#but my muscles do feel better and looser and i feel very relaxed

[fingertipsmp3]

I fell off the massage table 🙃

[dairy-farmer]

what about asexual tim? like he’s just not into sex. he doesn’t really see a point with it y’know.

maybe if he’s like, really REALLY stressed he’ll jerk off a bit, maybe.

and what if tim, -who’s seriously into one (or all) of the the rest of the bat and birds (like obsessively into) notices that THEIR stressed, that they are just so busy they haven’t had time for a lay or to sastify themselves.

and he just wants them to relax. and if even HE can relax a bit after jerking off, then it must heavenly for them.

so he offers himself to them. offers them to take what they want, do whatever they want.

maybe most of the time he just can’t get wet, he’s just not into it. but he still wants to help, wants them to feel better

maybe they pulled a muscle, so he gives them a massage ,slowly running his hands down, lower and lower.

just worshipping their body. lets them fuck his mouth. anything to make them feel better.

—————————————

i know a lot of people aren’t comfortable writing smut about a character being ace, so you seriously don’t have to. and sorry if this doesn’t make a lot of sense, i seriously suck at explaining my thoughts or whatever😭

i get it though!!!!! and an ace tim does make a lot of sense! like, personally, he's not very interested in the whole "scene" of sex. he knows its a big hobby of bruce and dick's and plenty of other people but for tim? yeah it just doesn't really...look like it'd be much fun. but that doesn't mean tim isn't fascinated by the aesthetics. he might not jack off to porn and only ever touch himself when he needs a dose of dopamine and oxytocin so he can unclench and relax enough to sleep- but that doesn't mean he doesn't look. he's as curious as any teenager about bodies, why they do things the way they do, why they react. and so sometimes that means he watches just to see how two bodies mesh together, hands grasping for each other, people making little noises and squirming...wetly against one another. it's equal parts interesting as it is sort of gross.

but bruce and dick love it- tim knows that. the two of them are some of the most grounded, focused people tim knows and yet they'll be thrown so off their game by something like sex. tim has had orgasms before and they were alright, pretty nice, and they helped him fall asleep faster, but sex seemed like a different ball game.

but it worked! bruce could go out one night, wound up and full of tension but then he'd come back looser and nicer and more focused and less stressed. same with dick. dick would be twitchy and have a slightly pained look on his face ever while smiling but then he'd go out to fuck someone and come back genuinely happier.

so tim is aware of the effect sex has one them. and he's also tangentially aware of how dick and bruce treat people that they regularly have sex with. how they speak kinder to them, are more patient with them, are nicer, smile at, and trust them to a certain degree.

so maybe tim is also thinking of that when he starts debating how to best help them when another crisis hits the city and they're all trapped either in the cave or running down assists in the city. the worst of the disaster is over and all that's left is picking up the broken parts of the city and putting it back together. but that work is stressful and tim can see how neither dick or bruce are sleeping as often as they should, how they're snapping at tim and each other.

and tim just knows he can help. he can ease the burden.

he can give them what they need to feel better, to be better.

and so he offers, in the only way he knows how, by tapping them for attention while they're one hour into tossing and turning, trying to fall asleep, and whispering his offer.

tim is offering them to take what they need no matter what it may be. tim goes to bruce first because he's the worst of them and bruce is desperate enough that he doesn't even protest.

tim's never had anything in his hole, bruce is the first. he's lucky bruce keeps adult things in his bed side drawer like lube and condoms and pills.

tim knows bruce needs to closeness, the warmth of another body so he says nothing when bruce doesn't tear open a fresh condom and just squirts a thick stream of lubricant onto his cock and onto tim's cunt.

tim makes a face at the cold, wet slimy feeling. it's an unexpected feeling like someone squirting wet sunscreen onto his back.

but it's not bad and even if it was tim wouldn't protests because the point of doing this was to make sure bruce and dick could relax- tim having a good time simply wasn't a factor.

fucking is..weird. not bad, but not good either. it's a lot like when bruce makes tim do stretching exercises, the ones that take hours and where tim is forced to hold his position for several minutes until his muscles are trembling and shaking from the lactic acid build up. bruce rutting into him is a lot like that, tim's muscles are getting stressed and worked up and made achey and into trembling messes but it's...deeper. tim can feel internal muscles clenching and moving, his abdominals keep flexing as he breathes through bruce taking what he needs. bruce is heavy and puts pressure on tim's lungs and him being so close means he's breathing and panting right into tim's face and...well tim's never been the most tactile person so being pressed so close to someone who's sweaty and moving...it's not the most fun thing in the world.

by the end tim's whole body is tired even though he hasn't moved. his thighs are aching like he's run a mile and despite it not being the point, the orgasms bruce fucked out of him leave him shaking and weak. he tries to squeeze his hands into a fist and can't because his energy has been drained.

bruce seems like he enjoyed himself, he's rolled over and breathing fast breaths that are slowing down as his eyes start slipping closed.

the cum dripping out of tim as he gets up he positively does NOT like. it's too much like when tim's on his period just more watery. it's like some gross combination of menstruating and peeing at the same time which tim grimaces at the thought of while an uncontrollable flood of cum falls out of him in droplets onto bruce's sheets.

dick is next and he, much to tim's quiet relief, doesn't ask to fuck tim.

he's nervous and unsure about them doing anything but eventually concedes to tim sucking his cock.

the experience does just about how tim thought it would go.

tim tries his best to make it feels good but the experience leaves much to be desired. dick just tastes like warm skin, slightly salty and odd. tim's tongue twitches and is unsure of what to do. it's not like licking ice cream or lollipops, those are sweet and the sugar encourages someone to keep licking. even the salt licks tim had once gotten curious about and tried had flavor and texture to entice. but a cock is just a big, wide thing that is stuffed in tim's mouth and makes it hard to breath and that he has to be careful not to gag himself on. dick holds tim's head and strokes his cheek and at one point just wants him to suckle on the tip but that's not much better because dick's precum tastes bad. it tastes chemical-y like bleach and something bitter.

tim tries not to make his dislike about it to clear. but dick ends up cumming fast anyway, he holds tim's head still and locked on his cock as he twists his fingers into tim's hair and humps his face with low 'un unh unh' sounds while spilling into tim's mouth.

so sex is not fun. tim very much does not understand the appeal even when dick insists on paying him back and settling his head between tim's thighs.

even though it does feel a little nice tim can't shed the absolute humiliation he feels at dick being pressed between his legs, of his warm, wet tongue pressing against and inside him. it's just so...uncomfortable. anything nice his parts feel is completely overshadowed by how gross it feels. the warmth, the wetness, the stickiness, the thought of dick leaving saliva on his skin. time whines and frantically rubs his cheek whenever dick presses a wet, spit soaked kiss to his skin- was this supposed to be better?

dick looks a little hurt when tim can't take it anymore and pushes him away. but he seems to be pacified when tim lies and says that sucking his cock was enough for tim to feel good and that he's supposed to be something for dick to use to feel good.

at first dick seems soothed and tim is just waiting for him to tuck himself into bed so tim can return to his own room.

tim may have counted his blessings too soon. tim spends the next twenty minutes awkwardly bouncing and riding dick who has an iron grip on tim's hips to grind them together with one hand and the other on the back of tim's neck so he can force their faces together and makeout with tim while jolting his hips and fucking into tim's sore insides.

it's hard work. tim really should give more credit to those porn stars he used to curiously watch. fucking takes a fair degree of muscle control, energy, and stamina and helping both dick and bruce means tim has to increase both- which acutally helps with his robin work so its not all for nothing.

still, after awhile tim loses his initial childish 'ew' ness about saliva and body fluids. he still doesn't find himself liking sex but he does tolerate it well enough to make sure both bruce and dick find enjoyment and relief in it.

not that tim would tell them that. if he admitted he didn't really like having sex they'd get all weird- tim knew they would because they always asked if tim liked something, if something felt good, if he wanted to do something specific. but that too tapered off once they were convinced that all tim wanted was for them to make themselves feel good, using him.

so tim didn't like sex. big whoop. he also didn't like having to shovel snow out of the driveway after a blizzard. or having to go to tutoring for his english class. or having to clean his room.

sometimes tim did things even if he didn't like them. because shoveling the driveway made alfred happy and going to tutoring to raise his english grade made dick happy and doing a weekly vacuuming of his cluttered room made bruce happy.

tim liked making his family happy so if that meant having sex with them well then of course he'd do it!

why wouldn't he?

[djbeatz]

Tachihara and the Book

Spoilers under the cut for S4

Tbh, I’m sure someone must’ve said this already and I just haven’t seen it yet, but I love the scene where Tachihara realizes that the government was being played and that the ADA is innocent because for me it says a lot about his character and who he considers himself to be, which might be a stretch but that’s what it felt like to me.

By now, we all know that Tachihara is a hunting dog, that is fact, and yet, he managed to break out of the effect of the book as Fyodor had written that all law enforcement would not believe any of the Agency’s attempts at proving their innocence. Although, I wouldn’t actually say he broke out of it, and instead I would say he either dodged, or curbed the effects.

By fact and position, Tachihara is law enforcement, very high ranking too and it was written that specifically law enforcement would not believe proof of innocence, so what does that say about Tachihara? Under normal circumstances, it should have worked because for all intents and purposes, Tachihara is part of the government.

I think that it did not work on him because he did not consider himself law enforcement anymore, and a lot of other people do not think of him as such as well.

I’m not sure if I’m stretching it there, but I have my reasons.

For the book to have been able to affect him in that way, it makes sense that other people and himself must believe that he was law enforcement; but we can see that his opinions on his stance wavers when Hirotsu describes him as “Mafia among Mafia”. They truly believed that he was right where he belonged and, in a way, so did Tachihara, before that of course but when Hirotsu said that it seemed as if Tachihara was finally realizing himself, who he is and where he belonged.

Before all of that, when we first see him revealed as the fifth Hunting Dog, I had this strange feeling that he was beginning to struggle with who he was. He wasn’t as ruthless when dealing with criminals as the rest of them were, it’s obvious by the fact that he spared Yosano despite their history and his feelings. He spared her when the others would most certainly not.

He had gotten used to being in the mafia, he had felt natural. The way he held himself was far looser, more relaxed, brash and natural than how he did as a hunting dog, as you can see that he took on a bit of stiffer disposition. Hell, in certain scenes with Teruko, he distinctly reminded me of Atsushi and Tanizaki, but that was mostly in the way he reacted to Teruko’s enthusiasm and bloodlust.

Tachihara began to realize what he truly wanted and it wasn’t to be better than his older brother or be his opposite. It felt more like he was looking for his sense of self, who he was without his brother or the reputation, or his feelings of revenge, as if he were on a hunt for himself, the him that he didn’t actually know.

People believed him to be a role model to many mafia members, a true mafioso down to his muscles and bones, and he didn’t feel that it was wrong, he wasn’t repulsed by the idea, he was accepting, he was okay with the idea, it was what he accepted himself to be and that’s why the book’s affects were dodged.

The mafia was not law enforcement and that was exactly what he thought of himself as, he was mafia no matter what.

Also, a funny little thing I noticed that he thought “The government has it wrong” and not “We have it wrong” which feels like a distinct isolation of himself from the government. But I’m not sure if it means much.

