laughs, “yeah, that’s the term.”

Loki pushes the drive across the table. “Take it,” he says, “it’s time you had it.”

"Feels like it should be heavier.”

Loki smirks.

“Shut up.”

Mobius glances at his watch and notices, with surprise, that he’s gone about 5 minutes over his lunch hour.

“Time to go?” Loki asks, the words painted with a nervousness that seems foreign to him.

Agent Mobius has never once returned late from his lunch hour. He respects the agency’s time too much, and what real good has ever come from his lingering? But when he looks back at Loki, who has so recently cut his hair—who suddenly fidgets and appears genuinely nervous, he considers the importance of making exceptions to certain rules. To “loosening his tie,” so to speak. And besides, Bee will cover for him (he’s pretty sure).

“Nah,” Mobius answers, sliding the drive into his coat pocket, “I can be late.”

[elsanna-shenanigans]

August Contest Submission #10: in my chest, a garden made for you

Words: ca. 6,000 Setting: Canon Divergent Lemon: no CW: Brief mention of blood, angst

—————————————————————

Elsa was three years old when her world changed forever. 

It was high summer, and the castle had reached a fever pitch of frenetic activity as the entire kingdom awaited the birth of the queen’s second child. Her labor was longer and more fraught than that of her first child, the crown princess; Elsa was an easy baby from the moment she came into the world as Arendelle’s heir.

The princess sat quietly in her room with a nursemaid while they waited for news. When the king came to get her hours later, Elsa took her father’s hand, a strange premonition building with each step closer to her parents’ room. 

Her mother was propped up in bed, looking drained but radiant. Instantly, Elsa’s eyes were riveted to the swaddled bundle in the queen’s arms. Her hand fell from her father’s grip, and she padded up to the bed in hushed anticipation. The bundle was titled towards her so she could see, and a scrunched little face with a head of bright, strawberry blonde hair came into view. 

“Her name is Anna. She’s your little sister, Elsa.”

Elsa held out a hand, pushing up on her tiptoes to reach one impossibly small fist, gently running a finger over the baby soft knuckles in awe. She gasped; those miniature digits moved, wrapping themselves around Elsa’s finger and holding tight. 

Elsa felt her world shift, and something in her young heart knew in that moment she would never be so taken with another.

—————————————————————

Elsa was nineteen when her world changed forever, again. 

Golden summer light streamed through the castle kitchens, adding to the humid warmth from recently used ovens. Lunch was being served upstairs, leaving it perfectly deserted for a pair of princesses who were sneaking off for a secret lunch of their own. 

Elsa set aside a couple fastelavnsbolle from one of the dessert platters, hesitating for a moment before plucking out another. Anna’s appetite had always surpassed hers; all of that natural exuberance required more fuel. The cardamon flavored buns were cut in half and filled with whipped cream— one of Anna’s favorites. 

She jumped when there came a bang, followed by a muffled ‘ouch’ that echoed from the one of the store rooms. The one where Anna was currently searching for the cook’s private stash of chocolate.

Elsa paused. “Are you alright?” She called softly. 

Anna’s head appeared from behind the pantry door. “Yup! Totally fine, nothing to worry about over here!” She eyed something inside— probably whatever had fallen. “Pretty sure those dents will come out,” she muttered under her breath. 

An eyebrow inched up Elsa’s forehead and her lips twitched fighting a smirk. “Just try not to make it too obvious we’ve been here, please,” she said, her voice leaking exasperated fondness. 

“Don’t worry Elsa, it’ll be like I was never even here. A ghost.” She waved a hand in front of her face, fingers wiggling. “Poof.”

Elsa snorted delicately, more of a forceful exhale through her nose, and gave her sister a pointed look. 

Sunlight caught Anna’s face as she smiled back innocently, burnishing her hair and illuminating her freckles, flashing more green than blue in her eyes. She glowed as if the sun had sought her out, or perhaps, and more likely, that radiance simply came from Anna, as she gave Elsa a cheeky salute and ducked back into the pantry. 

Elsa shook her head, smiling softly to herself. 

She had just finished wrapping the smørbrød with smoked salmon when she felt an odd ache in her chest. Elsa frowned and brought a hand up to rub at her sternum. Brushing it off, she continued packing the rest of their picnic. Not a minute later, an itch sprang to life in the back of her throat. That was Elsa’s only warning before she was coughing roughly into her palm, and pulling something from her mouth. 

She looked down and froze. 

A petal, blush pink, lay in her palm. Alien and accusatory, it looked like an omen in a language she had never seen before. There was no time to begin questioning how and why; a rustling from Anna’s direction had Elsa snapping her fingers closed, the silken flower petal crumpling in her fist. She slipped it into the folds of her skirt, knowing without knowing how she knew that this was not something she could share. With anyone. 

Anna reappeared, concern pinching her face. “You okay Elsa?”

Elsa cleared her throat with a quick smile. “Perfectly.” She uncurled her fingers and let the petal fall to the bottom of her pocket, masking the tremor in her hands by fiddling with the tablecloth in the picnic basket. Tying off the corners over their food, she glanced up at Anna, who still hadn’t moved. “Well?”

Her sister blinked. “Well what?”

“I don’t see any chocolate.”

Anna rolled her eyes with a grin and ducked back inside. “Yeah yeah, hold your horses your highness, I’ll get you your chocolate.” 

Elsa chuckled, but the mirth slipped from her face as soon as Anna was out of sight.

She shivered and rubbed at her chest again. 

It no longer felt warm in the kitchen. 

—————————————————————

It was six months before Elsa found another petal on her tongue. 

She was troubled by the occasional tickle in her throat, sometimes a lingering congestion, but for a while everything seemed normal and she could almost forget the strange thing that happened on that summer afternoon in the kitchen. 

Elsa’s twentieth birthday came and went, and so too did any illusions that the first petal had been a fluke. 

One morning, in early spring, she woke from a dream she couldn’t remember with a petal in her mouth. After that, one appeared every few weeks, until she could no longer deny the truth. 

Something was growing in her lungs. 

—————————————————————

It was becoming obvious to everyone that something was not right. 

The unease in Anna’s eyes deepened every time she had to supply a fresh handkerchief, or ran to fetch a glass of water, or rubbed soothing circles over Elsa’s back. 

Their parents had finally summoned the royal physician. He would be there first thing in the morning. 

Elsa stared up at the canopy of her bed, heart pulsing with dread. 

She thought of her last fit— the one in the library. Curled up on the plush loveseat with Anna tucked into her side, Elsa had been reading from an anthology of old fairytales. Anna had looped an arm through Elsa’s, leaning her head on Elsa’s shoulder with a sleepy sigh. She’d only made it through two pages after that before her lungs seized and Elsa had to excuse herself. 

Before that had been during a state dinner. To escape boredom, Anna had resurrected an old game: first one to smile lost. Her tried and (mostly) true method was to make increasingly absurd faces at Elsa when no one was looking. Elsa rarely lost, but that night she’d cracked, fingers shielding her lips to avoid offending the present company with an inappropriate smirk. Except it wasn’t a giggle that came out of her mouth next, but a cough. With a few murmured apologies, Elsa was gone, necessity forcing her to duck into an empty room to clear her lungs. 

Elsa worried her lip, trying to remember the last time her lungs had bothered her when her sister wasn’t around. She came up blank. 

Could …proximity to Anna be making her worse? 

The idea was impossible, absolutely ridiculous, and yet…

Elsa thought of her sister. Anna. Little Sun- the king called her- Arendelle’s summer princess. Full of relentless enthusiasm and joy, who had a kind word for everyone she met and would go out of her way to help anyone who needed it. Any situation was made better, simply for her being there. Anna was loyal and selfless and fierce and sweet.  

She thought of the way their hands fit just right, like when Anna reached for Elsa’s because she had something to show her and couldn’t contain her excitement. How she rambled with passion about whatever caught her interest, or stuttered adorably when she was flustered. The way her freckles accentuated the charming slope of her nose, or the appealing silhouette she made in her dresses. The way her lips…

Elsa convulsed, her body curling into a ball as a bright flare of pain twisted in her chest. When it passed, she was left gasping raggedly, clutching a fist full of petals. A flood of horror turned her stomach.  

When had she started feeling that way about her own sister?

How could this have happened?

Fingers twisting in the fabric of her nightgown over her heart, Elsa thought suddenly of Icarus. Was there a moment he’d missed, a sign he had ignored that could have stopped the undoing of his ambitious flight? When the sun seared a warning into his skin as the wax began to soften? Or was there no discernible line between safe and deadly, between one moment and the next before he was plummeting towards earth, crashing to the swallowing sea in a blaze of feather and flame?

Plants need the sun to grow.

Like Icarus before her, Elsa had flown too close to her sun.

She turned her face into the pillow, and wept. 

—————————————————————

The royal physician pulled the dressing gown closed over Elsa’s chest, a frown tugging at the wrinkles bracketing his mouth. He removed the stethoscope and set it on the bed, where it lay, limp and sinuous as a snake. Rocking back in his seat, he chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment, then turned to address the monarchs who stood on the opposite side of the bed. 

“There is an… obstruction in her lungs.”

The king and queen shared a look, distress painting their features. 

“An obstruction?” Elsa’s mother wrung her hands fretfully. “What does that mean, what kind of obstruction—”

“—can it be removed?” Her father’s deeper baritone interrupted. 

“Is it contagious?”

“Is it consumption?”

The physician held up a hand. “Forgive me, your majesties, I wish I had more answers to give but…” he glanced at Elsa. She stared at the patterns in her comforter, spine rigid, hands folded primly in her lap. “At the moment I don’t know more than that. All we can do for now is continue to monitor her, make sure her diet is healthy, and see that she gets fresh air and sunlight.” 

Elsa flinched. 

“It may go away on its own,” he added. 

The look on his face said he doubted that very much. 

—————————————————————

Their parents were reluctant at first, but eventually Elsa convinced them that isolation was the safest option for everyone, including Anna. At least, she reasoned, until they could be sure she wasn’t contagious. 

For a little while, things seemed to improve. Less coughing, fewer petals. If the staff caught Anna lingering outside her door they were instructed to shoo her along; Elsa tried not to hear the desperate cajoling and entreating as their voices faded down the hallway, leaving behind a cavernous silence and an even larger ache. Breathing marginally easier afterwards was the smallest of comforts. 

Most days, it really wasn’t a comfort at all.

It became a concerted effort to keep Anna occupied and away from Elsa, but that didn’t mean there weren’t nights when Anna camped outside her door anyway. In hushed tones she’d tell Elsa about her day, what she thought about her studies, the latest gossip she’d overheard— anything she could think of to draw Elsa into conversation. When those nightly monologues were interrupted by more frequent bouts of coughing, Anna reluctantly conceded her sister wasn’t fit enough for visits. 

Letters and notes started appearing under Elsa’s door instead. 

Elsa tried to keep herself busy with her own studies, tried to keep thoughts of her sister as far from her conscious mind as possible— when she wasn’t inundated with endearing slips of parchment containing every thought Anna wanted to share. 