I’m not sure if any of this makes sense because I wrote all this on a whim (like how I write everything but this one feels especially strange to me, I know what I’m thinking but putting my thoughts into words is hard) but I hope this makes some kind of sense? And really, don’t believe what I say, these are just speculations and I’m probably wrong anyway-

[genshin-scenarios]

With an Adeptus!Reader...

A/N: Warning for spoilers of their backstories and Liyue's archon quest!

Characters: Zhongli, Xiao, Venti

Considering the hardships you went through before becoming an adeptus, Zhongli didn’t want to tie you to him with a contract; Liyue wasn’t in need of new warriors, and he was no longer leading the nation as Morax. Immortality erodes the spirit and memory, and with time comes a loneliness that can be hard to bear - thus Zhongli approached you with concern when he found out about your change.

What he hadn’t expected was for you to greet him with a smile and lighthearted conversation (it’s something he infinitely admires you for, really). Zhongli answers your questions pertaining his experience as an adeptus patiently, observing your reactions and body language to try and gauge if you're alright.

...You were a bit nervous about this transition though, and so Zhongli gives you a soft smile and places a reassuring hand on yours. Whenever you need him, don’t hesitate to reach out. He'd be more than willing to support you and listen when you have something to get off your chest. As both an experienced adeptus and friend, he’d like to be someone you can rely on. 

The talk ends with you finally dropping your strong front and laying in his arms (it’s not as if he couldn’t see right through you anyways, though Zhongli knew better than to poke at it while you were coming to terms with becoming an adeptus.) 

You still joked around even even as he was running his fingers through your hair (a calming motion), so at least that told him that you were fine. Zhongli can't help but chuckle when you point out that you match with him a little now, with your extra appendages/markings on your skin.

“You’d already brought light into my life when you were mortal.” Zhongli would remind you. “I will never lose sight of how our story began, nor take the rest of the time we have for granted.”

You’d laugh fondly, regarding him with a gentle gaze. “I thought you wanted to end this on a light note?”

“What could be lighter than the happiness you give me?”

Oh? “In that case, I’d have to thank you as well for painting my days in gold. Not just as Morax, but Zhongli as well.”

You’ve fought by Xiao’s side so many times that he could trace your movements as if they were his own. You weren’t from his generation of yakshas, but your purpose and combat prowess was something that he could comfortably rely on. He was proud to be able to say that you were comrades (and friends, and maybe a little bit more - Xiao was always cute when you teased him about that)

Like Madam Ping, you’ve opted to live amongst mortals to understand how to better support them in other ways. It’s quite a curious life you live, playing as a citizen by day and leaving for ‘work’ whenever needed, departing with a mysterious smile when asked about it.

Neither side of you was more ‘real’ than the other; as a citizen it was relaxing to indulge in mortal pastimes and learn to cook (regardless if you were very good at it), while traversing the land you love as an adeptus felt freeing, and battles always did give you a sense of purpose as it was something you’ve done for so long.

Though it’s always more fun when you can share the weight of a fight with Xiao - it’s nice how neither of you have to hold back in fear of hurting each other, and you share a familiar understanding that surpasses friendship, carefully built over time together.

Since he's so used to your presence, it sometimes surprises other people how casually he interacts with you (or even knows your habits/quirks), but you enjoy that little privilege that comes with your relationship. After all, once you've bonded on the battlefield for centuries, it's hard to call the other an acquaintance, right? It's not like it isn't mutual either~

“Hey, don’t forget that you can call my name too.” You nudged Xiao. “I’d never be late to a friend in need.”

He eyed the almond tofu that you’d abandoned for the sake of talking. “And have to argue about food with you after every patrol?”

“I said I’d cook!” You huffed. “You’re just stubborn. Eat more almond tofu and your muscles will become as soft as one.”

Xiao swiped your bowl from you, earning a yelp of protest. He wore the slightest of smirks as he finished it. “You said you wanted ‘real’ food. We can order more from downstairs.”

The first time he met you, Venti was only vaguely aware of you being an adeptus. He was visiting Liyue to have a drink with Morax but got a little lost (or so he said). He learn later that you were indeed in allegiance with the Geo Archon, though your contract was looser than the others as it was to look after Liyue’s people in general (the methods would be however you saw fit, and evolved as they did.)

“What a shame… You really signed your free time off to serve that blockhead, huh?” While you knew he was joking, you’d always wondered what he meant when he said it was a shame… You sometimes ponder this as you’re reminded of him, be it through the greeting of a breeze or singing of the birds.

Sometimes you’d visit Mondstadt during a mission, after which you would be invited by a certain bard to stay a bit longer, be it for some food or to catch the sight of the sunset from a different nation (Venti was always good at finding reasons to spend time together)

After Morax stepped down, Venti came to Liyue to check on you - he was aware of how the adepti respected and cherished his old friend, and offered his company as comfort. He’d sing, play the lyre or flute, or whatever that made you feel better. While he may joke about it, he really does admire your dedication to Liyue.

You laughed as a familiar pair of arms wrapped around your shoulders from behind. Venti’s greeting was cheerful as ever as your name rolled off his tongue. No matter how many times this has happened, it never stopped your heart from skipping. 

“Aren’t you ever worried we’d fall over when you jump on me like that?” You turned to look at him.

“Well, I know my brave warrior is strong enough to catch me!” Venti winked. “And if not, the wind will save us!”

Always a charmer, huh? You’re reminded of a past conversation as he took your hand and started leading you away, telling you something about the Windblume preparations for this year.

‘Sometimes I wish we could stay like this forever.’

‘In that case, might we form a little contract for ourselves? I’ll promise you my forever if you do the same.'

[shreddedparchment]

Spa Day

03/04/2021

Pairing: Clark Kent x Reader          Word Count: 7,559

Warnings: language, depression, past abuse, emotional abuse, fluff

A/N: I wrote this because I have been feeling pretty down on myself. It’s pure self indulgence to make me feel better. I hope it will help someone else and if not, I hope you at least get a smile or some entertainment from reading it. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

You’re awkward, walking in. Feeling out of place.

This place was for special people. Well, people who mattered.

You’re not sure how you got the voucher. It all happened so quickly.

One minute you were sitting in Mr. Wayne’s office, twiddling your thumbs to expend some nervous energy as you awaited your firing then the next you were being shoved out his office door with a gentle but firm hand at the center of your back.

Mr. Wayne had smiled, his face relaxed and amused.

“It expires soon, so use it tomorrow,” he’d said.

“I work tomorrow,” you’d resisted, no intention of losing a full day’s paid work.

“Take the day. On me. Full pay,” As you opened your mouth to protest again, he quickly lifted his hand to silence you politely and tacked on, “There’s no use arguing with me. Now enjoy it or you’re fired.”

He’d shut the heavy wooden door in your face leaving you standing there, stunned. At a loss to think up a reason to not come here today but obviously you’ve failed seeing as you’re here.

“Good morning!” A young woman with soft to the touch looking blonde hair smiles at you from behind the modern pale wooden counter. The white marble top shines in your eyes.

“Hi. Morning,” you sputter.

“How can we help you today?”

She’s so nice. So polite. Professional. This place is super expensive looking. There’s a crystal chandelier behind you at the center of the small lobby space. Chic sofas line the wall behind you, large pots with dragon trees growing tall add a splash of color to the otherwise sterile and plain gray walls.

Despite its minimalist decor, the office exudes money.

You’re almost at the brink of following the impulse that wants to turn you towards the tinted glass door, but before you can make your escape, the receptionist’s kind voice interrupts you.

“Oh! You have one of our platinum vouchers! Lucky you,” she smiles, genuine in her glee. “Shall I take that?”

She holds out her hands, both of them and waits for you to place the thick and shiny ticket-like paper in them.

Quickly she gives it a read, turning it over and then placing it under a UV light by her computer. An image shines out from under the purple light of a shimmering diamond right at the center of the ticket.

“You’ve got the works. Was it a gift?” She looks up at you, not intending to insult you but you can’t help but feel a little stung by her assumption.

You can’t really blame her though. You reserve all of your best outfits for work. Casual yet distinguished pantsuits and skirts with matching tops or jackets.

Today you’ve chosen a simple floor length skirt. It sits snugly around your waist and hips. Your t-shirt, a simple graphic tee with the words “Touch the Radley House YOLO” printed in bold black letters.

“Uh, yeah,” you admit to the girl, wishing she’d just sign you in and let you go about your day. “My boss gave it to me.”

“Lucky, lucky. You must have a really nice boss,” she admires.

“Well, I lost his company nearly a hundred million dollars and he didn’t fire me, so…” you trail off, still lost as to why Mr. Wayne had been so adamant you take some time off and why he’d been so understanding about the Ronson account.

“Oh,” the girl says, blinking a few times as she tries to process what you just said. “A very nice boss then.”

Her conclusion brings a small smile to your lips because truthfully, Mr. Wayne is very kind. You’ve never heard him berate an employee and he’s usually only tough on his business associates. Members of his board and investors. Like Mr. Ronson.

If he wasn’t so out of your league, you’d even consider maybe letting yourself really look at him. He’s hot for sure, but he always seems so preoccupied. Like he has something he’s trying to keep buried.

Nice, but he has secrets. No one’s perfect.

“Well, we’ve got you all booked in. What you’ll want to do is head in through that door on your right, walk halfway down the hall and the lounge room should be there to your left. Someone will come and escort you to your first experience.”

You observe her vernacular. Every word she speaks is rehearsed and probably scripted to a certain point.

“Thank you,” you give her another small smile, still feeling out of place but a little more at ease.

“Enjoy!” she calls as you cross through the heavy wooden door.

It swings shut behind you silently, a soft hiss at it latches.

The hallway before you is just as simple yet chic as the lobby. The colors are less neutral, a calming turquoise with a black base and a thick silver stripe lining the center of the wall at about waist height.

The doors are pale wood, smooth to the touch. You pass several of them as you make your way to the lounge.

Inside the door to your left at the center of the hall you find the lounge room. Which actually turns out to be a locker room. Smaller than what you would have thought with only about fifteen lockers that look more like small safes. Each one has a digital keypad, a fingerprint reader, and an iris scanner.

“Sheesh…” you observe but pick one and move over to it to set up your passcode, fingerprint, and scan your eye so that you can come get your stuff when your day of relaxation is over.

Inside the locker you find a neatly folded outfit wrapped in sanitary plastic. Completely sealed.

Just in case you’re wrong about this being a spot where you can change, you look for a designated changing area but don’t find one.

With no other choice, you place your purse and keys inside the locker, then slowly begin to strip. Shoes, skirt underwear go into the locker but your nerves don’t let you remove your t-shirt just yet. Untucked from your skirt, it’s easier to tell that it’s intentionally oversized.

After another quick anxious look at the door you’d come in through, you hook your hands into the base of your shirt and pull it up...just as the door opens and a large clearly male body steps in.

You gasp, whirling around in surprise to reclothe your breasts.

Cool air blows against your bottom as your shirt also twists with your movement, but you reach back and yank it down.

“Oh, I am...uh, didn’t see anything?” The voice is deep, smooth. It puts you at ease even though you literally just exposed yourself to a complete stranger.

“No, no. It’s fine,” you tell him, voice strained with embarrassment. “It’s my fault, I didn’t know if there was a separate changing room. I just...didn’t see any.”