Dreams however, were out of her control.

The petals she occasionally found on her pillow in the morning made that abundantly clear. 

A year went by and still, Elsa tried. 

—————————————————————

It’s been such a perfect summer and we’ve had so little rain, I can’t help spending every possible moment outside. But then I remember that you’re in there, sick and miserable, and I feel awful that I’m enjoying things you can’t. Remember when we used to sneak out and have picnics by the fjord? Gosh it really sent Kai and Gerda into fits didn’t it? Don’t think I never noticed how you always packed more dessert for me, or claimed you couldn’t finish so I could have yours. 

I’m sure you know mother and father are leaving next week for that coronation down south on the continent. I bet the summers in Corona are even warmer. Maybe when you’re better we can go,  just the two of us! You’re twenty one now, plenty old enough for us to travel alone. Apparently the princess is around our age, though I guess she’ll be the queen soon. 

I wish I could see you Elsa, I don’t even care that I might get sick. I just miss you. 

—————————————————————

Their parents went to sea and never came back.

Anna attended the funeral alone. 

Elsa lay in bed, sheets strewn with handkerchiefs and the corollas of a flower she still had no name for. Her tears had been exhausted and she stared listlessly out the window at grey skies heavy with unspent rain. Emptiness carved a cavernous hole inside her, hollowing out all other feeling.  

Except, that wasn’t exactly true. Guilt slithered inside her, making its presence felt lest she forget her sickness was adding to Anna’s pain.The one thing that might give them both a measure of comfort— finding solace in one another — Elsa’s curse prevented. The one thing she wanted so badly to do was the one thing she couldn’t, because she wanted it so badly. She couldn’t hold Anna, or dry her tears, or squeeze her hand as they stood at their parents’ empty graves and the last rights were spoken. 

She was bound to her bed with a corrupted heart and damaged lungs, useless. 

Anna came to her room late that night. She sat with her back to the door, not speaking a word. Frozen between fear and longing, Elsa waited. Eventually, her sister slumped over and fell asleep, right there in the hallway. Elsa stumbled out of bed and sank to the floor, the unforgiving hardwood digging into one hip as she lay facing the gap between them. It was only about an inch, but she could see a swatch of black fabric and the red of Anna’s hair, muted in the darkness. She was still in her mourning dress from the funeral.

Elsa splayed one hand flat on the floor as close to the crack under the door as she dared. Close enough to touch, almost. She watched the rhythm of her sister’s breathing until sleep pulled her under. 

When she woke there was an entire flower beside her lips, and Anna was gone. 

—————————————————————

For a while, there were no notes or letters.  

And so, for the first time in more than a year, Elsa wrote Anna back. It no longer mattered that it cost her more petals and sometimes an entire flower, she just needed Anna know she’d been listening, that she was still there. Regardless of her… illness, Anna deserved more than silence. 

It only took a few days for Anna to respond. Soon they were writing nearly every day. 

With her letters, Elsa began including flowers. Kai or Gerda were gracious enough to fetch them from the garden, which had been cultivated rather extensively under their mother’s direction. One of the books she’d kept since those first frantic searches in the library was a piece of literature called The Language of Flowers. Elsa had read it so often that she knew the illustrations and their corresponding meanings by heart. 

So, when she could, Elsa added an extra sentiment to her letters, a veiled meaning that Anna would never guess at. 

That summer she sent honeysuckle often. Devotion and affection. 

In the autumn, the pansy. You occupy my thoughts. 

For winter, cyclamen. Sincerity and love. 

Nearly every morning Elsa tossed handfuls of her own petals and the occasional full bloom into the fire, burning the evidence of her heart’s indiscretion to fragrant ash. If Kai or Gerda noticed a lingering floral scent amongst the metallic tang and wondered at it, they said nothing. 

As time passed, Elsa found herself slipping in flowers that were more revealing of her true feelings, things she could not, should not ever say, even if her heart desperately wanted to. Not that Anna would ever know. They were hidden in a language she would never think to learn, and probably wasn’t aware existed. 

That next spring her letters were perfumed with orange blossoms. Eternal love. 

For summer it was lilac, for first love. In some of her weaker moments, the cornflower. Hope in love. 

In fall, the intoxicating scent of jasmine. Romance and sensuality.

Primrose for winter. I can’t live without you. Sometimes, when she was feeling melancholy, a daffodil. Unrequited love. 

Now that she was expelling entire flowers, Elsa finally understood what was growing in her lungs. 

Camellias. 

They meant deep longing.

—————————————————————

I never realized how much you enjoyed flowers. Did we ever spend much time in the gardens? I don’t think we did, at least not together, though I know it was one of mother’s favorite places. 

Either way, I love them. Each one is so different and beautiful. But that’s not surprising. I think beautiful people have an eye for beautiful things. Or actually, maybe that’s just you. Being beautiful I mean, not that you only have an eye for— never mind, you know what I mean.  It really is just the two of us now, isn’t it? Though, there are some days it feels like it’s just me.

I miss hearing your laugh. I miss seeing that intense face you make when you’re concentrating, or hearing your voice when you read aloud. I miss the way I could talk about anything and you’d listen, even if I went on forever about something silly or stupid. I miss how safe I felt when you were with me, like no matter what happened things would be okay, and you’d catch me. I miss watching your eyes light up when you try to hide a smile.

I miss you. 

—————————————————————

Elsa tugged her thick dressing gown more securely around herself. It was only the cusp of winter, but already a permanent chill had seeped into her bones, agitating her lungs. Her strength leeched out of her a little more each day; time that wasn’t devoted to official paperwork or Anna’s letters, was lost to sleep. 

Elsa fidgeted with the handkerchief on her desk, folding it into a crisp square. The creases in this one were so deep they had become permanent guides, a map she followed to sooth anxiety and pain. Hand stitched in one corner, the words: To Elsa, love Anna. 

I do.

Like a lightning bolt, her lungs rebelled; Elsa’s forehead nearly touched the desk as she bent over, expelling her floral inhabitants into her hand. She scrambled for another handkerchief, fingers reaching blindly across the desk until they encountered cloth, bringing it quickly to her mouth.

Only after she’d caught her breath did she realize, too late, that she’d used Anna’s. She unfolded it, picking out a handful of petals and one full bloom, setting them to the side in a small pile. Elsa stared at the painstakingly stitched cloth, full of slightly crooked flowers and missed stitches. Anna hated embroidery. It required a patience and precision her energetic spirit did not often allow. 

This had been pushed under her door in the early hours of her twenty first birthday, wrapped in blue tissue and silver string, along with a letter and a handful of crocuses.       

I know you’re going to be queen soon (well, I guess technically you already are) and I thought these were appropriate. Or maybe giving you our national flower was dumb? I don’t know, but Gerda said they mean cheerfulness and hope, and that’s something I think you need right now. Happy birthday Elsa.

The letter was still in Elsa’s bedside drawer, next to every other letter Anna had ever given her. The flowers had been pressed between the pages of her favorite book, and the handkerchief she kept with her always. Though never used— for this very reason; now it was stained in blood that would never come out, not completely. An indelible corruption on something otherwise pure.  

Slowly, Elsa folded it back up again, allowing the clean sections of linen to obscure the lurid evidence of her deviant heart, until she could almost pretend it wasn’t there at all. 

She picked up a pressed flower from the desk, one for her next letter to Anna, twirling it between thumb and forefinger as she watched the snow drift down. 

Purple hyacinth. Forgive me. 

—————————————————————

Elsa was losing time. 

Dizzy and weak, she’d find herself suddenly in bed, or slumped in a chair. A handful of times she woke with her cheek pressed to the cold floor, body aching all over. 

Sometimes she thought she heard Anna’s voice, but the line between reality and dreaming were blurring, and it was impossible to know if her sister was truly there, or figment of the visions that clung to her like cobwebs after waking.

Elsa didn’t write many letters anymore, but the flowers said what she couldn’t. 

Pressed gladiolus. You pierce my heart. 

Dahlia. One true love. 

The red tulip, pressed and preserved. I declare my love for you. 

—————————————————————

A knock on the door. 

Kai let himself in, calling softly, “Your majesty? You wanted me to deliver Anna’s gift?” 

Elsa stirred, rousing from a half sleep. Anna’s gift? Her mind fumbled, trying to understand what he was talking about as a tide of lethargy fought for her consciousness. 

It was still December… wasn’t it? It must be Christmas. 

“On the desk Kai,” she wheezed. Was that her voice?  

“The stack on the corner ma’am?” 

“Yes…thank you.” Sleep was dragging her under. “… Merry Christmas Kai.” 

She did not hear him leave. 

—————————————————————

Elsa was having a rare good day.

They were few and far between, but when she was able to rise in the morning, lucid and aware, that was a special thing. Elsa reclined in bed while nursing a cup of tea, a book of poetry propped against her knees. She couldn’t find her copy of The Language of Flowers, which she’d been in the mood to peruse. It was nearly always on her desk, but it came as no surprise that she seemed to have misplaced it. 

Knock knock kn-knock knock

The blooms, the heart in her chest strained towards the sun. 

“Elsa?”

Anna’s voice, sweet and painful; ache and salve both. Grey winter light flickered through the gap underneath the door, Anna’s footsteps throwing off distorted shapes. Elsa stared at Anna’s shadow, heart shuddering at her closeness. 

After a moment there came a big sigh, and her sister sat down against the door with a thump. 

“I hope you’re doing okay in there.”

Elsa slipped out of bed and padded silently over to the door, sitting down against the wall. She tucked her legs under her, arranging the velvet dressing gown over her bare feet. 

“I’m here.” Elsa winced. It sounded like she’d swallowed gravel.

There was a sharp intake of breath. Clothes rustling, Anna scooted closer, and her voice sounded from mere inches away. “Hey.”

Elsa could hear the soft smile in her sister’s voice, could picture the charming curl of her mouth. She closed her eyes and tipped her head back, savoring the warmth that flooded her chest like a gentle fire, even as it clenched in warning. She couldn’t bring herself to care. 

“Hi.” Elsa chuckled, feeling shy and a little giddy. It had been so long since they’d done this, actually talked face to… well, door. 

“So…,” Anna said after a beat of silence. “Christmas was nice. We sent out an invitation for an open brunch cause I thought, might as well right? No one’s using the space and we have food to spare. It was nice to see the place so full, but…well, you know. It’s not the same.”

Without you, she didn’t have to say. 

Elsa toyed with a lock of her hair, winding it between her fingers. It hung in loose platinum waves to her waist; she hadn’t braided it in days. At least she’d brushed it. 

“I’m sorry.” For all of it, she wanted to say. I’m sorry for everything I’ve put you through. 

“You don’t have to apologize Elsa, it’s not like you can help being sick.” 

Couldn’t she though? If Elsa had just tried harder? When had she stopped trying to fall out of love with Anna?

There was a huff of a laugh behind her. “Do you remember that one Christmas when we snuck buckets of snow into the ballroom? We had just enough to make that one lumpy snowman, what was his name again?” Anna snapped her fingers. “That’s right, it was—”

“Olaf!” They said together, dissolving into giggles. 

Elsa wiped at her eyes. “They were so furious with us. I’d never heard them run down that staircase so quickly.” She winced as her lungs pinched briefly. 

“Honestly I think father was secretly impressed we managed it. Just a shame our little guy melted so fast.”

Elsa hummed in agreement. “It was worth it though.” 

“Sure was.” 

“You always had a talent for finding fun that involved trouble of some kind.” 

Anna laughed. “You loved it. Besides, you were always there to get me out of it.” 

“Of course.” 

Pain, sharp as a thunderclap burst inside her breast. Elsa’s lips parted in a soundless gasp, her hand flying to her sternum. Her lungs roiled. 

Not now. Please not now. 

“…Elsa? Are you okay?”

Elsa staggered to her feet with a whimper, camellias already occluding her throat. She suppressed the first few hacking spasms, but this was so much worse than usual. A few steps into the room her knees buckled, as the flowers came and came and came. Her legs gave out and Elsa crumpled to the floor at the foot of her bed, unable to stem the floral tide from her lips. Faintly she registered Anna pounding on the door, calling out, but then it was lost to the darkness. 

—————————————————————

Elsa

Elsa!

A voice, calling her from above a dark ocean as she sank. It was so hard to breathe, her limbs weighted with lead and useless while the sea seeped into her mouth. In her darker moments she’d imagined what it would feel like to drown, what it must have felt like when their parents were dying. The pressure, the ache, the burning breathlessness—

But no. It wasn’t water in her lungs. 

A living thing clamored in her chest, growing where no living thing should grow. Roots… she was rooted to the earth, not adrift in the ocean. She was being swallowed up in dark soil, a garden ready and waiting to burst from her ribs as soon as her body was finished struggling. Then she would finally be free. 

And Anna would be alone. 

Anna.

—————————————————————

“No…no, no, no—”

She was being lifted, jostled into someone’s arms. Hands, fluttering and frantic, ghosted over her, soft as butterfly wings, unable to settle. Words filtered in and out. The voice sounded incredibly upset. 

“Elsa… oh please, Elsa…”

Confusion snagged thoughts adrift in a heavy fog. That couldn’t be right… Anna wasn’t supposed to be in her room. She was on the wrong side of the door. There was something she wasn’t supposed to know, that Elsa had to make sure she didn’t know. 

It drifted away. 

—————————————————————

She was in bed. 

Elsa felt the familiar weight of her comforter and the pillows at her back. How had she gotten there? How much time had passed, and what had she been…? 

Anna. 

Her eyes fluttered open with difficulty.   

She froze.

Anna was perched on the side of the bed. On her bed. In her room. 

“Hey.” Anna’s smile was soft and hesitant, and a little sad. 

Elsa pushed herself upright on shaky arms. Reflexively she touched her mouth, but found it free of blood. Anna must have lifted her into bed and cleaned her up. “Hi.” Her voice was a painful croak. 

Anna quickly reached for a glass of water on the nightstand, pressing it into Elsa’s hands. Elsa gave her a grateful smile, studying her as she drank. 

Anna’s thick russet locks hung free over her shoulders, the hair near her temples braided in a circlet around her head. The dress she wore was deep green with plum embellishments, a matching sash cinched at her waist. A sharply tailored black jacket with their autumn wheat motif embroidered on the shoulders finished the ensemble. She looked older. Beautiful. 

Elsa set the glass back on the nightstand. There was too much to say and Elsa had no idea where to begin. She looked at her sister and found herself blurting, “How did you get in?”

Anna gave her an exasperated look. “I learned how to pick locks.”

“Oh.” 

“Elsa…what is all this?” She looked confused and unsettled as she gestured to the flowers scattered on Elsa’s floor. In her hand was a camellia, spotted with blood. 

Elsa’s throat tightened. She felt suddenly, unbearably naked. 

“It’s…” Elsa waved a hand over her chest, feeling small and ashamed. “They’re in my lungs,” she finished in a whisper, shrugging helplessly. It was not even close to the whole truth, but how could she explain the nature of her affliction? How was she supposed to tell Anna that her sickness had manifested as a reflection of her perverse heart? 

If she did one thing right in her life, it would be to take this truth with her to the grave. Anna had enough burdens to carry. 

Anna gaped at her, then down at the flower nestled in her palm, her brow pulling into a deep frown. “Wait… what? How is that poss— I…I don’t understand.”

The absurdity of it all struck her then, startling a faint laugh out of Elsa that ended in something closer to a sob. She quickly pressed a hand her lips. “Neither do I.”  

One of Anna’s hands gripped the comforter, twisting the fabric until her knuckles turned white. She struggled for a moment, and Elsa’s heart squeezed painfully when Anna’s eyes turned glassy. “I… I can’t lose you Elsa, not when I—” 

Elsa reached for her, but something behind Anna caught her eye and she stopped. 

At the foot of her bed was a bouquet of flowers. Not just any flowers. 

“Are those…” They couldn’t be. Elsa was fluent in the language of flowers, but Anna wasn’t. Her sister had no idea what those meant. No idea what they said. If she had, she wouldn’t be giving them to Elsa. 

It was a bouquet of Camellias. 

Pink and red camellias. 

Pink, like hers, for longing and red for—

Desire. Passion. 

Romantic love.  

A mistake. It was a mistake, there was no other explanation. 

“Are those for me?” Elsa rasped, weak with disbelief and a shameful pang of longing that slithered out before she could stop it. 

“Yeah Elsa, they are.” 

She shook her head in denial, staring at those impossible flowers. “But—”

Fingertips settled against her lips, and Elsa’s heart stopped.

Soft and warm, it was the first skin to skin contact she’d had in longer than she could remember, and it sent shockwaves through Elsa’s body. Suddenly every sense that had been dulled over the years, though intention or neglect, came alive. She had the irresistible urge to press a kiss to those fingers, had only to apply the slightest bit of pressure to do so, but that beautiful teal gaze had turned her to stone. 

“Yes Elsa,” Anna said quietly. Unshed tears lingered in her eyes, her expression solemn yet underscored by a quiet resolve that blazed just beneath the surface. So unlike the girl Elsa remembered; a queen in her own right. Seeing it now broke her heart as much as it made her proud. She was meant to protect Anna from that burden. She had failed in so many ways. 

Anna’s thumb grazed the corner of her mouth, and Elsa’s breath hitched. “I know what they mean.”

How could you? Elsa’s gaze drifted to her desk and the designated corner where The Language of Flowers always sat, now empty. The last time she’d seen it… was three days ago, when Kai had retrieved Anna’s present. Which had been sitting on top of the book. Elsa’s heart stuttered. Had he…? 

Anna reached down and clasped Elsa’s hands. “Every flower you gave me… I finally understand what you’ve been telling me all this time.”

“That wasn’t… that wasn’t my intention, I— ” Elsa stammered. She could hardly breathe, her heart was beating so fast. “You weren’t supposed to know. Ever,” she whispered thickly, too laid bare to even deny it. 

Anna’s smile was rueful. “I kinda figured as much when I got my Christmas present and your Language of Flowers was there too, with all your notes and bookmarks.”

Elsa squeezed her eyes shut, a single tear streaking down her cheek. Shame raged inside her, hot and hungry. She felt lightheaded.  

“Hey.” A hand brushed her face, encouraging her to open her eyes. “It’s okay Elsa, I promise.”

Anna reached back, liberating a red camellia from the bouquet. She held it up between them. “It’s okay because… I love you too.” Anna took her hand and closed Elsa’s fingers around the stem. “And when I say ‘love’,” she continued gently, “I mean in love.”

“How… why?” This can’t be what you want. You aren’t broken, like me.

A fond smile curved Anna’s lips. “Because you’re you, Elsa. Beautiful and kind and smart and thoughtful and loving, and so many other things. You’re perfect.”  

Elsa most certainly was not, but it was difficult to argue when Anna was looking at her like that. And then she was leaning in, dark pupils fixed on Elsa’s mouth.

“You could get sick,” Elsa hedged weakly. 

“I don’t care,” Anna murmured. 

She was so close now and Elsa couldn’t think; words deserted her as those flushed pink lips drew her into their orbit. 

Anna’s lips brushed hers in a whisper, her kiss ghosting over Elsa’s mouth in a touch so sweet, so unerringly devastating, it shattered the last crumbling walls Elsa had erected around herself. Her foundations fell away beneath her, until the only anchor was that forbidden touch, more perfect than anything she’d experienced. Frisson rippled along every nerve, shivering over her bare skin.

Elsa reached out a hand and found Anna’s neck, the delicate pulse beneath soft skin thrumming in time with her heart, accelerating under Elsa’s touch as she allowed herself to claim Anna’s lips like it was the last thing she’d ever do. 

Maybe it was. 

A noise, soft and high, caught in Anna’s throat, and her mouth parted to allow Elsa in. Elsa took what she offered, losing herself in the lush warmth of her, caressing Anna with a purpose she never dreamed she’d have the chance, let alone the right to do. 

Anna broke away first, her gasps falling heavy against Elsa’s lips, amplified in the quiet room. Elsa cupped her cheek, stroking it with her thumb as she gazed back into eyes heavy lidded and bright. 

Anna closed the distance again, her nose brushing along Elsa’s as she brought their foreheads together.

“I love you, Elsa,” she breathed, voice breaking. “I don’t want to lose you. I can’t, not now.”

Elsa opened her mouth to respond and stopped. Something had changed. She’d almost missed it in the overwhelming euphoria of kissing Anna, but now a stunning absence was made plain. The revelation echoed through her like silent thunder. 

“You won’t,” she said, her voice possessed by certainty, and filled with awe. Elsa lifted their hands, placing Anna’s flat against her chest. The heartbeat under Anna’s palm was no longer weak and thready, but strong and sure. 

Elsa stared at Anna in wonder and inhaled deeply, from lungs that were completely empty for the first time in six years. 

[permanentcrossfics]

Blurred Lines: Until They Met Again // h.s.

Italics sorted (someone tell me why Google Docs doesn’t love me like Microsoft Word did by letting me copy italics?)! Happy reading, all. See you next time x

“So, m’going to be back in New York soon.” Again, you said nothing, and after a beat he continued. “Just for a night or so — I’ll be flying into Philadelphia and then out to LA for some work stuff.”

“Philadelphia to New York to LA?” you asked.

“London to Philadelphia and Philadelphia to LA.”

“So—” Bless whatever and whoever it was that’d sicked the cat on you to catch your tongue before you could ask him why he was coming to New York if he was flying into and out of Philadelphia. “That’ll be nice.”

He cleared his throat again and you dropped your phone from your ear to take a deep breath, suddenly hot.

“Yeah, so,” he began, “I was thinkin’, y’know. If you’re free or you’d like to….”

You’d like to laugh, because this whole thing was wildly fucking funny. Harry Styles was dialing you for a booty call after a one night stand from months ago. Harry Styles was going to detour into the city for one night just for you, and it wasn’t because you’d had such riveting conversation last time.

“When?” Your fingers twitched at your side.