“Oh, um...it’s the door right across the hall. But you know what? I’ll actually just step right outside and let you finish.”

That’s so nice…”You don’t have to, I can just-”

You turn around to look at him, keeping your hands on your shirt to pull it down. One at the front. One behind.

Simultaneously, though you don’t notice, both your and his jaw drop.

It takes both of you a moment to find your voices and while he speaks, your mind is busy taking in his massive size.

He’s thick. Muscles bulking through the should-be loose wrap top he’s wearing. Like yours it’s a soft peach color, the same diamond shape you’d seen on your voucher under the UV light etched into the right breast.

With the top he wears loose pants, or somewhat loose around his knee and down to his ankles; there’s a pair of charcoal slippers on his feet. His thighs, like his arms and chest strain against the clothes he’d been given.

It’s clearly too small. You wonder if maybe this place doesn’t carry the outfit in his size. It’s very possible, considering his girth.

“Miss?”

His slightly concerned expression brings you back to yourself, now flustered because he’s caught you gawking at him.

“Sorry, I’m-you just surprised me and my brain’s a little-what did you say?”

“I’ll just step outside,” he doesn’t wait for you to respond as he backs up to the door then pulls it open and disappears through it, closing it gently behind him.

“What the hell was that?!” you gasp, angry at yourself for staring.

He’s hot! You couldn’t help it. He also looks familiar, though you can’t place the face. How you could possibly forget a face like that you have no idea.

While you change, you think about the smaller things you’d notice.

His hair is dark. Black. Curls that are carefully kept in place with hair products. His skin is a perfect pale peach. Not so pink as the clothes you’re pulling on, but it falls under the same shade. There didn’t seem to be a single blemish from what you were able to see.

A small tuft of chest hair had been peeking out of the V of the top. His face had been perfect, yes, but kind. There was a gentleness in it. The small curve of a smile had played on his rosebud pink lips. Not thin. Not thick. They were perfect.

He was perfect.

And those eyes...so blue. Like a clear spring sky. So bright and observant. There’s no way he didn’t catch you staring. Shit.

You note as you shove your underclothes into your locker out of where he might see them, that your own outfit for this spa leaves even less to the imagination than what must be the male uniforms.

Where the handsome stranger had pants, you were given very small shorts. Little more than boy short underwear in length. Parts of your bottom were threatening to overflow.

The top, while similar to the one the stranger wore, also came with a bandeau given the unique look of being wrapped around your chest when it so clearly is just one piece. You were expected to wear this underneath the looser wrap top.

Pulling it shut, you’re still tying the top closed around your waist as you hurry to the door where the stranger must still be waiting.

You open it...but he’s gone.

Disappointment floods through you. Surprising you.

You have no reason to want to see him, but you suppose you had just wanted to apologize for the awkwardness.

With a sigh you shut the door and move back to your locker to shove the rest of your belongings in just as a kind looking young woman no older than the receptionist at the front desk comes in with a smile.

“Are we ready for the diamond experience? You’re a very lucky lady!”