“When’s good for you?”

Read NOW on Patreon // Tumblr // Wattpad // Read the extended ending only on Patreon

So, the truth was: you’d had sex with Harry Styles and forgotten all about him. 

No — seriously. You’d had sex with Harry Styles and forgotten all about him. 

Honestly, it was all more like a fever dream than anything. It’d happened to you — with you — and even you didn’t buy it. Because why would Harry Styles go to a hole in the wall burger place in the middle of New York City? Didn’t he have people to see at much nicer places with way better food? Especially after one of his own concerts, with people wanting to celebrate him?

And the sex…. It wasn’t even the night of that made your toes curl the most. The morning after, in the forty or so minutes it took room service to get to your hotel room? He’d fucked like his life depended on it. You’d been on your belly, and he’d been in it, skin slapping and both of you wheezing and sputtering your ways to the end because in the morning hours, they might care. In the morning, there might be someone who could recognize his voice or who would wonder if you cried out his name — you weren’t the only one who’d grabbed a hotel for the show, after all. Remembering the low, rumbling groan that’d echoed in his throat as he pulsed inside you and pushed his hips just so against you made you clench if you thought about thinking about it.

He’d left, you’d left, and you hadn’t told a single soul — not your friends, not your Instagram, and definitely not your mother. Not because he’d asked you not to, or because you couldn’t, but because it was the right thing to do. Only the worst of people had busy fingers and thumbs to take fishing selfies and post stories that created more talk than their mouths ever could. And honestly? It was easier to pretend it hadn’t happened, because that was absurd. The whole of it from top to bottom was the most hysterical insanity, and if you’d read it in a blind item column, you’d laugh your way around the world and fall off if it was flat.

(But it wasn’t flat, and as it was, you’d go round and round in circles, and where you’d stop, nobody would know.)

So, you had to forget all about him. And it’d worked, too. The end of June bled almost indiscernibly with the beginning of July, the blazing sun of which made all but the most touristy of tourists want to crawl underground. August brought enough relief to make you throw your windows open and lie naked on your bed, hoping a breeze would blow through, but it wasn’t until September you knew peace.

And then you’d picked up the phone. 

It was an unknown number, and you were a 21st century person who routinely ignored any call from any number they didn’t know (and, sometimes, the ones they did). Maybe you knew — maybe that was why, despite your hiss of annoyance, you slid your thumb on the screen. “Hello?” Clipped in anticipation of either a robotic voice or a sales pitch, you barely held the phone to your ear, poised and at the ready to hang up as quickly as you’d picked up. You leaned across your sofa to grab the remote you’d thrown onto the cushions at the opposite end at the start of the film you’d put on. 

“Hey, it’s uh—” The owner of the voice on the other end cleared its throat, but you were already frozen, tense and in shock, prickles erupting on your scalp and up your arms. You didn’t need him to say who he was. Even as quietly as he was speaking, the cadence and lilt were familiar to you anywhere. As was the smile you could hear in his voice. “It’s Harry.” 

You jammed your thumb on the pause button several times until it finally took. 

“Hi.” Flat, dull, and totally uninterested, which was not true or accurate. “Hi,” you repeated breathlessly, hoping he could hear the difference. “Hi, I didn’t— sorry. I thought it might be a spam….” You took a deep breath. He didn’t care. Hell, you didn’t care. “How are you?” 

Harry’s cough sounded suspiciously like a laugh. “M’good,” he said. “Y’know, m’doin’ well, just… keeping busy. Working.” 

You hummed but otherwise stayed silent, waiting. This wasn’t exactly a phone call you got any day and every day, and you doubted he was calling to check in with you.

“So, m’going to be back in New York soon.” Again, you said nothing, and after a beat he continued. “Just for a night or so — I’ll be flying into Philadelphia and then out to LA for some work stuff.” 

“Philadelphia to New York to LA?” you asked.

“London to Philadelphia and Philadelphia to LA.” 

“So—” Bless whatever and whoever it was that’d sicked the cat on you to catch your tongue before you could ask him why he was coming to New York if he was flying into and out of Philadelphia. “That’ll be nice.” 

He cleared his throat again and you dropped your phone from your ear to take a deep breath, suddenly hot. 

“Yeah, so,” he began, “I was thinkin’, y’know. If you’re free or you’d like to….” 

You’d like to laugh, because this whole thing was wildly fucking funny. Harry Styles was dialing you for a booty call after a one night stand from months ago. Harry Styles was going to detour into the city for one night just for you, and it wasn’t because you’d had such riveting conversation last time. 

“When?” Your fingers twitched at your side. 

“When’s good for you?”

For a moment, everything went white with the headrush from the overwhelming power flooding you. He was waiting on you — fares and change fees probably didn’t matter to him, if he paid much for anything at all with how many airline miles he’d probably racked up in his life. 

“Next Friday?” you asked. You’d need a full two days to recover from the shock alone. “If that’s good for you.” 

“Should be,” he said. “I’ll let you know.”

You smirked slightly. Trying to regain a little control? “Sounds good,” you murmured, fingernails digging into your knee. “If not this time then another time, maybe.” 

Needless to say when he texted you ten minutes after hanging up, Friday worked perfectly. 

You didn’t hear from him again until closer to the date. Part of you was wondering if he’d forgotten, but when he asked you on Thursday if you were still on, you stared at his very formal message for a good fifteen seconds just… absorbing the fact that he was coming into town just to see you. 

To have sex with you. 

He wanted to meet for dinner first — God, did you have to? It made the whole thing so much more… you both knew you were winding up naked at the end of the night, anyway.  When you looked up the restaurant, you just about died right there on your sofa. It was, in a word, expensive. The type of expensive that didn’t have the prices listed online but that Yelp was all too happy to spill. Stress mounted in you and you blinked in the dim blue light of your computer, shellshocked, scrolling through the reviews with your hand pressed tightly to your cheek. 

It was a drop in the bucket, maybe, but he didn’t have to do this. He knew that, didn’t he? 

More than once you wrote out a message to cancel — you didn’t feel well, a work thing came up that you couldn’t get out of, someone from somewhere was flying into town and you had to see them. Every time, though, you deleted it all. For months, you hadn’t thought about him, but now… you wanted to see him. Badly. You wanted to see if it was as good and normal as the first time. If it crashed and burned, fine, but at least you’d know and wouldn’t wonder what would happen if you got to see him again. 

Dinner was late that Friday night. He’d asked if you were ok with that, and while part of you wanted to rip the bandaid off, the other part knew — or imagined to know — he had his reasons, especially when the name he told you to give when you got there wasn’t his. Suddenly, it clicked — people could see you and him, together, and he was trying to take precautions to avoid that as much as possible. Maybe for your sake as much as his. 

The inside of the restaurant was dark, and you gave the name as discreetly as you could, trying not to fall right over from how your nervous knees were knocking together. Each step through the maze of tables full of diners clinking wine glasses, sharing pizzas, and cutting into massive steaks that were bigger than the plates they were on made you a little more nauseous, and you were seconds away from turning around and bolting on jellied legs when there he was. Alone, huddled behind a plant in a dark corner that was more secluded than the rest, with a basket of bread in front of him along with a bowl of butter and a bottle of olive oil. He was typing on his phone when he looked up and did a double take with your wave and feeble smile. 

“Hi.”

Harry stood slightly and only sat down after you’d done the same in the chair that was pulled out for you next to his — albeit too clumsily and too soon. 

“It’s good t’see you,” Harry said, quietly and warmly but still audible over the clang of the dining room. 

“You too.” You took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. You didn’t remember eye contact being this intimidating with him — you’d had sex with him and managed it better, not to mention the conversation and shameless way you’d flirted with him during the show in a way that would show up any seventies groupie.  “Good trip?”

You should take your coat off. You should put your purse somewhere, and you should maybe try not to look like you had a stick up your ass, but all the common sense, human nature things that you’d usually do without thinking suddenly took a great deal of effort to remember. 

“It was ok, yeah,” he said with a shrug as you gingerly set your bag down and tried to get out of your jacket without hitting him in the arm. “Here, let me….” 

Harry stood and hooked his fingers into your jacket and pulled it down your arms to drape it over the back of your chair. 

“Thank you,” you said, still hot despite shedding a layer. “How’ve you been since…?”

Since we last had sex?

“Good!” he said. “Good, y’know… busy, but good. Getting some different things done.”

“Anything I can know about?” you asked, managing a smirk at last.

A mistake, because he returned it, and his looked better. “Not yet,” he said. “Couple of things might come out soon.” 

You held his gaze a fraction of a second too long, and you felt its impact. Clearing his throat, Harry picked up the menu card in front of him. He looked like he was fighting a smile, and there was a very faint flush in his cheeks. “So, the ah, linguine in vodka sauce is very good and there’s a vegan version if that’s somethin’ you’re interested in.” He flipped it over. “And the affogato—” You bit your lip to contain a smile of your own, the flare of an attempted Italian accent over his Manchester accent cutting through influences from London and America alike comical in a way it shouldn’t be— “is nice if you don’t have to be up in the morning.” 

Before you could think about it, you said, “Sounds great.” Harry looked at you from the corner of his eye, mouth twitching, and coughed into his fist to hide it. Jesus — could you say or do anything that didn’t make you seem a sort of way? “Is there wine?” 

No, apparently, you couldn’t.

He nodded, lips still quivering annoyingly. “Ordered us a bottle — hope that’s ok, it’s….” He gestured just as a waiter approached with it. 

“That’s good,” you said. 

“Sure?”

You nodded and he gave his own to the waiter who busied himself with uncorking the bottle and pouring you each a glass. Harry held his, hovering in midair when you picked yours up. 

“Oh—” Belatedly, you clinked yours with his before taking two deep sips. He didn’t even try to hide his laughter, then, and his eyes crinkled over the rim of his glass. 

“So,” he said. “How’ve you been?” 

Since you last had sex.

“Well,” you said, running your finger over your glass. “Working, mostly.” 

“What is it you do?” 

You stared, but his green eyes were wide and endless waiting for your answer. Nowhere on his face was a trace of irony or disinterest — he’d asked because he genuinely wanted to know. “I—” You stammered a bit before getting it out and he nodded, a flicker of recognition passing over his features.

“Tell me about it.” Just as authentic and sincere. 

“It’s… I mean….” 

With some coaxing from him, he dragged the details out of you — for how long, how did you get into it, was it what you’d always wanted to do, did you like it, what were the hard parts, did you think he could do that if he put his mind to it. And, eventually, you stopped feeling like your teeth were being pulled, whether in thanks to the wine, the pasta, or his charm — charm you’d known about but that was lightyears worse when it was directed right at you in the corner of a restaurant with your knees touching under the table — you couldn’t tell. He spoke about himself, too, and every now and then while listening to his slow drawl, it was hard to connect the fact that the voice speaking owned these stories. It was like you were eavesdropping on someone else’s conversation with him and being told things you shouldn’t know and had no right to know, but it was he, himself, and he was telling you of his own accord. 

“Would you like dessert?” he asked when your plates were cleared. 

“We could,” you said. “If you’d like — the affogato?” 

The corner of his mouth lifted. “Not planning to get any sleep tonight?”

The bottle of wine had been described as bold, and apparently you’d absorbed some of that along with the alcohol. “You tell me.” 

Harry pressed his lips together, rolling them thoughtfully as you smiled at him as the waiter approached, ignoring your racing heart to hold his gaze. 

“Will there be anything else tonight?” 

His ball, his call. 

With only a quick glance to the waiter, he said, “One affogato to share, please.” He turned to you again. “And the check,” he added without breaking eye contact. 

***

The hotel was intimidating — not somewhere you could ever stay on your own, and, for that reason, not a name you recognized, but you knew by the name emblazoned on the carpet outside the doors that it was the sort of hotel you should know. Hand on your elbow, Harry nodded and greeted the doorman with warmth and enthusiasm acting as the smoke and mirrors to allow you to slip into the lobby ahead of him. You paused, watching him through the glass, and seconds later he was through the door after you. 

“This way,” he said, eyes darting to the elevator bank. 

“Nice place,” you said as he waved the back of his wallet over a black magnetic pad attached to a column before pushing the call button. 

“You like it?” he asked, watching the floor numbers above the elevators. He gently took your elbow again and pulled you towards one descending faster than the others. When the doors opened, it was empty, and you both got on with him mashing the close button until the doors rattled shut and locked you both in with an almost eerie silence.

“Thank you,” you said. “Again. For dinner — and dessert. You really didn’t have to.” 

Harry pressed his floor, but his smirk was warmer and his eyes softer than they had been since you’d both left the restaurant and gotten into his car. The jittery, tingling sensation in your hands and belly had nothing to do with the espresso from dessert. 

“Thank you for coming….” Flames surged in you, up through your torso and over your chest and neck, and you held your breath as his cheek dimpled, the pointed phrase lingering between you. “To dinner,” he added, grinning wider as if he’d displayed some revolutionary wit instead of the most basic— “You don’t have to either, you know.” 

He was still smiling, but it was impossible to miss his pointed message acknowledging the power imbalance between you. You didn’t have to do this, dinner or no dinner, and as much as you knew that, it seemed he needed you to know he knew that, too. 

“I know,” you said, voice catching in your throat. “You’re welcome,” you added with a quirk of your mouth, holding eye contact with him as if your knees weren’t quaking. 

The doors opened and you followed him into the hallway, but he came to an almost immediate stop in front of a door he again waved his wallet over. “After you,” he said, holding it open. On purpose, you were sure, because he looked smug when you squeezed by him, chest-to-chest. 

Oh, wow. 

It was a suite — you were pretty sure that was the only way something this huge could be classified. There was a king-sized bed off to one side, with an overstuffed armchair and a luggage rack with his suitcase on it, and to the other there was a sitting area with a sofa, more chairs, and a coffee table. Beyond it, a chandelier hung over full dining table surrounded with chairs, and a closed laptop with a couple of books sat on top of it with the cord stretched to an outlet. Combined, all of it was bigger than your entire apartment. “Hotel room’s better than mine,” you mumbled, looking around from corner to corner, floor to ceiling. 

Harry laughed and strolled past you, gesturing towards the sofa. “Can make yourself comfortable,” he said. “I’m just going to pop in there for a bit,” he said, pointing to a door. “I’ll be right out.” 

“Sure!” you said. “Sure, take your time.” 

He disappeared through the doorway and you only just caught a flash of tile and mirror when he turned the light on before shutting the door. Seconds later, the sound of water running reached your ears, and, exhaling, you dropped your bag on the coffee table and unbuttoned your coat to drape it over the arm of the sofa before taking your boots off. You crept over to the window and pulled the gauzy curtain back. Below, cars zipped through the city streets, looking like festive ants from this height. You couldn’t hear anything except for the air conditioner — a bit chilly, but you stopped yourself from changing the temperature. You didn’t know how he liked it, and it might turn out to be… necessary.  

The running water from the bathroom cut off abruptly and when you turned around, Harry emerged. His cardigan was gone, and his face looked scrubbed clean with his hair damp and pushed back like he’d raked his hands through it. “Sorry about that,” he said, quietly, grinning as he got closer, and you caught a waft of peppermint toothpaste. “Coffee and all.” 

“It’s ok,” you said. 

Harry stopped in front of you and your throat tightened when he slid his hands up your neck, palms soft and warm. Tilting your head back, you stayed very still as he rubbed the apples of your cheeks with his thumbs with an almost intimate tenderness, and your lips parted with anticipation. You could smell his cologne and you could feel how warm he was, but when he leaned in, you inhaled sharply and turned your face. “I should probably do the same,” you murmured almost regretfully. You wanted almost nothing more than to kiss him right then — you’d been waiting all night for that and more — but you could taste the espresso on your tongue, and you wanted to be able to kiss him right. 

Harry looked like he was going to say no, and if he had you might’ve gone through with it, but finally, licking his lips, he nodded and let go of you. “Sure,” he said. “You can— go ahead, I’ll….”

“Thank you.” You smiled softly and slipped away, shutting the door behind you. Once you were in, you let out a breath and your shoulders slumped. The bathroom, like the suite, was massive, with a bathtub and a shower with a rainshower head stuck to the ceiling. Only one of the double sinks looked like it was in use, with his deodorant, a bottle of cologne, a comb, and a razor half out of a kit lying next to it along with a toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste. 

You gulped, staring at it, before patting underneath the counter and looking around the room. There had to be a complimentary…. Aha! The toiletry bag from the hotel was perched on a shelf over the toilet and you opened it, sighing with relief when you found a toothbrush and a microscopic tube of toothpaste. 

“Can use my toothpaste, f’you want.”

You nearly dropped the whole thing into the sink when you jumped, holding your chest and looking at the closed door. 

“I—” Swallowing your nerves, you nodded. “Thank you,” you called back. You unscrewed the gap from his tube with shaky hands and spread a bit on the bristles, and as you scrubbed, mouth foaming, you stared deep into your eyes in the mirror under the soft vanity lighting. Just sex — it was just sex. And yet, there weren’t enough words to say how surreal this was. 

Teeth, tongue, and gums done, you splashed cool water around your neck and forehead before patting dry and evaluating yourself. Legs? Fine. Stomach? Full, but not uncomfortably so. Teeth? Fresh. That was it, then. Tapping the light off, you opened the door and stepped out. 

Harry was on the edge of the bed, head hanging and hands on his knees, but he looked up when you came closer, a sharp snap of his neck, his glinting eyes reminiscent of a starving man.

“I’m sorry!” you rushed. “I’m sorry.”

“S’ok,” he said, standing. “Don’t worry about it, c’mere.”

No more pretense. No more waiting. 

Cupping your face again, Harry slanted his mouth over yours and you moaned softly, circling your arms around his shoulders. For all the anticipation, it was slow — he was taking his time kissing and coaxing your lips open, groaning his appreciation between quiet smacks while you languidly pulled your hands across his back. He was warm through his shirt and every muscle seemed to tense and release under your wandering fingers. He really was broad, too — he didn’t look it sometimes, but he was, and strong. Minty kisses matched yours, and every now and then you caught a whiff of the same rich and delicious smell you’d determined earlier was his cologne. Breaking, you pressed your lips to his jaw and then his neck, moaning when you got a concentrated dose of the scent. Harry moaned and you felt the vibrations in your mouth through his skin, and he squeezed your hips as you kissed up and down his neck.

“That’s nice,” you murmured between kisses.

“Thanks,” he said, voice strained. You grinned. “Just be—” Harry swallowed. “Just be careful, please. Sorry if that makes me a dick, but….”

Be careful with—? Oh. Marks. “Don’t worry,” you whispered with another one. “I get it.” You were on his throat when you added, “No one will know I was here.”

He laughed, full and deep, and you grinned wider. “Come back here,” he said, tilting your head back so he could kiss you again, and you stilled to return it, though every now and then one of you smiled and broke the rhythm. Drawing your hands down his torso, you stopped at his waistline and felt along until you found the button for his trousers. “Tryin’ t’get into my pants?” he crowed under his breath. 

“Made sure I wouldn’t be able to sleep,” you said. “Might as well do something.” 

The whole world turned when Harry spun you suddenly. You gasped, nearly shrieking with startled laughter when he dropped you on the bed, and you were still giggling when he unbuttoned your jeans and pulled your zipper down. 

“Gonna hurt m’feelings if you keep laughin’ at me,” he said, the warning softened by his grin. 

“No, I won’t,” you said, eyes rolling up with a sigh when he slid his hands underneath your shirt. You sat up a bit until he brought it up over your head and tossed it away before he bent over your chest.

You’d had sex with Harry Styles and forgotten all about it, but he was doing his damndest to make sure you remembered. 

Oh. Right. He was good at this — ridiculously, absurdly, eye rollingly amazing. Each kiss down your over your breasts was simple but carefully placed. He suckled every patch of skin into his mouth with a thoughtful hum and a grunt of conclusion, and when he reached your sternum, he sighed hotly. 

“God, y’smell good.” You laughed breathlessly and nodded your thanks as he made his way down your belly. “Smell so—” He pressed his nose to your hip and inhaled deeply— “good.” 

He said it so deeply, so slowly, so deliberately, that if you didn’t know better you’d think he’d never meant anything more. 

“I’m gonna take these off,” you said, voice sticking in your throat. You sat up and he did, too, pulling his shirt off while you stood on wobbly legs to shed your jeans. He stared, unabashedly, and it was again one of those moments that was so surreal you couldn’t believe you were living it. “Do you have condoms?” you asked, nearly toppling sideways as you kicked your ankles free. 

“In the drawer,” he said. 

He’d really detoured to New York out of Philadelphia just to sleep with you and he wasn’t even pretending he hadn’t had this in mind.

You took a step towards it but he grabbed your wrist. “Hang on,” he said. “Know you can hardly wait—”

You gasped. “Me?” You almost wanted to smack that smarmy grin off his face, and when he nodded, you reminded him, “‘When’s good for you?’” 

“Flexible schedule,” he murmured, pulling you down onto his lap. Straddling him, you held his shoulders to keep from teetering backwards, mouth hovering over his. “We’ve got all night,” he said, kneading your hips with a cocked head. “Don’t we? Not getting any sleep?”

An electric thrill shot through you. His lips were twisted at the corner in an almost coy smirk, and his eyes were endless, full of a level of confidence that made you tingle. You gasped, soft and sharp, and his smirk widened into a grin when you grasped his chin and kissed him, hard, as he dropped back onto the bed and brought you crashing with him. 

Again the world spun when he turned you over, and your eyes rolled as he trailed kisses down your cheek and neck — greedy ones with chins colliding and teeth scraping skin as he held you by the jaw to keep you still. You only barely managed to shift on your back when you felt his hand sliding underneath you, and seconds later the pressure of the band around your ribs released and your bra straps loosened on your shoulders. Harry pushed the flimsy material up over the swell of your breasts, and your mouth fell open when his closed firmly on your nipple. He released it with a soft noise before pulling it again with slightly more pressure, and one of your hands fell into his hair. 