Even though you’re still only halfway sure you even want to go through with this whole thing, her excitement is catching and you find yourself nodding and scurrying after her as she shows you down the hall for your all expense paid spa day.

~~~~~~~~~~

You aren’t used to relaxation.

Not to this degree.

A gold facial? Full body exfoliation with sea salt and Indian kama oil? A rain massage which consisted of you being massaged with several different clays as warm water is cascaded down your body? An herbal bath with murky green water that leaves your skin feeling fresh--like mint but for your skin?

It’s too much!

You’re four hours into your spa session and you’re so sleepy you might pass out in this next one.

As you’re escorted by the same young lady who has been tending to you from the beginning, she opens the door of a long room, the outer wall of which is made up of endless glass panels that catch the rays of the sun.

As you step in, you’re assaulted by immediate drowsiness as your entire being is engulfed in slightly sticky heat.

This isn’t a sauna. It won’t make you sweat buckets. But it makes your skin dewy and your eyes droop.

“Oh, wow,” you gasp, suddenly wanting to run before you can collapse to the floor in unconsciousness.

Your escort laughs, “The hot room has that effect on all of our guests. Come, it looks like we’ve got a spot free over at the far end.”

Along this wall of glass, there are lounge chairs with soft cushions grouped in twos, separated by a lattice waterfall panel that tinkles pleasantly as it empties down into a bed of soft pebbles. On the table at the head of these seats is a pitcher of water, glasses, and a set of small handheld fans that one can use to cool off a bit in the heat. Just in case it becomes too much, you guess. Though you can’t imagine it will. The heat isn’t oppressive. Just consuming.

It’s everywhere but it’s not choking or frustrating.

“I hope you don’t mind if we put you next to one of our other single guests? Most of our diamond packages are used by couples, as you can see.”

Your escorts gestures at the chairs as you pass them and sure enough, every seat is taken with couples hiding behind large potted fan palms.

“No, I don’t mind,” you answer in single, as if you have any choice. “How long will I be in here?”

“An hour or so? If you’d like to exit early, there is a small button on the table by your lounge. Press it and I will come take you to your next experience,” she looks back and smiles at you.

You notice that you pass three spots without lounge seats and wonder silently why some of them have been removed. At the end of these empties is where the escort stops. A set of lounges in the very last spot against the wall.

“Here you are,” your escort smiles. “If you need anything, just give us a call.”

“Thank you,” you smile at her and squeeze between the potted palms.

Slightly nervous, you look for your unintended partner and gasp at the Adonis you’d thought you’d lost.

The sound draws his attention and his expression shifts from stoic concentration to soft smile, “Hey, it’s you again.”

It takes you a moment to find your voice because you’re too busy gawking again.

He’s not wearing a shirt or pants. That is, he’s wearing shorts. A lot longer than yours, reaching about the top of his thighs, but still short. Like briefs. It gives you a good view of every single muscle in his long legs and you suddenly envy anyone that’s ever had the privilege to ride that thigh.

What the fuck am I thinking?! You give our head a shake and try to focus on his face as he waits. It’s only a second too late.

“Yeah, hi. Sorry, I-” you avert your eyes and quickly take a seat in your own lounge chair to his left, keeping your eyes on anything other than the mass that is his chest.

Just as you’d thought, it’s covered in a mouthwatering line of chest hair that trailers down onto his stomach and makes an ever so subtle trail down, down, down...down...down…

He chuckles, “It’s alright. It’s only fair you get a good look too, right?”

You’re not even processing what he’s saying, unable to focus for a bit.

“You’re here alone?” It’s more an observation than a question but you answer anyway, grasping at the distraction.

“Yes,” you nod. “A gift from my boss.”

“Me too,” he turns a little in his seat so that he can look at you, but adjusting his angle so that he can still keep his legs up, one propped up as he rests his elbow on his knee. The other stretched out before him.

This draws your gaze back to him and you’re able to pay attention this time and ignore his very distracting body.

“Oh?”

“I mean, not my boss, but it was a gift from a friend. He thought I could use a nice relaxing day.”

The way he says it, sounds like you’re not the only one saddled with what you perceived was a burden or at the very least, a waste of time.

You grin, “Mine too. My boss. I saved the company I work with from a scandal and his idea of repaying me was to give me a spa day. A raise would have been more than enough.”

“Tell me about it,” the man says, smiling with stunning pearly whites.

His smile is gorgeous and you’re enamored again by how sweet he looks.

How can someone look like he can tear the head off a rhino and still look so adorable? It can’t be fair.

“Rent keeps going up and my job doesn’t pay nearly enough to keep up. At this rate I might end up having to move back to the farm.”

“Oh,” you reply lamely, piecing together where he might have grown his sculpted figure. Farm work can be grueling.

He gives you a look, assessing your response then waves his hand gently as if to swat away his complaint, “Sorry, don’t listen to me. I’ve got it better than most. You don’t need to be hearing about my problems.”

“No!” you rush to assuage his worry. “No, it’s okay. That sucks about your job. Is there no chance at a raise?”

“Not exactly, I have a uh, a hobby that keeps me from taking more work and I kind of get paid by assignment. I have a flat salary but working extra would definitely help with the bills.”

“What do you do?” you wonder, trying to picture this guy doing anything other than just looking like a God in a spa.

He could be a bodyguard? They get assignments. Construction? Personal trainer?

“I’m a journalist,” he tells you, speaking matter-of-factly as if it makes perfect sense.

You blink, then chuckle and then laugh once.

“What?” he asks, amused and smiling again as you chuckle. “What’s funny?”

“Nothing,” you shake your head. “It’s just, journalist is not where my mind went.”

He doesn’t seem surprised but he also doesn’t say anything else.

The two of you lapse into silence. It’s not uncomfortable and at least you don’t feel like you need to say anything to fill the dead air.

Twenty minutes pass and you lean back in your chair to relax, sighing lightly and smiling at the immaculate aura that this stranger seems to emanate.

It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before.

The longer you lay there, suddenly not sleepy at all, the more your curiosity grows. Turning towards him, you find him already looking at you.

This startles you but in a good way. You smile and the soft curve of his lips breaks into a full toothed smile.

Both of you move your lips to speak, but before you can either of you get a word in a rustle of palm leaves pulls both your attentions behind your seats.

You sit up, twisting a little to look at who’s come, expecting to see your escort or some other spa staff.

Instead you find a woman you’d spotted laying in another spot with who you’d thought was the other half of her couple. Her waist-length auburn hair clings to the skin of her bare shoulders and sides. She’s removed her top, leaving her in her bandeau.

“Hi,” she says to your stranger-wait not your stranger. Shoot.

He looks confused but not unfriendly, “Hello.”

“My friend finally talked me into coming over and talking to you,” she informs him.

“I see,” your-the stranger says.

The girl seems to be expecting something but the stranger just looks up at her expectantly. Awkwardly.

He looks at you and you quickly turn away from their conversation, pushing yourself to the end of the lounge to sit with your hands holding onto the edge, feet flat on the ground.

You try not to eavesdrop but they’re right there.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” he asks her, sounded polite but not uninterested.

You can hear the woman shifting from foot to foot, probably pushing her hips from side to side. Her figure is nice. Not like yours. She’s attractive, in a conventional way. In a magazine accepted way.

Your mood sinks the longer you ponder on this random girl and the stranger. There’s an endless string of disappointments that have built you into this person you are.

Insecurities made worse by words spoken by people that should have supported you or those you thought were on your side. Affections misplaced. Kindness taken advantage of. Betrayal. Worst of all the betrayal. Some small. Some big.

You know that you should be less shaky in your self worth. You know that you’re more than the words spoken and the actions taken that brought you to this point. But how do you turn it off? How to fight the thoughts that bring you down?

It’s not something you can do all at once. You know this. And yet feeling bad about yourself makes you feel guilty because you know it’s bad and that makes you feel worse. It’s an endless cycle.

You’re fully wallowing in your own self-pity before the girl even has a chance to answer the stranger’s question.

“Well, I noticed you came by yourself and I was wondering if maybe you wanted to have dinner sometime? Or maybe coffee?”

You don’t dare turn back, you just resign yourself to a lack of luck and stare out at nothing even though the view is really nice.

“Thank, I appreciate the offer, but I’m not looking for a date right now, I don’t really have the time,” the stranger says, giving her a diplomatic response.

Letting her down without letting her down.

“Oh, well,” there’s a beat of silence. “In case you change your mind, here’s my number. Call me, if you find some time?”

You hear her retreat and the soft shift of what must be a business card against the wood of the table behind the stranger’s chair.

Movement shifts in your periphery and you see that the stranger has moved to the end of his own lounge, mimicking your pose though he’s much bulkier and takes up much more space.

“That was weird,” he says, a small puff of air passing between his lips as he huffs a laugh.

“Why?”

“Well, she just came up to me, out of nowhere,” he clarifies.

“I’m pretty sure that’s not the first time that’s happened to you.”

The stranger seems to pick up on your mood shift, his face etched with concern as he tries to lean forward, head tilted a little as he strains for a better look at your face.

“Actually, that never happens to me,” he says. A lie?

“How about you?” he checks, probing gently to see if he can get you to talk.

“No. Never.”

“But you’re so-”

“I’m nothing,” you interrupt, the words an automatic response as if you’ve been hypnotized into saying those words exactly. A trained response.

The silence is no longer comfortable, but thick and heavy.

“Why would you say that?”

“Because it’s true. I’m nobody.”

It hurts to speak these words aloud. Words that have hurt you in the past. Words that have cut you time and again. Scars left behind by those people that should have loved you but didn’t.

“No one is nobody,” the stranger counters.

He watches you, observing.

You don’t like the front row seat he has to your wallowing. You try to pull yourself out of it but the hole just keeps getting deeper.

“I’m sorry,” you sigh, stealing a quick glance at him.

He’s still got his head tilted a little in pure concentration as he watches you, brow crinkled with focus.

It’s not judgement though, just intent. You can tell he’s really listening and it makes your heart flutter. No one has ever listened to you before. Not like this. Not with a deep desire to understand like he does.

He shakes his head, “Was it the girl coming over?”

You look away, feeling embarrassed, “She reminded me of someone I knew. Someone I dated.”

Nodding, he indicates that he’s listening.

You smile without humor, hurt by the memory, “He thought I should look like her. Or...he didn’t say exactly like her, but he said he wished I looked better.”

He frowns, his deep dislike for your story honest, “He doesn’t sound like a nice guy.”

“No, he wasn’t. He wasn’t like, evil or anything, but yeah. Not a nice guy,” you admit, accepting that in that case, it was definitely your boyfriend’s problem.

“But that’s not it?”

You look at him.

“There’s more to it?” he guesses.

You look out at the scenic view finally, not really seeing it but appreciating the colors at least.

“This spa day?” you begin, stealing another glance at him.

He turns to sit facing you, his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped as his listening intensifies.

“The only reason I got it was because as I said before I saved the company I work for from being dragged into scandal. I also lost a bunch of money by losing the client but my boss was pretty pleased.

“But the only reason I even touched the account was because I was sorta forced to?” Is that the best way to describe what happened?

“How were you forced to deal with that account?”

“Well, I’m not exactly the best with making friends? I mean, I have had friends before. I just--I got really sick a while back and I lost most of them because I cancelled on plans a lot or I didn’t have the energy to maintain contact? Even texting felt like such a chore. Just the act of responding and-I guess they thought that I thought being friends with them was a chore, and that wasn’t it.

“I just couldn’t find the energy to try to do anything. Some days I wouldn’t even eat because I’d have to get up and make myself food and I barely got up to go to the bathroom much less make a meal.

“Anyway, I just kind of gave up and they did to and now, I don’t really have an in with people? I don’t say much and it’s not that I don’t want to talk, I just don’t have anything worth saying. Or maybe I just can’t think of anything? I don’t know. But it affects work relationships too.”

“How?” he asks.

You take a deep breath, looking down at your hands clinging to the edge of the lounge before releasing it slowly.

“It’s really just me getting in my feelings,” you shrug.

“What you feel is what you feel, even if you don’t think you should. Our pasts can affect us well into our futures.”

His encouragement helps, and you feel a little less vulnerable to share with him.

“I work in the PR department. There are six of us in total. We’re a pretty big company. Multinational big. So there’s one of us for every form of media. Since we all work for the same clients, bridging the gap, we usually spread the workload evenly.

“Or, the other five members of my team do. Sometimes they just forget that I’m there and I usually get stuck with the leftover work. I’m not one to complain, so-” you shrug. “But they forget me for other stuff too. Company dinners. Competitions for prizes in the office. Secret Santa. Stuff like that.

“It makes me feel alone.”

You chance a glance at him, and he’s still watching you but his eyes are far away for a bit as if he’s remembering something.

“I know how that feels,” he nods. “I’ve felt alone almost all my life in some ways. Luckily, I’ve made a few friends to help me see things a little differently but that loneliness will never really go away.

“I understand.”

You smile, feeling more and more at peace again with him. Calm, like he really does get it.

He responds to the shift in your expression by relaxing his own. A small crinkle forms at the corners of his eyes, a subtle curve of his lips.

Now that you’re both feeling a little better, you can admit to yourself that you were jealous. Not just because the girl was everything that you were made to think you should be, but because this stranger, gorgeous as he is, is so nice.

He’s sweet and you want that in your next partner. You want to have someone care about you genuinely. You’re a little ashamed of wanting to claim him. Do you even dare entertain the thought?

“Yeah, I think you probably do,” you smile wider, turning in your seat to face him like he’s facing you.

“Now that you know all about my depression, would you like to know my name?” you ask him, teasing a smile.

He smiles more freely, “On a first date? Isn’t that moving kinda fast?”

Your stomach tumbles, heart sprinting at his words.

“A date?”

He only smiles wider, your heart stuttering before taking off at double speed again.

You tell him your name and then bite your lip, unable to believe your good luck.

“What about that other girl? You told her you weren’t looking for a date,” you wonder.

“Well, how can I be looking for a date when I’m already on one? Besides, how many girls do you think I can come across before I find another one wearing a shirt about my favorite book again?” he asks, all sincerity.

“Your favorite book is to Kill a Mockingbird?”

His smile is blinding.

“It’s really nice to meet you,” he nods, reaching out to shake your hand. “My name is Clark. Clark Kent.”

You take it and almost faint as your head goes dizzy at the soft touch of his skin.

The veins of his forearm bulge as he squeezes gently but he doesn’t actually shake it and instead seems to just hold your hand.

“Wait, I’ve seen your editorials before. You work at the Daily Planet.”

“I do,” he nods.

Your stomach suddenly falls, jealousy raking up along your ribs to settle around your heart to make it ache.

“Aren’t you dating Lois Lane? I thought-you two went to one of my boss’s parties together.”

It had been so long ago. Months and months. You remember Mr. Wayne going on about his friends Clark and Lois. You hadn’t met them, but Mr. Wayne had left to greet them when they’d arrived.

Clark’s own face falls just a tad, a small melancholic shift but it’s not deep. He keeps his smile, though smaller, and nods.

“We broke up last year,” he confesses, still not releasing your hand.

His thumb grazes against the back of it, sending goosebumps up from that point to spread along your arms and the rest of your body.

“I’m...not sorry?” you laugh, unable to help yourself because how can you be sorry about it now?

Clark also chuckles, “You know, right now, suddenly I’m not either.”

Before you can think of something cute to say, your stomach gurgles loudly, announcing to anyone close enough to hear that you’re hungry.

“Oh,” you utter, embarrassed as you finally take your hand back to rub your belly. “Sorry, I guess I haven’t eaten in a bit.”

“They have a menu here, I’ll grab us one.”

He rises and is gone before you can stop him and holy hell does he have a nice butt.

Watching him leave, you contemplate the way he used the word “us” so casually and wiggle with the pleasure it gives you.

As quick as you can, you look for any reflective surface and settle on the window across from you on which you can barely see yourself.

It’s enough though and you quickly go about fixing your hair which is surprisingly not bad even after all the treatments you’ve undergone.

A soft voice calls your name, the young woman who’s been escorting you.

“Hi, are you ready for your next treatment?” she smiles at you politely, kindly even, her body slightly bent down so that she won’t speak too loud and disturb the other people enjoying the hot room.

“Oh, um...I’m actually super hungry and I was going to order something to eat?”

The idea of being taken away to somewhere that you can’t be around Clark devastates you. You haven’t been this into anyone in so long.

“Oh okay! What would you like to order? Did you get a menu?”

The young woman gestures over her shoulder as if asking if she should go get you one.

“Actually-” but you don’t get to explain because Clark suddenly steps up to loom over both of you.

He doesn’t mean to, you don’t think, he’s just so big and he kind of naturally just looms.

“Hi,” he greets her kindly, and she flushes.

You can’t blame her. She takes a step back to put some space between herself and Clark and she’s seriously flustered. He’s hot.

Clark squeezes back by and sits himself in his seat before opening the paper menu and leaning towards you to give you a look.

You read through the choices quickly and nothing looks too crazy.

“Ooh, this one looks good,” you tell him, pointing down at the bottom of the menu.

“Should we get that one?”

“Yeah!” you reply eagerly, excited for the food.

You’re really very hungry.

“Can we get the gourmet pizza?” Clark asks, “And an order of the mini muffins? What kind are they?”

“Blueberry today,” the girl informs him, back to her composed and professional attitude.

“Two orders of those. And…”

“You don’t offer any kind of burger?” you ask the young woman looking back at her.

She smiles kindly but shakes her head, “No, sorry. The closest would be the sandwiches. We have tuna, cucumber, egg salad, and ham.”

While they sound like normal sandwiches, you have a suspicion that they’re going to be fancy in one way or another.

“Can we have an order of the tuna?”

She nods.

“And we’ll get the chocolate fondue, for desert?” Clark adds, folding up the menu and handing it to your escort.

“Alrighty, and for drinks? We can bring just plain water or perhaps some herb infused tea?”

“Do you have any sweet tea?” you wonder.

She nods.

“Two please,” Clark smiles. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” your escort says and hurries off to put in the order.

Both of you watch her go then when you meet Clark’s eyes, he laughs, just once. Failing to keep it inside.

“Did we order too much?” you wonder.

“I’m hungry too,” Clark assures you.

“I really wanted a burger,” you lament. “I mean, this food will probably be better than some greasy burger but-”

“A burger sounds like heaven. I love greasy burgers. Double meat. Triple cheese. Lots of pickles.”

He makes a funny face, pretending to salivate over the image he’s painted and while it’s a subtle change in his expression, you can tell that he’s more prone to being serious and that makes the gesture funnier for some reason.

You laugh, shaking your head.

He laughs with you, leaning back in his lounge.

You follow his lead, then turn onto your side and shove an arm underneath your head.

He mimics your pose, drawing his long legs up a little to bend them.

“I’m sorry about earlier, with the locker room? I really didn’t know that I wasn’t supposed to change in there.”

Clark’s smiles shift to a soft curve of his lips.

“I’m the one that should be apologizing,” he counters. “I walked in on you.”

“But you had no idea I’d be in there half naked, I kinda just thrust my body at you.”

There’s a beat, he looks down at your chair instead of maintaining eye contact, then, “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Your neck is suddenly on fire. Cheeks, ears, the base of your belly. It all burns as your heart stutters.

As he looks up to meet your eyes again, those baby blues burning with a striking spark, something he said when you first came in here replays itself in your head.

You frown, narrowing your eyes at him, “Hey, when I came in here, I apologized for staring at your naked upper body and you said that it was only fair I get a good look too.

“Are you saying you saw me when you clearly said you didn’t in the locker room?!”

Clark averts his eyes, clearing his throat loudly before throwing himself onto his back to stare up at the ceiling.

“I’m gonna have to get my friend something really good in return for gifting me this spa day,” Clark says, pointedly changing the subject.

But he has a point. This has been the best little indulgence you’ve ever given yourself and none of it could have been possible without Mr. Wayne’s generosity.

“Me too. I’ll have to make sure my boss knows how glad I am that he forced me to come here.”

Clark smiles, “What’s your next treatment? Did you pick them before you came?”

“We could do that?” You gasp.

Clark just smiles wider.

“No, I’m just going with the flow. The girl who took our order has been suggesting stuff and I’ve just been going with it.”

“I have a fresh water soak after this. You should join me.” Clark offers.

After the hot room, a swim in some fresh water sounds like heaven. And extending your time with Clark is a definite bonus.

“Aren’t we not supposed to swim for thirty minutes after we eat?” you tease.

Clark chuckles, “It’s a soak.”

Then, his voice shifts and you’re knocked breathless as he basically pleads with you.

“Join me. Only if you want to. I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to.”

Your brain is buzzing with that pleading voice of his. Gentle urging that betrays his want to be with you rather than wanting to control you.

“A fresh water soak sounds amazing.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Nothing could ever top today. You and Clark stuck together the rest of the day. It was fun getting to know him and exciting because the longer you two spent time together, the closer he sat to you.

As you dropped your spa outfit into a canvas souvenir bag that your attendee had given you at your last treatment--a couple’s massage that you and Clark had talked all the way through--Clark peeked around his own locker door, shutting it.

“So, I was thinking,” he began, moving to lean beside your locker as he towers over you, making you internally swoon with the curve of his lips.

“Yeah?” you urge him on, taking your other belongings and throwing them into the canvas bag along with your spa outfit which is also free for you to take.

“I have some things to do tonight but, how would you like to get some burgers tomorrow?”

“Are you asking me out on a second date, Clark?” as much as you wish you could sound like you were teasing, your excitement betrays you and Clark beams at your tone.

“Definitely,” he says low and deep.

Fuck, you’re totally screwed. You’re falling hard.

You really want to reach up and gently slide the curl falling on his forehead to the side lightly, but you resist the urge.

“I’d love to go out and get greasy burgers with you,” you bite your lip and Clark’s expression shifts a bit more serious but there’s a fire in his eyes, a darkening as his pupils dilate that makes your heart stutter.

“Come on,” Clark nods towards the door. “I’ll walk you out.”

He bumps into you, flirtatiously nudging you as he leads you out and you return his gentle push with your own.

“Had you been to a spa like this before?”

“No,” Clark shakes his head. “I actually don’t get much benefit at these places. It feels good, but it’s not really my thing. You?”

“I feel cleaner than I ever have,” you scoff. “But I could never afford it. Even the cheap places. I’d rather just take a walk around a park or something.”

“Me too,” Clark agrees, smiling.

As the two of you walk out into the parking lot, the cooler air outside feels pleasant against your treated skin.

In the setting sun light, Clark looks especially good and you can’t help yourself. You steal several glances at him with no worry as to hiding it.

You’re happy to see he’s doing it too.

“Oh good,” a familiar voice interrupts, pulling your feet to a stop as you search for your boss’s face. “You two met.”

“Wait, us two-?”

“Bruce?” Clark also stops beside you, eyes narrowed, a crinkle between his eyes.

You look between the two of them, confused but starting to put two and two together.

“Bruce? You-Mr. Wayne is your friend who gave you the voucher?” you realize.

Clark looks at you, his own realizations starting to manifest.

“Bruce is your boss?”

Mr. Wayne moves towards the two of you, hands shoved into his long charcoal gray coat. There’s a satisfied grin on his handsome face, a pride in what you realize must have been a carefully crafted maneuver.

Clark looks at you, a knowing smile on his face as if amused but maybe also a little irritated? Not with you, of course. Clearly his annoyance is with Mr. Wayne.

“You did this,” he accepts, looking back at Mr. Wayne with a tilt of his head.

“I didn’t do anything,” Mr. Wayne denies. “I just gave you two a free day at the spa. Did she tell you why I gave her the voucher?”

“She did,” Clark nods.

“Not every PR rep would overlook a five hundred million dollar investment in order to keep us clean from associating with a suspected illegal arms dealer. Most of them would just look the other way.” Mr. Wayne brags.

A look of understanding crossing Clark’s face and he looks down at you, smiling again as if he’s pieced together a puzzle.

“It was really nothing, Mr. Wayne, and thank you for today. I-I’m actually really glad I came. I would have hated it if the voucher expired.”

“Expired?” Clark asks, turning that confused look back on his friend. “They don’t expire.”

Mr. Wayne clears his throat and turns his full body away from you both, looking back at his shiny expensive sports car.

“Yeah, they do,” he says.

“Bruce,” Clark chides.

“We’re gonna be late,” Mr. Wayne says, ignoring Clark’s reprimand, then looks at you as he pretends he wasn’t just caught in a lie. “Do you have a ride home?”

“Yeah, I brought my car,” you gesture at a modest white sedan parked a few spots over.

“Good. I’ll see you on Monday. Clark?” Mr. Wayne urges him, then walks towards his car.

“I’ll be right there,” Clark tells him, then waits for you to lead the way to your car.

Your heart is still thrumming rapidly with the realization that Mr. Wayne went out of his way to make sure you and Clark met. A set up?

You stop by your car door and unlock it. Clark is quick to take the door from you as you open it and he holds it with his left arm as you turn to look up at him.

“I had a lot of fun today, despite the obvious premeditation of us meeting,” you scoff. “I’m glad I met you.”

You’re quickly becoming acquainted with the gentle curve of Clark’s lips, the peek of his pearly whites as he blushes and meets your eyes.

“I’m glad Bruce interfered,” he nods. “I’ll see you tomorrow for burgers?”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” you assure him.

After a moment of hesitation, he reaches out and places his hand on your bicep then traces the length of your arm until he can take your hand.

It sets your skin on fire. It makes you dizzy and breathless.

“You have my number,” you remind him, eager to reconnect if he has the time.