“Leg up,” he rasped against your breast, pushing one of your knees gently but firmly. You did as he asked and bit back a moan when he fit his palm over you through your underwear, its radiating heat making you throb. Up and down he stroked, tentatively at first and then with more certainty, thumb dipping into your slit over the fabric. “Ok?” he asked. Barely able to hear him through your ringing ears, you nodded, and, with the permission, he hooked his fingers under the thin scrap of fabric with a quiet groan. “That’s nice,” he said as he explored with such a careful, barely there touch, you almost couldn’t breathe waiting to just feel something. Swallowing hard, you let out a slow, deep breath, eyes falling shut as you turned your head to the side, knuckles brushing over your mouth as your heart raced out of control. 

“Don’t have t’be quiet,” Harry said almost lazily as he descended lower and lower on your stomach with spongy, stubbly kisses and carefully opened you with his fingers. “Don’t have to—” He laughed when your legs jerked as the pads of his fingers slid over your clit. “S’ok,” he continued. “Relax for me… s’it feel good?”

You nodded, gulping. 

“Is this ok?” 

He pressed his finger onto your clit and you took a deep breath. “Yes,” you said, voice sticking in your throat. 

“That’s good, then,” he said. “Anything y’don’t want me to do you just tell me, right?”

You moaned, then, low and long, and you lifted your hips from the bed as you squirmed. “Yes,” you repeated, slightly louder and pitchier. “Yes… oh,” you sighed, toes curling when he laved his tongue over your nipple while stroking your clit, each breath deep and full, your belly warm. “Fuck!” you whispered, sucking in sharply. The last time you’d felt yourself get wet like this — slippery, soaked — had been… well, with him. 

You laughed under your breath. It’d been with him. Of course it had. “Oh!” you gasped sharply when he circled faster, gripping the back of his head with one hand while the other slapped down on his shoulder. 

“Can hear it, can’t you?” he asked. “Can hear how wet— oop—” His finger slipped out of his rhythm. “There we go,” he muttered. “Easy…. Gotta make sure your pussy’s open for me, don’t we?”

“I am,” you said, back arching. “I am, I’m….” You clenched your teeth together and your head tossed against momentarily as you dug your toes into the sheets. “Mmm….” 

“Sure?” he asked tightly. “Gonna be able to get inside?” 

“I am,” you whispered. “Please, I want you inside me.”

“Yeah?” Harry asked. 

“Yes!” You were hot, everywhere, almost feverishly, and you couldn’t stop moving, fidgeting, trying to do anything to just…. Sucking in sharply, your lips barely moved when you uttered, “Oh, my God, I’m gonna cum,” in one soft breath, digging your fingers into his shoulder more. Your whole body was tense and your stomach muscles kept clenching and releasing, the warmth in your belly spreading through your legs and up your chest. You were going to cum, you were— so close, almost laughably so. Whimpering, you pressed your trembling lips together to stifle a louder moan bordering on agony, and you were just starting to feel the relief of those first flutters when, suddenly… he stopped. 

He stopped?

“No!” you said. “No, please, no, why?” you asked breathlessly, bordering on a cry, hand clapping to his face and forehead bumping his when he popped off your breast. “Why?” 

He laughed, but it was a strained sound. “Sounds too pretty to let it end just yet,” he said. “Got… got all night, don’t we?” he asked. “Got all….” He grimaced and rocked backwards. “Shit.” 

You stared at him, sluggish mind slowly catching up. He was still in his trousers — they’d never made it off somehow — and he was very obviously hard. “Come here,” you breathed. “Come….” 

Harry grunted when you pushed them down his hips. Awkwardly, limbs tangled, you climbed over and around each other until he was on his back and you were on your shaky knees, tugging them down and off him completely. A pair of red boxer briefs fit him perfectly, hugging his thighs, hips, and the cock straining in them. His chest rose and fell with each heavy breath and you felt his eyes on you when you lowered down, pressing kisses to his knees and up his thighs, his leg hair tickling your nose. You were at the edge of his briefs by the time you were feeling blindly along his waistline, and you sat up when your fingers slipped inside to pull them down. Locking eyes with him only briefly when they were tugged past his thighs, you grinned impishly before lowering down and he touched the back of your head with a barely there graze when you licked a stripe up the underside of his cock. 

“Oh, shit,” he breathed blissfully above you. From under your lashes you could see him grinning with his arm over his eyes, and you licked again and again before ducking lower and pulling one of his balls into your mouth with a delicate suck. His answering groan made your hair stand on end and you wrapped your hand around his cock, running your thumb up and down near the head. 

You had all night. Last time had been frantic, rushed, with an invisible timer that wouldn’t stop tick-tick-ticking, and you hadn’t known what you wanted, or were allowed, or how much of it you could have. Now, though, you were enjoying touching him, holding him, experimenting with what you knew and what you were figuring out from every moan and sharp breath above you. 

“Is this good?” you asked between sucks.  

“Yeah,” Harry grunted, nodding his head belatedly. “Shit… s’real good.” Gently, then, he grabbed your hand to move it higher up his shaft while you licked one of his balls. “Y’can… f’you want to—” 

Hand in his, he moved your hold slowly up and down, and the throbbing sensation that’d been lingering between your legs grew. Holding your breath, you watched him jerking himself with your hand, each downward tug pulling his head out a little more. His nostrils flared and he gulped, throat bobbing visibly, and you licked your lips, head spinning. Unthinking, you lifted up and wrapped your mouth around the tip, sucking firmly with a breathy moan, and you felt his thighs trembling beneath you for a moment as his hands faltered. Up and down you bobbed, stretching your jaw slightly more each time to try to get more, but when you felt a click, you pulled off abruptly. 

“Sorry—” You slurped wetly and laughed, horrified. “Sorry!” 

His loud laugh joined yours, warmer and more delighted than yours. On fire, you dug the heels of your hands into your eyes until he pulled your wrists. 

“Come here,” he said, still wheezing. “Come….”

You whined, stretching out next to him, and he chuckled, cupping your face and pulling you in for a kiss. “S’ok,” he said, body shaking with suppressed laughter. “Got me a little wet is all,” he teased.

You grunted when he rolled you onto your back and you melted underneath him as he kissed you — first on your mouth, then your neck, your shoulder, and inside your elbow, before he pushed up and opened the bedside table. The box of condoms wasn’t the hotel’s, but what had to be his own preferred brand, and you must’ve made a noise, because he glanced at you sharply, then.

“What?” he asked.

Smiling slightly, you shook your head. “Nothing,” you assured him. 

He chortled, tearing one open and pulling out the flimsy, wet rubber. Biting your lip, you watched him pinch the end and smooth it down before he cleared his throat.  

“D’you wanna get on your…?”

You stared, waiting for him to complete his question. Harry licked his lips and jerked his head. 

“C’mere,” he said. “Turn over, like….” He coaxed you onto your hands and knees before pressing down on your back between your shoulder blades. “Little lower… there y’go,” he said when you bowed, arms outstretched ahead of you and ass high. “That good?” he asked and you nodded.

“Yes, please,” you mumbled. He laughed quietly behind you but gripped your hips and you closed your eyes.

“Deep breath in,” he said, smooth and warm. “In and out, in and—”

Face contorting, you grunted under your breath when he thrust, shallowly at first but gradually deeper until his pelvis was flush with you. “Oh, fuck,” you wheezed, back arching. It was good, but a bit of a pinch and stretch — had it been this way last time? Maybe you hadn’t noticed as much from the adrenaline rushing through you.

“Ok?” he asked. 

Still grimacing, you nodded, hands fisted in the sheets. “Good,” you managed. “Good, good… oh!” you cried out when he thrust with heavier weight, hands bruisingly tight on your hips. That right there — that was good, the angle and the depth, and if you brought your legs together just a bit—

“Fuck!” he groaned behind you. “Fucking….” 

Faster, steadier, you muffled your noises in the sheets as you rocked back against him. Pathetic — you were pathetic whining and pushing into him, but he’d left you hanging and you were trying to get it back because you’d been so close. 

“That’s it,” Harry grunted, laughing breathlessly. “Fuck my cock.” He took a rattling breath. “Fuck yourself on my cock…. Shit, y’got no idea how wet it looks right now.” He stilled suddenly and you paused, heaving.

“Harry!” you whimpered, twisting, arms too weak to lift up. 

“What?” he asked, and you could hear the smug smirk in his voice. “S’wrong?” 

You let out a keening moan, face flat on the bed, before you tightened and pushed back on him. His answering groan was guttural, and he held you fast when he went silent, only the slapping noise of your ass meeting his pelvis and the sound of the bed thunking filling the air. Good— not bad— not enough, though, either. Stopping short, wheezing, you reached behind you to tap one of his hands. “Let go,” you said, tapping it again. “Both….” 

Immediately, the pressure released and he backed up without a question, slipping out of you with a wet drop. Gulping, you forced yourself up and sat back on your knees to steady yourself before turning. “You ok?” he asked. “You good?” His cheeks were red and his chest and arms were sweaty and shining, lips swollen and bitten up, eyes dark but sharp and attentive on you. 

“Mmhm.” You pushed him by the shoulders and he teetered in his surprise before he fell on his back with a muted grunt. Hands on his chest, you swung one leg over him and lowered down to rest on the underside of his cock. His nostrils flared and his eyes bounced from your face to where you were sliding back and forth on top of him. 

“What—” Harry cleared his throat. “What’re you doing?” 

“Told me to fuck myself on your cock,” you reminded him, inhaling sharply when your clit bumped his head through the condom. “Didn’t you?” 

Again he cleared his throat and ran his hands up and down your thighs. “C’mon, love,” he muttered. “Please. Don’t leave me hanging?” 

“Why?” you said, laughing as his head fell back. “Have all night, don’t we? That’s what you told me.”

“M’fucking balls are gonna explode,” he said, groaning. “Seriously, I’m like….” 

Still laughing, you lowered your chest while lifting your hips, and with your mouth on his, you guided his cock back in. One of his hands clapped down immediately on your ass and held you there when you began to rock again, finding a steady rhythm. Sloppier, rougher, but your clit was against him and the pressure was perfect. 

“Oh my God, you feel so good,” you said between kisses. “You’re making me feel so— oh!” you exclaimed breathily.

“Yeah?” he asked. “Making y’feel good? You feel good? You feel….” Harry swallowed conclusively. “Fuck me, look at y’riding me like this!” 

The hazy part of your brain hoped it was as good for him as it was for you, because this was amazing for you. 

“Jesus, y’so….” Harry groaned, a deep, helpless sound. “Lis— listen to me,” he said. “Can y’do that? Can y’let me make it good for us?” 

You didn’t answer at first, caught off guard. 

“Trust me, darling,” he mumbled. “I can make it so good for you, I promise.”

“What? What, what—?”

“When I say stop,” Harry said. “Y’gonna stop.”

You whimpered.