He gives you that pearly smile, blue eyes full of excitement, “I’ll call you later. Tonight?”

You nod, “Tonight.”

He waits for you to get in, shutting the door for you when you’re sitting.

You lower the window as he backs away, “Bye.”

“Bye,” he nods, then turns to meet Mr. Wayne at his car.

“What?” Bruce asks, “It’s been months. She’s perfect for you.”

“Really?!” you can hear Clark demand, more annoyed with his friend again than any consequences his actions might have brought, however positive.

“You like her, don’t you?” Mr. Wayne asks.

“That’s not the point, Bruce. Boundaries.” Clark reminds him. “Why did you lie to her?”

“I knew you were coming today, I had to get her here,” Mr. Wayne explains. “Besides, you’re-”

As their doors shut, you’re cut off from their distant conversation. You shut your window, watch them speed out, and smile to yourself at the unexpected turn your spa day took.

[one-boring-person]

What's Funny?

John Rambo (between Rambo II and Rambo III) x reader

Warnings: some sexual content implied? Slight injury

Context: John teaches the reader to ride a horse. (Set between the second and third movie)

A/N: this was not supposed to turn out how it did; it was supposed to stay innocent! But ah well, it is what it is. Also, I apologise if parts of this are inaccurate, I am by no means that knowledgeable on horse riding, so please excuse any inaccuracies!

Masterlist

I instinctively tense up in the saddle as I feel the horse beneath me shift, the sensation of being sat on something alive very odd to me, despite all the stranger things I've done in my life. Sensing this, the animal whinnies and paws at the dusty ground, tossing its head slightly, clearly thinking I'm in distress, even though I'm not. Biting my lip, I try to relax again, taking the reins a little looser in my hands, adjusting my feet in the stirrups. Still holding the bridle for me, my companion, John, reaches up to pat the horse's neck, trying to soothe it as he eyes my posture.

"You need to relax more." He states, reaching over to lightly pinch the muscle in my arm, feeling how tense it is, his touch almost reassuring to me, "Stop tensing up so much, nothing bad is gonna happen."

"I know, I'm just...nervous, that's all." I mumble back, slightly ashamed at my incapability to do something he makes look so simple.

"Don't be, you'll be fine. There, now just lightly touch your heels to his side and click your tongue." The dark-haired veteran moves his hands, holding onto the leading rope instead.

Taking a breath, I do as he says, my jaw clenching when the horse starts into a slow walk, snorting and tossing its head impatiently. The movement feels odd beneath me, but I settle into it with some ease, still uncomfortable but not badly so, my eyes flicking to John for knowledge on whether I'm doing this right. He watches me carefully, leading the horse round in a circle, adjusting my posture here and there, sending me a look of reassurance when he catches my eye. I start getting the hang of it, relaxing slightly into the saddle as the horse starts to get used to me, the movements becoming smoother and more fluid, a small hesitant smile breaking out onto my lips. 

"Enjoying yourself?" John asks after a moment, the start of a smile pulling at his lips, dark eyes glittering with triumph. 

"Yeah, I am now." I reply, grinning at him as I reach forward to pat the horse's neck.

"Good, I'm glad." He responds, swiping a hand over his brow, "Stop a minute, I've gotta take this off."

The muscular man gestures to his large overshirt, waiting for me to slow to a halt before dropping the lead and going to the fence, where he takes his shirt off over his head. I find myself watching his every movement, enraptured by the way his muscles flex and move under his tanned, scarred skin, his torso hidden by one of his black sleeveless shirts, his shoulders bulging as he removes the fabric hiding them. Licking my lips at the sight, I forget to pay attention to the horse beneath me, yelping when it suddenly bucks upwards, the unexpected movement throwing me off the saddle a little, the animal quickly working to lose me completely. Getting my feet loose from the stirrups, I find myself thrown to the floor, dull pain exploding across my ribs as I land harshly, the impact winding me. Neighing, the stallion jumps into a more uncontrolled pace, seemingly having been spooked by something, leaving me lying in the dust as it moves off. 

"(Y/n)! Are you alright?" John calls out to me as he realises what's happened, the veteran swiftly moving to catch the fast-moving horse, grabbing it and calming it. Leading it back over, he hurriedly drops to the floor beside me, helping me sit upright as I press a hand to my ribs, groaning a little.

"Yeah, I'm good. Caught me by surprise." I wince, looking up at him, allowing him to help me up.

He looks me over, making sure I'm not seriously injured, before starting to consider something, a slight grin playing at his lips.

"What's funny?" I ask him curiously, dusting myself down.

"Hm? Oh, I just find it amusing that for a person who I've seen drive a car, motorcycle, tank, and fly planes and helicopters, as well as navigate boats, in all kinds of conditions, you've never mastered horse riding." He explains, chuckling slightly.

Pouting, I push his arm lightly, eyeing up the horse again.

"Yeah, well all those things are inanimate when they start, and I can fully control them. This creature has a mind of its own. Literally." I gesture to the horse, still slightly intimidated by the size of it.

"True." John hums, still smiling, "I've got an idea on how to help you."

"Oh?" 

"Yeah, come on." 

Going back to the horse, John motions for me to climb up again, helping me settle back into the saddle as I swallow down the slight fear in my throat. Trying to relax, I expect John to start adjusting my posture instantly, only to be very surprised when he suddenly appears behind me on the horse's back, perched lightly on the saddle, chest pressed flush to my back as his arms thread through mine, taking the reins in hand. My breath falters in my throat momentarily as he adjusts himself, his body moulding to mine to be more comfortable, his own breaths hot on my skin as he leans forwards slightly. Against my sides, I can feel every flex of his muscles, my heart stuttering from the sensation, meaning I nearly miss it as he takes my hands in his and holds the reins with them.

"Relax, (Y/n). The horse can sense if you're tense." John advises me, his rough voice resonating through me from this proximity. Somehow, this does help me to relax, and I feel myself go limper in his arms.

After a second, I feel John's thighs tense up as he gently taps his heels to the horse's sides, guiding the animal into a slow walk. His body moves in time with the horse, encouraging me to do the same, the action feeling much safer now that I can feel him help guide the animal. Swallowing, I try to ignore the feeling of his chest rubbing against my back, and the slight tickle from his long hair brushing over my shoulders. 

"See, you're getting the hang of it." John encourages me after a little while, his hands moving from mine to rest lightly on my thighs, leaving me to guide the horse around. Though the movement is casual, it sends goosebumps up through my body, my legs tensing slightly under his touch. He must've noticed it by now, but he seems to ignore it, instead helping me continue to ride.

I squeak in surprise when his lips suddenly make contact with my neck, the veteran leaving a very deliberate kiss just over my pulse point, his mouth lingering there as his hands slide up to grasp my waist. Nosing at the skin, he continues to press gentle kisses over the area, feeling my body relax under his hands, falling back into his chest as he continues his actions. Gently, he trails kisses down my neck to my shoulder, relishing in the small sounds of pleasure escaping me, my body yearning for more from him, years of craving his touch making me extremely vulnerable to his ministrations now.

"J-John…" I sigh, tilting my head to give him better access.

Beneath us, I can feel the horse getting antsy, the animal clearly aware that our attention is now split. John clearly feels it, too, as he takes the reins again and pulls the horse to a halt, reluctantly climbing down. Sighing from the loss of contact, I follow his lead, keeping my gaze downturned as he takes the horse out of the area we used for practice, trailing after him as he swiftly hands the creature back over to its owner, speaking quickly with them before he takes me behind the stable. 

Once there, he pushes me up against the wall, lips crashing into mine, his hands gripping my waist and pulling me into him, my own arms wrapping around his neck. Moaning into the kiss, I press closer to him, feeling safe in his arms as we move in time with each other, years of pent up emotion flooding across the connection. His scent, sweat mixed with the faint remains of incense from the temple, surrounds me, calming my racing heart at its familiarity, making me wish I could stay this close to him forever. 

Eventually, he pulls away, both of us needing air, his forehead pressing into mine, our breaths mingling with each other.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't wait any longer." He finally says, his dark eyes searching mine for a rejection.

"Don't apologise. I'm not sure how much longer I would've lasted, honestly." I admit, carding my fingers through his soft hair, enjoying the feeling of the messy strands under my touch. 

Smiling, John leans in and captures my lips again for a chaste kiss, before pulling back completely, wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me into his side.

"Come on, let's go somewhere more private."

[kpop---scenarios]

Watch Me

Pairing: Baekhyun x Cam Girl! Best Friend

Warning: Smut: Choking, Slight Overstimulation, Anal, Dirty Talk.

Word Count: 4k

Summary: You and Baekhyun are bestfriends, but he doesn't know about your cam life.. or does he?

You'd be lying if you said you hadn't thought about having your best friend, Baekhyun ram his cock into you, but that was something you could never tell him you wanted. You laid in your bed, thinking about the night you just had with him, and a few other friends. You all had decided to go to the club for a good night of drinking and dancing, and as usual, you and Baekhyun drank far too much during one of your drinking matches. You always had to see who would win, and it was always him and the loser had to do a dare of the winner's choice. 

"Mhm.. you see that guy over there?" Baekhyun asks, pointing to a guy doing some very.. interesting moves on the dance floor with a girl. 

"Yeah.." you respond, hesitantly. 

"Go and put yourself in between him and the girl and start dancing on him." Baekhyun chuckles.

With a raised eyebrow and a determined face, you slid off the stool, and strutted over there, shaking your ass in the process. 

Without any hesitation you squish yourself in between the couple, spitting a small apology at the girl before wrapping your arms around the guys neck. You sway your hips to the beat of the music grinding against his leg. 

Seconds later you let go, turning around to rub your ass against his crotch, placing his hands on your hips as you shake your ass into him. You look Baekhyun dead in the eyes as you continue to dance with the stranger. You can see it in his eyes, he's getting mad. His fists clenched in a ball, biting his lip as he watches you. 

Things like this make you question your relationship with him, best friends don't typically act like that. 

You and Baekhyun had been best friends for 5 years, never going a day without at least checking in with each other, talking about hookups, problems, achievements, anything really, but there was one thing you had been hiding from him for the last six months.  He had been there for your lowest of days and your highest. He had seen and heard things that you kept hidden away, deep down inside yourself and for whatever reason, he still loved you. 

Like a best friend. 

You asked yourself often, what changed? When did it change? When did you start seeing Baekhyun as more than just your goofy, clumsy, humorous best friend? When did you start seeing him as a man with muscles, and abs and a thick cock that you wanted to choke on. One instance came to mind, actually. 

**

One night you and Baekhyun had been hanging out with a girl he was interested in pursuing. For whatever reason, he wanted you to come along, you assumed it was in case she was a psycho. The night started out innocent enough, with him introducing you to Elle.

"Ayn, this is Elle." He smiles. "Elle, this is my best friend, Ayn." 

You knew from the moment she set her eyes on you she didn't like you. The way she looked you up and down, and scoffed. You knew she didn't want you there, but you weren't there for her. You were there for Baekhyun and until you thought things were fine or he said you could go, you would be right there. 

The night started out with some drinks at a pub. He sat beside Elle, while jealous knots twisted in your stomach. The way he moved the hair away from her ear before he leaned in to whisper, the way she giggled as he slid his hand up and down her back. It had you wishing it was you, and you hated yourself for feeling like that. You didn't want to be jealous, you didn't want to want him but as usual, you want what you can't have. 

"I think I'm gonna go." You announce, gathering up your belongings. 

"What? Why?" He asks, moving away from Elle, who was desperate to keep his attention. 

"Looks like you guys are good." You smile. 

"No, we're all going back to my apartment. Come on. Please?" He asks, his bottom lip protruding in a pout that you just couldn't say no too. 

"Fine." You laugh, finishing your drink. 

After that, Baekhyun had started paying more attention to you than his date. The two of you held hands while walking down the street, her trailing behind you. You pay no mind to the murmurs she spits behind you. She didn't like you, and you didn't care. 

Baekhyun held your hand up the stairs, pulling you up and laughing, while you assumed Elle had a scowl on her face behind you. The moment you got into his apartment, you threw your stuff on the floor, heading for the kitchen. Baekhyun's house was your second house so there was absolutely no reason for you to not feel comfortable. 

You grabbed a bottle of liquor and three shot glasses before you made your way back to the living room, but the sound of Elle talking to Baekhyun made you stop. 

"I want her gone." He spits. 

You scoff. 

"Just relax. She's my best friend, I can't just kick her out." Baekhyun says. 

"She's annoying, and hanging all over you." She pouts. 

Oh good god. They weren't even dating and she was already acting like this. 

"I'll talk to her." Baekhyun says, walking towards the kitchen. 

"Do you want me to leave?" You ask, the moment he rounds the corner. 

"Oh my god no, help me get her out of here." He pleads. "We're not even together and she's like this. I can't." 

So you did what was typical for you and Baekhyun, you two drank too much, and got flirty, and eventually a little handsy. 

"You're such a shit head." Baekhyun laughs, sitting on the couch, scrunched down, legs spread. 

"You love it." You whisper, walking passed him. Just as Elle had decided to stand up, you assume to sit beside Baekhyun, he grabs your wrist, pulling you down onto his lap, to straddle him. 

Your face is shocked at first, but then you remember his request, to get Elle to leave. He could just be a man and ask her to go, but this way was so much better for you. 

Baekhyun places his hands on your hips as you run your fingers through his hair, leaning your body in closer to his, just putting on a good show.  

As the flirting went on, you almost forgot Elle was even there, until it happened. You were still stradling Baekhyun, his arms wrapped around you as you ran your fingers through his hair. 

"Are you sure you guys are just friends?" Elle asks. 

"Sure." Baekhyun says, his eyes never leaving yours. 

With a scoff, Elle grabbed her things and left, or so you thought, though the two of you didn't really notice. To really sell it, you had been wiggling yourself around. Doing it one last time, that's when you felt his erect cock as you grinded against him. You both stopped what you were doing, staring at each other for a moment before you both slowly inched your lips closer to each other. 

"Ugh." You hear a scoff from the door, before it slammed, breaking the two of you out of your haze. 

You quickly jump off of him, mumbling something about feeding your fish before you walked out of there so fast. You leaned against the wall in the hallway, catching your breath, wondering why you said you needed to feed your fish, when you don't even have a fish. 

That night you dreamt that you and him fucked, and it was the best fucking thing. You wished it was true. 

The next day when you met up for brunch, you both acted like nothing happened and it was never brought up. That was two years ago, and even since then, you've had close calls like that. The sexual tension is strong, especially when you drink but neither of you will make the first move. Whenever you're out with friends, they always ask if the two of you are dating, but it's always a no. You won't make a move because you don't think he could ever truly be attracted to you. In your mind it's a heat of the moment thing for him. You're not what he wants, at least that's what you tell yourself. 

You knew all too well the type of girls he typically went for, and you weren't it. He liked the ones who wore tight outfits, makeup done, nails done, as well as hair, and you were the opposite. You prefered to wear what made you comfortable, which usually turned out to be looser fitting clothes but that didn't mean you didn't have some special outfits somewhere in the back of your closet, and some very specific ones buried under lots of clothes in your dresser drawers. 

**

About six months ago you hit a very rough patch. The man you had been seeing stole your debit card, withdrawing all the money you had in your account and in your savings, and left you, completely high and dry. On your second night of binge eating ice cream and crying, you saw a commercial, one of those late night infomercial type things for a cam girl. No showing your face, paid well, and you made up your own rules. 

Sexuality and sex in general wasn't an uncomfortable topic for you, so if you were going to make it and get paid good money you had to be open, and were you ever. 

You signed up on the website, using the username shykitten82. The first week was slow, but you didn't give up. The second week, you managed to get two people who signed on and paid you $60 each to watch you masturbate with your fingers, legs high in the air as you used your fingers. 

The next week you had four people, who paid you to watch you rub your clit only. Slowly people began sending you money to buy toys for yourself, wanting to watch you use them. They sent you money to buy yourself some sexy lingerie, giving you specific instructions, or just sending you money because they liked you. And you never had to show your face. 

You had told Baekhyun about your ex and his stealing, and him being the sweet man he was offered to help you out, but you told him you had it covered. When he asked how you made so much money so fast, you should have just told him the truth, it's not like you were ashamed but instead 'bartender' is what slipped out of  your mouth, so you went with it. Although now you had the issue of Baekhyun wanting to come visit you at your bartending job and buy drinks from you. You could have said anything. Why bartender? 

It's not as if you hadn't tried to tell him, you did but either you chickened out, in fear of the off chance that he would judge you, or he interrupted you and you just didn't stop him because well, it was easier to say nothing. Until one night. One night that the two of you again, had drank far too much, resulting in you sleeping on his couch in the living room. 

You woke up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, and on your way you saw the glare of a dim light coming from Baekhyun's room, along with some muffled sounds. Rubbing your eyes, you walk over, peeking around the door frame and that's when you see it. Baekhyun is stroking his cock, watching porn, but not just any porn. 

It was you.

He was watching one of your previous streams, jacking his cock off to you. Cumming to the video of you cumming, listening to you moan. 

You were so turned on now. 

You tip toe away from his room, heading to the bathroom, contemplating on what you do now. Did you confront him? Just tell him about your channel and drop your username without telling him you know, or do you just keep it buried deep inside yourself so you don't embarrass himself or you. 

You ultimately decided to keep it to yourself, maybe one day you would bring it up but that was not today. When you finished in the bathroom, you headed back to the couch, listening to his faint moans, while you rubbed your clit, cumming to the sound of him finishing. 

That night you slept like a baby. 

In the morning, you pushed the thought of the night before from your head, deciding you'd rather enjoy the day you had planned with Baekhyun instead of lingering on that one thing. 

**

"What are you doing tonight?" Baekhyun asks at a late lunch, taking a bite of his French fry. "I was thinking we could see that new scary movie." He smiles. 

"I'm actually busy tonight." You say. You had a special stream tonight, one consisting of you riding two dildos. One in your ass, one in your pussy, a viewer of yours paid you a lot of money to do it. 

"Doing what?" Baekhyun asks, his eyebrow arched. 

"Just have some bartending courses to do online. But I need to have complete silence. So no you can't come over because you are never quiet." You laugh, taking a bite of your burger. 

He may be offended, but he knew you were right, he was loud. 

"Fine. How long will it take?" He asks. 

You didn't know. So you ballparked. "I'm not sure. Like 2, 2.5 hours?" You guessed. 

"Mhm, okay. Start time?" He asks. 

"What's with all the questions?" You ask. 

"Hey, call it curiosity or just being interested in your life." He smiles.

"Around 7, I start." You cough. 

"Okay cool. Well i'll pay, and talk to you later then. I have some shit to do." He says, standing up to walk away. 

You knew he was mad. You didn't think he bought your story of doing a course, but what unfortunately was the only thing you could think of to say. You had no other choice. You watch Baekhyun pay the bill before leaving, walking down the street with his hands in his pockets. 

You felt guilty for the rest of the day. As much as you tried not to, you couldn't help it. You hated lying to him, but it was only a temporary thing. You'd tell him everything, eventually. 

** 

That night you were running late, not starting your show until almost 2 hours after you were supposed too. At 845 sharp, you were dressed and ready to go. You had on a pair of lace, thong panties which made your toys easily accessible to every hole you needed. You wore a lace bra that was see-through, giving a good view of your nipples when they got perky. 

You still didn't show your face so you didn't put on any make up. You had your tripod with your phone on it, ready to go live, the toys you were using, already suctioned to the wall at the right heights. 

You were excited. 

At 9pm on the dot, you begin your live, the viewers flooding in as well as the payments. This was turning out to be the biggest show you'd ever done. You stood in front of your camera, face out of view but perky nipples fully in view as you read some comments. 

'I can't wait for this.' 

'I want to suck your nipples.' 

'I swear I love you shykitten82' 

You giggled as you read the last one. 

"Shykitten loves you too." You moan in your most sexual voice. 

"You're shykitten82?" You hear from behind your phone and ring light. You would know that voice anywhere. 

"Baek.." you stutter, pausing to live with an apology, saying there was a technical error. 

"Answer me." He growls, walking towards you, his face angry. 

"Yes." You admit. 

"I knew it." He smirks, not stopping as he reaches you. You back up until your back is against the wall, Baekhyun's body pinning you there. "You saw me watching the videos last night." He states, cocking his head to the side. "Didn't you?" 

"Yes." You breathe, Baekhyun dropping his head down, his hot breath covering your neck. 

"Did you like it?" He asks. "Did you like watching me stroke my cock while I watched you play with your pussy? Mhm?" He asks. 

"Oh god yes." You moan.

"Why didn't you come in and suck me off then?" He asks. "I know you can take a big cock down that throat of yours." He groans. 

"I.. i didn't know if you.. wanted.." you murmur. 

"You didn't know if I wanted you? Baby, I've wanted you for the last two years." He says, tucking a hair behind your ear. "How could I not?" 

Slowly, Baekhyun leans his head closer to yours, making you stand on your tippy toes as his lips touch yours. The kiss is passionate and needy. He doesn’t hesitate to slip his tongue into your mouth, wrapping his hands around your waist, pulling you in closer into him. You wrap your arms around his neck as he lifts you up, allowing you to wrap your legs around his waist. 

Baekhyun breaks the kiss, pinning you against the wall harder, to keep you up and free his hands. He tears down the cup of your bra, freeing your breasts. He cups your perky breast, dropping his head down to put your hard nipple in his mouth, sucking. He brings his hand up, rolling your nipple in between his fingers as you throw your head back against the wall with a moan. He takes your breast from his mouth, moving his lips back on yours, immediately sliding his tongue into your mouth. 

You can't help but move yourself against his crotch, feeling his growing erection through his jeans as you rub your wet pussy on him. 

"Shit." Baekhyun groans, his cock throbbing. 

"Let me down." You breathe, needing his cock in your mouth. 

You slide off Baekhyun's body, your hands immediately moving to his belt, unbuckling as fast as you could. You pull down his pants and boxers, revealing the thick, veiny cock you knew was in there. Placing your hand on his shaft, you pump his cock a few times, making him throw his head back, letting out some loud moans. You smirk as you open your mouth, taking in as much of him as you could at once, shoving his cock down your throat.

Baekhyun groans at the sight of you taking his cock in your mouth, and the feeling of him going a little down your throat. You look up at him as he starts thrusting his hips, your eyes begin watering as his hands get tangled in your hair while he fucks your mouth, hard. 

"Such a good girl." He groans, pulling his cock from your mouth. "Keep it open." 

You do as you're told, kneeling there with tears falling from your eyes, spit running down your chin and your mouth wide open, waiting for his cock again. 

Baekhyun discards his pants behind him, as well as his shirt before he turns back to you, grabbing a clump of your hair, teasing your mouth with his cock. He gently thrusts his hips, only.giving you the tip to suck on. When you try for more he yanks your head back, only letting you take what he gives you. 

With a sinister look on his face, he pulls his cock from your mouth completely before ramming it back inside, as far as he could go, making you gag and choke. 

"Good fucking girl." Baekhyun praises you, standing you up, seeing the spit and precut slathered across your face. "What would you like now, baby?" He asks. 

"Fuck me in the ass first, please." You beg. 

Baekhyun looks surprised, but he will happily stick it in your ass. He grabs your hand, taking you to your desk where he pushes you down, laying you flat with your ass in the air. He lines himself up with your ass before slowly pushing his way in, stretching it down. 

“Oh my god" you groan. Your hands gripping the desk, tight. “Fuck daddy" you cry out. 

You can hear Baekhyun growl at the name, loving the way it sounds coming from your desperate, needy mouth. 

Baekhyun has a tight grip on your hips as he pushes the rest of his cock into your ass, settling for a minute, enjoying the tightness pulsating around him.  

A few seconds later, without warning, he pulls out and roughly rams himself back into you. Baekhyun doesn't stop with the hard thrusts, your stomach digging into the edge of the desk, but you didn't care. 

"Your fucking ass feels so good baby girl." He huffs, fucking you harder. 

He reaches his hand around and down in and in-between your lips, rubbing your clit, making your entire body tighten. 

“Oh my god. I fucking love your cock" you cry.

"That's right baby. Don't cum until I tell you." He spits, making you cry out more. 

"Please." You beg, your orgasm not far away. 

"Don't cum." He spits, taking his hand away from your clit, and taking away your orgasm. 

Baekhyun pulls out of your ass, yanking your body off the desk by your hair again, and taking you to the bed, where he pushes you down, laying on your back. 

"Be a good girl, and don't cum until I say." He says again. "Got it?" 

"Yes." You pant. 

"Good." He smiles, pulling you forward, sticking his cock inside your soaking wet pussy. "Shit." He groans, slowly sliding in and out of you. 

Without a word, he lays down, almost on top of you, his large hand wrapping around your throat, squeezing as he picks up his pace. 

"Nasty fucking girl." He breathes, squeezing harder. 

He lets go of your neck, giving you a few seconds to breathe. He reaches his fingers in between your lips again, rubbing your clit fast, building up your orgasm again. 

"Tell me when you're going to cum." He groans, rubbing hard. 

As soon as those words left his mouth, your orgasm came fast. "Im cumming." You cried. Baekhyun pulled out of you, inserting his long fingers, fucking you hard with those, while also rubbing yojt clit, making you squirt all over him. "Oh my god." You cry out, your body twisting, needing a break. 

"You'll do it one more time." Baekhyun smirks, taking his fingers from inside you, inserting his cock again but his other hand still rubbing your clit. 