“Just for a bit,” he rushed on. “Just for a bit, love, only for a moment.” He kissed you hard and quick. “S’gonna feel so good when y’cum,” he said. “I promise you, you’re gonna feel so good when you cum. Right?” 

Rolling your hips, you huffed against his mouth. You were exhausted — your muscles were sore, used, and felt like they’d been stretched taught to the point of snapping more than once from the tremors rippling through you. 

“Stop,” he whispered. Eyes squeezed shut, his cock pulsed inside you. “Stop, please—”

Whining, you came to a still, panting and dropping your head onto his shoulder, heart beating in your throat. 

“That’s good!” he said, hand slipping up your sweaty back. “Good girl, just… just for a moment.” 

“I wanna cum,” you admitted, more broken and needy than you liked. 

“Promise,” he said, patting your shoulder, “y’gonna cum. Gonna take good fucking care of you.” 

Again and again, you stopped and started, each stop happening sooner and sooner with both of you so close. You could feel how swollen you were from the repeated almosts, but even without finishing you knew he was right and that when you did finish it would be indescribably intense. He’d rolled you onto your back at one point and pulled out, trembling from head to toe with a glazed over look in his eyes as he fought to pull himself back, but by the time you were asking him to please, let you cum — you were tired, you wanted it, you just wanted to cum — you were back on top.

“Please, don’t stop,” you breathed. “Oh, please, oh—”

“So cum, then,” he groaned between his teeth. “Fucking cum.” 

A cramp shot through your foot right when every muscle in you tightened, and you were pretty sure this was the ugliest you’d ever sounded when you came since the time you had your first orgasm and hadn’t had the ability to process the new sensations, but it felt… incredible. Hot, like everything in you had snapped and crackled and was shooting through you in fizzling tingles, and seconds later, he thrust up with a strangled sound in his throat and you felt his cock throbbing in you with each stream of cum. Shaking, his head dropped back off the side of the bed and he wheezed through each breath. Dropping your forehead to his shoulder, you gulped for air, trembling, ears ringing. The whole world might as well have been spinning for how steady you felt.

“Holy shit,” he breathed at last. “That was—”

“Yeah,” you said, relief flooding you. Him too — not just you. “Gimme a minute and I’ll….”

“S’ok,” he said, patting your ass. “Can take your time.” 

***

You didn’t remember falling asleep. You didn’t remember much at all after the sex, honestly — how you’d gotten off him, or when he’d gotten rid of the condom, or if you’d even peed — although you did have a fuzzy memory of him calling down for room service and getting it despite it being after hours. 

Waking up now, though, every bone in your body felt like they’d been fused together and then cracked. You rolled over, stretching and shaking, and your arm dropped to the side and swiped through the empty sheets — warm — as you listened to the shower running. When you finally opened your eyes, it was pitch black save for the crack of light coming from the bathroom. The blackout curtains had been pulled — he must’ve done that — and you twisted to look at the alarm clock next to the bed. 

“Morning.”

Harry approached the bed, already wearing his trousers and t-shirt, hands full of the items from the bathroom countertop. His hair was damp at the ends but not washed, only his clothes evidencing his walk of shame. 

“Morning,” you said.

He grinned crookedly. “How d’you feel?” he asked. “Y’know — with all that… wine and caffeine.” He smirked as if in on a private joke and you pressed your lips together. Pointed, and not at all about the wine and caffeine. 

“Fine.” Amazing. “You’re up early.” 

Still smirking, he said, “Have to leave for the airport in a bit.” 

Already? That was… fast. Surprising, but not at all. The opposite of last night that’d felt like it’d gone on forever, but that was ending in a blink.

“It’s early,” you said, repeating your earlier sentiment.

“Headed to Philadelphia.”

You deflated. Right. “I’ll get dressed,” you said. You sat up, sheet tucked under your arms and across your chest.

“Don’t.” Harry dropped his items in his open suitcase on the overstuffed chair in the corner and a quick glance at the table revealed the laptop as well as the rest of his personal items had been swept from the suite. “Room’s mine until noon. I can call for a late check out, too, if you’d like. But you should stay — get some rest, order some breakfast.”

You shook your head. “I can’t, I—”

“Please?” he asked. “Paid for it, it should go to good use. ‘Less you got somewhere to be.” 

You didn’t — you’d purposefully picked Friday to be able to take as long as you needed to the next day, but you’d thought you’d need the time to pick up where things had left off, not to lounge in a suite without him. Sighing, you smiled softly, and he nodded his satisfaction. 

“Good,” he said as you leaned back against the headboard. “Take your time — sounds like you had a busy week.” His hands were hidden in his bag as he shuffled around inside. “This was fun,” he added quietly, the sound of his suitcase closing explosive in the silence.

“Mmm.” A vague sound, but you weren’t brave enough to say anything of substance. 

“When I fly back to London, I’m going to be stopping in Philly again,” he said. “If you’re around— maybe I can call you and see?” 

Not a dream — he was really standing in front of you asking if he could come up to see you sometime. When you didn’t respond, he looked at you from the corner of his eye, and you took a deep breath, snapping yourself out of your reverie. 

“Sure,” you said as nonchalantly as you could. “If I’m around.”

“If you’re around.” 

Jacket and cap on, Harry picked up his bag in one hand and held what looked like his passport and a boarding pass in the other. “Just gotta do one thing,” he muttered, and as he got closer, your lips parted. When he bent, though, he picked up the phone with one hooked finger and jabbed 0 with his knuckle. His necklaces dangled from his neck and he was so close his breath tickled your nose, eyes twinkling with mischief even as he mumbled a sorry. 

You were just about to playfully whisper that he did know it was a cordless phone, right, when you heard a pleasant, clipped voice on the other end. “Good morning,” he said. “M’calling because I’d like to see if it’s possible to get a late check out?” You shook your head but he ignored you. “Yeah— great, thanks. 2:00pm?” You rolled your eyes. “That’s perfect. Thank you so much, have a great day.”

“I won’t stay that long,” you said when he hung up.

“But now y’can if you want to.” 

Harry grinned even as you shook your head. 

“You have a plane to catch.”

“Kickin’ me out?” 

You shrugged and he chuckled. “Had a good time,” he said with the same quiet sincerity from before. 

“Me too,” you whispered. 

“Thank you. I’ll call—”

“Ok—”

You saw it, then — the faintest glimmer of hesitation and uncertainty, and honestly? You didn’t blame him. He’d flown in for a trip that, as far as you could tell, was for work, and he’d made a detour into the city for sex. The sex was done, and so was any physical intimacy, but it would feel… off to end the night with a handshake. 

Before you could think to say it was ok and he didn’t have to, though, he mumbled, “I’ll see you,” just as he leaned in. Short but not quick, you leaned into it, and then, just like that, it was over. 

***

You genuinely thought he’d forgotten about what he’d said. He was busy, and getting some wasn’t a priority, but when your phone rang with an unknown number some few weeks later, you paused and had half a second of questioning before picking up.

“Hello?” 

“Hello,” he returned it, sounding amused. “Y’not sure it’s me?” 

“I don’t have your number,” you reminded him. 

“Is now a good time to talk?” 

“Sure?” More of a question than an answer, but he went on before you could correct yourself.

“M’gonna be flying out tomorrow,” he said. In the background, you could hear noises like zippers and snaps, and he had a distant echo in his voice that made you wonder if you were on speaker. 

“Already?” you asked.

Harry laughed, loud but very far away. “Been a month or so,” he said.

“Really?” 

“S’almost the holidays, love,” he said. 

He was right — they were closer now than they were farther away, but it felt like only yesterday you’d been sweating and sharing a meal in a hole in the wall restaurant. 

“Are you free tomorrow night?” he asked. You bit your lip and your prolonged silence must’ve made him falter. “If you’re not, it’s ok,” he said. “Just wanted to ask, cause I know I said maybe… if—” 

“You’re flying to Philly from LA and then driving to the city?” 

Harry cleared his throat. “Actually… s’more like I’m flying into the city and then I’ll head on out to Philly… after….” 

After seeing you.

It was out of your mouth before you could think better. “You could stop by mine.” Silence greeted you and you kept talking to fill its void. “If the airport— I guess it depends— but even if you flew into Jersey you’d still have to go— except— I mean—”

He laughed on the other end and you groaned.

“I owe you dinner,” you said, face warm but a sheepish, unseen smile pulling at your mouth. “You’ve treated me twice.”

“Ok,” he drawled. “F’you wanna get me dinner, I can come by yours.” 

“I’ll text you the address — I have the thread.”

“And I’ll text you my number,” he added. “You should have it.”

Twenty-four hours later, you were rushing around your studio trying to make it feel like less of a shoebox. Stupid — you should’ve just asked for his hotel. He had to have one! This was sex, it wasn’t a you get this tab and I’ll get the next one sort of arrangement. The sheets on your bed were freshly changed, pillows fluffed (fluffed — who knew you’d ever fluff pillows), and you’d swept and wiped the floors down in the living-bedroom, kitchen, and bathroom alike, but everything still felt small and not enough. You’d lit some candles to try to compensate, but you’d gone on and off with them, blowing them and relighting them a handful of times as you went back and forth on whether or not they lent a feeling that didn’t belong in this sort of situation. Now, though, they burned and flickered on your coffee table, and you were just connecting your phone to the speaker when a knock on your door made you jump and spin.

“Coming!” 

You spared a cursory glance through the peephole before twisting locks and unhooking chains, his hulking figure filling your doorway.

“Texted,” he said apologetically. “But—”

“I was just cleaning up,” you said, opening the door wider. “Sorry— come in.” 

He shuffled past you with his printed luggage in hand, and your heart sank, ensnared in nerves, as he walked into the apartment that looked even smaller with him in it. Ears ringing, you could barely hear the notes of whatever album your phone had selected to autoplay. It was small, but it was yours — all yours — and if it didn’t meet his standards, then he didn’t have to stay.

“It’s—”

“Nice place,” he said slowly, and the upbeat lilt told you he wasn’t being facetious. Your shoulders fell with relief and the tension relaxed out of your neck. “That’s a nice candle,” he added, sniffing the air. 

“It’s a little smaller than your hotel room,” you said.

“Been on tour buses, love,” he said, setting his luggage down. “There’s not really much smaller than a bunk racing across the country.” 

Smiling, you squeezed your arms as he unzipped his coat and took his cap off. “How was your flight?” you asked.

“Dunno, really,” he said, running a hand through his mostly flattened curls. Unlike last time, he didn’t have his rings on, and his fingers looked longer and more slender without them. “Slept through most of it — had a bit of turbulence over Colorado or Utah or wherever, but it wasn’t tha’ bad.” 

“Good,” you said. “If you wanna… um….” You jerked your thumb towards a door. “Bathroom’s there, if you need to clean up or anything.”

He nodded. “That’d be great, thanks. In there?” 

You stepped aside to let him by, catching the distinct waft of plane and warmth and the spicy vanilla smell you’d come to associate with him. When he closed the door behind him, you exhaled and again spun through the apartment, shoving shoes under your bed to finish your tidying before carefully pulling the coffee table away from the sofa — his legs were longer, he’d need the room. You’d just smoothed out the rug when your phone buzzed and you grabbed it, seeing both the texts he’d sent you before that you’d missed in your focus as well as the one from your delivery man letting you know the food was outside. Perfect. 

“S’a good album,” Harry said from the bathroom doorway after you locked up again. You jumped, gripping the bag with a knuckle-popping hold. You didn’t think it was possible to be quiet and sneaky in a place like this. “Sorry,” he said, snickering.

“I like it,” you breathed. “Dinner’s….” You lifted the bag on your way past him and heard him trailing after you. You set it on the coffee table and sat on the sofa as you popped the staples on the paper bag. “It’s nothing amazing.”

“That’s a review,” he teased, sitting next to you. “Now I can’t wait.”

“Shut up,” you said and he laughed loudly. “It’s just this place that’s nearish — El Diablito — they’ve got really good nachos and burritos.”

“Mexican, then?”

“Yeah.” Fuck. “Probably should’ve thought of that since you’ve just come back from LA,” you muttered.

“S’fine,” he said. “Didn’t really have much Mexican.”

You arched a brow and he coughed into his hand. 

“So, d’I get a burrito?”

You nodded and pulled a hot, foil-wrapped item out of the bag. “Careful,” you warned, purposefully busying yourself with pulling the rest of the food out of the bag as he unfolded it.

“Looks good,” he said. From the corner of your eye, you watched him adjust his grip and angle his head before stretching his jaw wide to take a bite. You looked away quickly, almost overwhelmed by how comical it’d been, but when you looked back you found him chewing thoughtfully.

“You can have some of my quesadilla if you don’t like it,” you said quickly. “And the nachos are for both of us to pick at.”

Still, he didn’t say anything, until at last he swallowed and his lips smacked several times. “S’good,” he said thickly. “Like, that’s….” He peered at the corner he’d bitten into almost in disbelief. “That’s really good.” Again he stretched his mouth almost comically wide, tongue out, and this time you did laugh. Mouth full, he glanced up at you with unblinking eyes and mumbled a muffled, “What?” through his bite. 

“Nothing,” you said, grinning and unwrapping your own food. “Go on, eat.” 

“All right, calm down,” he said. “Have the whole night ahead of us.”

[pinkoptics]

Would You Catch Me If I Fall?

aka Cherik Fallen Angel fic

Part 2 of Chapter 2

(Previous parts now on Ao3)

Erik is going to do everything he can to make sure Charles is taken care of. Charles saved his life. That’s why. Right… right???

*

“Mr. Olsen, I believe you will do exactly as I’ve asked.”

Mr. Olsen opened his mouth, to protest most likely, but Erik was well practiced in speaking in a way that left no room for interruption. “You will, because you are aware of the exact amount my firm has donated to your hospital this year and every other before it.”

Mr. Olsen was turning an interesting shade of red. It had nothing on Azazel, but the flush beneath his skin was making a concerted effort.

“You are also aware of what it would do to this hospital’s reputation for being at the forefront of mutant medicine if my firm were to very vocally withdraw its support and place it elsewhere, say... Johns Hopkins?”

“Mr. Lehnsherr—“ Still red, but now also sputtering. “You do not have the authority. Shaw would never—“

Erik smiled in such a way that Olsen cut himself off. Erik’s smile, though the word hardly applied, very early in his career had earned him the nickname ‘The Shark.’ Only used when he knew his prey was very much backed into a corner of their own making and it was time for the kill.

“If The Incident were to suddenly appear on social media again, with a narrative much closer to the truth...”

Red became purple. “We have an NDA! You can’t—“

“When information is out it is out, Mr. Olsen. Non-disclosures only hold weight if the parties involved care about the consequences. I could give a fuck. Besides, whether this hospital is guilty or innocent, reputations once ruined are terribly hard to salvage, aren’t they? Once, tried in the court of public opinion...”

“Shaw would— you’d be—“

Erik simply raised an eyebrow.

Olsen was right. Erik didn’t have the authority to stop donations, Shaw would have his job and his ass if he ever went to the public about any of the firm’s cases. Moreover, he would probably lose his license to practice. None of those things mattered however, not because Erik truly didn’t care, but because Olsen only needed to believe he was serious. If Erik couldn’t sense the man’s weaknesses, and couldn’t exploit them, he would hardly have been the best lawyer at his firm (no matter what Emma said to the contrary). The seed of doubt, once planted in a weak mind, was notoriously difficult to weed out.

“Fine,” Olsen ground out. Looking like he was very much sucking on a lemon.

Erik levitated the paperwork he had prepared by its staple. It was accompanied by one of the disgustingly expensive fountain pens the firm utilized to perpetuate its reputation. It hovered in front of the sour countenance and Erik felt the same sense of satisfaction he did after a particularly shrewd cross examination.

Threatening Olsen in this way was beyond overkill.

However, Erik knew of nothing else that would resolve Charles’ situation as swiftly. As Olsen scratched out his signature nearly hard enough to tear paper, Charles’ need for insurance, identity, and anything else he did not have, vanished.

Besides, he’d never liked this man or this hospital, so if he got to have a little fun while getting Charles what he needed, all the better. The faster he could get Charles out of here unscathed the better. He owed him that much, possibly more. There were few people insane enough, selfless enough, to throw themselves in front of a car for a stranger. Erik had made it his life’s work to protect people who couldn’t protect themselves. Charles had more than earned that same protection until he was back to his former self.

T’s crossed and i’s dotted, Erik left Olsen to fume, so he could share the good news with Charles. The words that had been leaping forward died on his lips when he took in the state of Charles’ room.

“. . . Did you rob a florist?”

Charles graced him with a much less hysterical, much more pleasant sounding laugh than he had any time previously.

“Aren’t people just lovely? This one is from the nurse on call, Ben. He has the most adorable little boy. Teething at the moment, which is trying of course, but he’s so precious one can hardly be cross. I’m sure Ben would be happy to show you the photos too. This one is from Dr. Yousef, whom you’ve already met. She detests flowers, personally, as she’s never home consistently enough to care for them properly. This one is from Saima...”

While Charles no longer appeared to be in a state of hysteria, it appeared to be Erik’s turn, and he became suddenly, hysterically deaf. Had he misplaced a day? Or two? More? Was he the one with the head injury?

“Did you— I mean, do you know them?”

Charles cut off his still in-progress monologue about his sudden and inexplicable well-wishers.

“Oh no. We’ve just met. Nancy would like to get coffee when I’m better though. I believe that is a cultural expression of friendship, is it not? Or does coffee equal sex? It’s so hard to keep track of these things as humans rarely say what they truly mean. Why do you lot insist upon speaking in code? A code that changes every generation no less. Regardless, I’ve never had coffee. Given how utterly obsessed with it you all are I’m rather excited to find out what all the fuss is about.”

Erik didn’t know what part of that to address first, if at all.

Ben, Yousef, Saima... who the fuck was Nancy?

Sex?

Never had coffee?

“Oh Erik, I’m sorry. You look so confused again. I forget myself. I would much rather have coffee for the first time with you of course. At that diner you speak so highly of. I believe diners generally serve coffee.”

Erik blinked. Did that mean Charles wanted to be his friend or have sex with him? Or, did never having had coffee actually mean never having had sex? No. Wait. What in the fuck were they talking about?

What came out was, mercifully, “You make friends quickly.” This was something he and Charles certainly didn’t share.

“Do I?” Charles shrugged. “I love people. All people. They’re so fascinating.” Something else he and Charles certainly didn’t share. In his experience, most people were dull or cruel or both. Except Charles. Charles had been the exact opposite of dull or cruel right from the first. Crashing headfirst into Erik, literally and figuratively, and smashing all his expectations of what people did or didn’t do for one another. It might have also been the head injury/amnesia mitigating the dullness, making him say the most ridiculous things that Erik had ever heard and couldn’t even begin to sort out, but Erik didn’t really think so. He read people extremely well and Charles intrigued him. No one intrigued him.

Shoving the friends/coffee/sex equivalency conversation aside, Erik patted his briefcase. “I’ve sorted out everything with hospital administration. You won’t have to worry about insurance, bills... if there’s anything you need, just ask. They will be sure you get it.”

“I won’t ask how you managed it.” Charles’ look became conspiratorial. Almost as if he did know Erik’s methods. There was no way, of course, that he did unless he was a telepath, which Erik had already briefly mused on. “You really needn’t have troubled yourself, though I appreciate it, you, all the same.”

There it was again. The strange gravity his words seemed to possess. Erik flushed, not something he ever did, feeling that appreciation to his core. Charles’ smile deepened and somehow held the same weight as his words. Looking at it was almost too much, like looking straight at the sun, it warmed parts of Erik he hadn’t even realized were cold.

“You can stay with me,” Erik said, apropos of nothing, then flinched, his own words surprising him. It wasn’t the offer he had intended to make. The Firm put people up all the time for various reasons, and Erik had planned to slip Charles in to one of his current cases with no one the wiser. The doctor felt certain it wouldn’t be long until his memory returned, based on her previous experience of such cases.

Charles’ astonishment seemed to match his own. “Erik, that’s too much. You’ve done so much already.”

Erik rubbed at the back of neck, avoiding Charles’ eyes, which were comically, anime-wide. While he hadn’t meant to make the offer, he also found now that he had, he also had no sense of regret. His flat was large, he practically lived at the firm, so it would hardly be an inconvenience and the less he abused his position, the less tracks he had to cover.

He coughed, “There’s always Nancy.” Erik hoped the joke would break the sudden tension. “You could take her up on her ambiguous offer.” Charles laughed. Success.

“Coffee, and whatever else it may suggest, is a far cry from living together. Besides, I don’t even know Nancy.”

“You don’t know me either. You may have unwittingly saved a sociopath the world would be better without.”

Charles shook his head. “Don’t be absurd. You’re a good man, Erik. Better than you know.”

Everything about this was absurd.

“It’s settled then, when they discharge you, you can stay with me until we figure out who you are.”

Charles’ face, which Erik was already beginning to realize was nakedly expressive, came over suddenly unreadable.

“I—“ Charles hesitated, eyes flicking away from Erik to the window. Erik supposed coming to live with any stranger was enough to give anyone pause, especially someone who was as disoriented as Charles must already be. He was about to shift back to his original, much less awkward, plan when Charles’ gaze focused back on him. “All right. Until... until then.”

“Until then,” Erik echoed and they both fell suddenly silent.

He was inviting someone to live with him when he had never lived with anyone besides his mother his entire life. Roommates? Please. Erik had never had to, but would have rather lived in a squalid apartment than have to share a living space with anyone, even when putting himself through the extraordinary expenditure of american law school. Yet, here he was. Here they were. It felt right. Perhaps he had an overabundance of gratitude and quid pro quo to sate. It was the only thing that made any sense in the face of something that made absolutely no sense.

He’d probably regret it the instant Charles was in his space, but he also wasn’t someone who went back on his word, so he was taking in this stray whether he came to regret it or not.

Mama, at least, would approve.

*

Now on Ao3

Thanks for reading!!