It didn't take long for your overly sensitive clit to build up another orgasm, a smile plastered on his face as you cum all over his fingers and body, again. "So fucking hot." He groans, lifting your legs over his head, pounding the fuck out of you. 

You clench your pussy around him, making him cry out in pleasure, his orgasm coming fast out of nowhere. "Shit, shit." He cries out. "I'm gonna cum." He yells, his hot cum spill inside of you, filling you all up. 

Baekhyun stays inside of you for a moment, both or you catching your breath. Finally, he pulls out of you, laying next to you as both your chests heave, desperate for air. 

"So what now?" He asks. 

"I don't know?" You say. You really didn’t know, especially not what he wanted. 

"Let's see where this takes us?" He suggests. You laugh, but fully agree to just see where things go. 

"Tomorrow though.." he begins, a devilish look on his face. 

"Tomorrow I have to do my live." You laugh. 

"Can I maybe, join you?" He asks. 

"Maybe next time. But tomorrow, you just watch me." You say, excited to see where this new adventure takes you and him.

[thebluestbluewords]

fitting rooms have locks for a reason

Malvie + Ben, a little spicy, technically part of my queer parenting/babyfic/polyamory 'verse. Not explicitly stated, but it's got some pretty heavy d/s themes. ~1600 words.

*

“I don’t think this is ever going to be a good look on me.” Mal says doubtfully, fisting the extra fabric of her skirt up as she steps onto Evie’s fitting dais. “I might just be too short for this to ever look good.”

Evie does not roll her eyes, because she is a good girlfriend who is working with her girlfriend’s changing ideas about her body, rather than against them. “It doesn’t look good now, obviously. You have to shut up and let me finish pinning it first.”

Mal drops the skirt. “Fine.”

Finally, “Thank you.” Evie says graciously, and gestures for their boy to come forward. “Servant boy, more pins!”

Ben ducks his head. Evie’s got him on his knees today, his feet looped together with one of her scarves so he can’t move easily even if she wanted him to stand. He gets quiet sometimes, when they boss him around like this, but they’ve talked about it at length and he insists that it’s better when they let him get to that point.

He’s not that far down yet today. “Your highness,” he says, holding out the magnetic dish with the wickedly sharp straight pins that Evie uses for fittings. She could tie his hands too, but half the fun is pulling him around into odd positions and seeing how long he’ll be able to hold it before she either has to move or scold him.

It’s a good day, so Evie’s going to give him a fighting chance this time. “Stay right there for a sec, babe. Don’t move a muscle,” she says, pulling his arms, and the dish sitting in his hands, up so that she can reach easily. It means that his arms are stuck awkwardly just above his head, but his shoulders are already relaxing into the pose. “Thank you.” she adds, on second thought. A little praise never hurt anyone.

“Evie--” Mal tries, as Evie gathers the fabric she’s been holding up out of her hands. It’s a few simple tucks that honestly, Evie doesn’t even need her to model for. She’s been designing for Mal practically as long as she’s been designing for anyone other than herself, and between clothing and their other activities, she knows the shape of her girlfriend’s body better than her own.

“Shh.” Evie says, and brandishes a pin. “I’m almost done, just hold on.”

Mal shuts up.

It really only takes another second, and then there’s just the hem to get up, and their boy to shove around again, until he’s moving a little looser and easier, just like Mal does when Evie finally finds the dresses that make her feel like the best version of herself, and that’s it.

Evie drops the hem to Mal’s legs, and the spare pins back to the bowl. “Do you want to try walking in that, Mally?”

Mal steps down from the little fitting dais that Evie’s got set up, and does a little runway walk over to the mirror propped against the far wall of the studio. “It’s not bad.” she admits, swishing the flowy skirt around her legs. “I like the pleats.”

Evie tries not to talk up her own accomplishments more than absolutely necessary, but Mal does look a full treat. “Told you,” she says, because well, she did. “Lift your arms, how’s that?”

Mal raises her arms above her head obediently, and gives a little wave. “Good.” she says, and shakes her shoulders out, like she’s dancing. The dress shifts with her, fabric floating along the elegant lines of her body. “I like it.”

“Excellent. Let me see you now, give me a twirl.” Evie says, gesturing. Her own dress is a simple one, form-fitting black with a sheer blue jacket that leaves her arms free for pinning and fitting her designs. It’s one of her new favorites, now that she’s been doing a lot more of the actual work end of her business lately, and a bit less of the studying end. She’s still got her team, of course, and two years of business management classes have taught her how to manage all the loose ends of the little world she’s made for herself, but it’s still nice to have a reliable outfit stable for getting shit done in.

Mal twirls. The hem lasts for two rotations, and then Mal, being herself, even though they’re old enough to know better, gets too excited and spins fast enough to make her hair fly up. The hem, predictably, falls out.

Mal looks guiltily up at Evie. “Oops.” she says, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “You might need to re-pin that one.”

Of course Mal wants to make them go through the process again. Evie should serve her right and make her hold her own pins this time, just to give their boy a break.

“That’s fine, I’ll get it set back up where you need it.” Evie says instead, kneeling down to gather the loose edge back up again. It’s not so bad really, just the front piece that’s come undone from her loose attempt at figuring out how high Mal will want her hem. “I’m gonna leave a pretty generous hem this time, just in case we need to take it out more later.”

“In case what, I need to run away again and we don’t do this for another month?” Mal says bitterly. “That’s clever of you. Knowing when I’m going to have another breakdown.”

“Or if you want to wear the dress again, M.” Evie says gently, repinning the soft fabric. “That’s also a thing you can do.”

“People will talk.”

“And what, are you going to listen?” Evie asks, glancing up at Mal from where she’s almost finished getting the skirt up again. “Don’t take criticism from people you wouldn’t go to for advice, babe. I don’t care what the gossip rags say about your outfits, and neither should you. I can make you something blingy to wear over it, if you need to change it up that badly.”

“No!” Mal exclams, smoothing a hand over the top of the dress, where it drapes over the faintly rounded curve of her belly. “I like how it is. Don’t change a thing.”

“Don’t complain if you don’t want to hear my solutions!” Evie says, gesturing with an empty hand. “You’re all pinned up again, if you want to get out of this and let my pin boy do his work with you.”

Mal does crack a smile at that. “Ooh, and what kind of work could that be, I wonder?” she asks, eyes sparkling. “I’ve heard good things about his handicrafts, but if you’re still going to use him for any other projects I’m sure I could find other ways to work with him.”

Evie glances over, just to make sure they’re all good.

Ben meets her eyes. He’s looking a little bit dreamy, but not like he’s in the stratosphere just yet. They’re fine. “I do have a few more designs that could use work,” Evie admits. “And it is easier to get those woven patterns you like nailed down if I’ve got a second pair of hands at my disposal.”

Mal smooths her skirt again. “I think it would be nice,” she says, looking at the both of them, watching them watch each other, “If we could. Uh. Test out the versatility of this dress.”

“See how it’s going to hold up for some extracurriculars?” Evie offers, sweetly. “Test the range of movement you’ve got in the legs?”

Mal’s a blusher, which is unfortunate for her and very fortunate for her partners. “Maybe I want to make sure it’s going to fit a little something else under the skirt?” she says, going for lofty and disinterested, and ending up somewhere around nervous-pleased and eager. “It’s important that it can accomodate, uh, my changing body?”

Good lord, if this is what Evie’s going to be dealing with in miniature she’s never going to make it through their kid’s youth. “You can do all the testing you need, so long as you don’t break anything and you have him back in one piece for the next time I need a helper, m’kay?” she says, and gives Ben a little nod.

He takes the cue, which is good, because it means he’s still in the game. It’s easy enough for Evie to guide the two of them, both of her beautiful idiots, over to the gold fainting couch she’s got in the corner for exactly this purpose. It’s not exactly set up for three, but it’s a simple enough switch for Evie to slip herself down beside Mal, half behind her, so that she can get her mouth on that soft spot behind her ear where she likes to be kissed. It takes a second longer for their boy to finish settling into his own position, but that’s to be expected when she’s got him helping like this. It wouldn’t do to have the help in place before they want him there. This is for Mal, after all.

Speaking of. With all the work that Evie’s just been putting in on the skirt, it wouldn’t do to have Mal messing that up either. Evie reaches down and flips it up, leaving Mal’s pale thighs exposed to the light.

Ah, and their boy is in place now. Good.

Evie trails soft fingertips down Mal’s side, until she’s got her nails, matte red and dark like old blood today, on the pale edge of her skin where it meets the dark fabric of her undergarments.

Ben is keeping his hands to himself, because he’s a good boy who knows what they need from him. He leans his head against Mal’s inner leg instead, nudging his mouth up against the opposite side as Evie’s fingertips.

“Mally,” Evie asks sweetly, directly into her girlfriend’s ear. “Do you want more from us?”

Mal shivers in response, which could be good or bad, and then pushes up into the touch. “Yes,” she breathes, and turns her head to press her next words up against Evie’s lips. “Please, Eves. Need you both.”

[cakelanguage]

Another gift I made for the Malec Secret Santa 2020, this time for yorit1 on AO3! It was my first time venturing into high school AUs, and it was actually quite fun. I hope you enjoy this goofy and fluffy high school au <3

You can also read this on AO3

--

Alexander Lightwood was different. He was nothing like his brother, Jace who was the star quarterback of the football team and a bit of an egomaniac at times. He wasn’t like his sister, Isabelle who was free-spirited and made a statement with her fashion choices and opinions.

No, Alec was quiet. He tried to take up as little space as possible no matter how much room he was given. Despite his towering stature he tended to hunch unconsciously. Like he was afraid he was always taking up too much room.

But he was stubborn and terse to the majority of people and doted on his family. He stood up for others and advocated for LGBTQ+ rights at school and outside it. He took in those who wormed their way into his heart with nary a thought but kept them away from knowing him besides the front he presented.

He was an array of contradictions that only made him more interesting in Magnus’ eyes.

And he stared. At Magnus. A lot.

Initially, Magnus hadn’t even noticed Alec’s gaze. He’d only realized it when Ragnor and Catarina had brought it to his attention.

“You’re being watched,” Catarina commented offhandedly, taking a bite of her salad.

Magnus smirked. “I’m always being watched,” he purred.

A groan echoed beside him. “I swear, if your head gets any bigger they’ll be no way to hide it,” Ragnor groused.

“I refuse to have this negativity within my eyesight.” Magnus made a shooing gesture. “Remove yourself at once.”

Catarina giggled at their banter before clearing her throat. “I’m being serious, though. You’ve been being watched by mister brooding over there.” She inconspicuously pointed to somewhere diagonally to them.

Not one to shy away from attention, Magnus whipped his head around to try and meet the gaze of his admirer. His eyebrows shot up when he met the gaze of Alexander Lightwood.

Alec seemed to have met his eyes too because his face reddened. The boy gave him a timid wave before ducking his head to gaze at his food, seeming to ignore the other occupants at his table.

Magnus would have continued looking at the bashful boy if his vision wasn’t suddenly obstructed. He squawked and turned a glower to Ragnor. “Are you really trying to cover my face up with a paper bag right now?”

His best friend grinned. “You were staring.”

“He was staring.”

“You wouldn’t have even noticed his staring if Cat hadn’t informed you.”

Conceivably, there was some truth to that. He wasn’t short on admirers so it didn’t surprise him that he hadn’t noticed one person’s attention.

He was curious to see how this would all play out.

It happened at a party.

A Magnus Bane party.

Magnus Bane had risen to popularity with these outlandish parties he threw while his father was away on his business trips. They were grand with drinks flowing in red solo cups and music blasting so loudly that they had the cops called on them more than once.

Magnus could easily party the night away. Immerse himself in the sweaty, hormonally charged throngs of his fellow student body. Ordinarily, he would.

But Alec actually came to this one and that wholly couldn’t be ignored.

The boy still hadn’t acted on what Magnus assumed was attraction to him. He merely continued to covertly admire Magnus from afar. The few times they’d talked, Magnus had reduced the boy to scrambled word-vomit. Alexander was bright red and Magnus was beyond flattered.

Here under the colored lights, the boy was a wallflower if he'd ever seen one. He stuck close to the wall and people watched with a dour expression. Magnus had seen people more excited about midterms than Alexander looked at one of his parties. And that wouldn't do at all.

Optimistically, this conversation would go better than their previous ones.

He saddled up to him with an extra cup of whatever brew Catarina had concocted and a charming smile. "Staying over here all by your lonesome, pretty boy?" Magnus inquired lightly.

Alec lurched beside him and looked at him bug-eyed. "What?" He asked.

"Well, you're denying the party-goers a fine specimen while you hunker to the shadows." Magnus couldn't tell if the boy was blushing with the colored lights gleaming across the room but his expression seemed flattered if not terribly shy.

It was adorable.

"I'm uh—My siblings wanted to come."

Magnus hummed thoughtfully and looked around the room until he spotted Alec's sister dancing amongst the crowd. "Ah, Izzy seems to be having a blast." He turned to Alec with a smirk. "I'm assuming Jace and Clary are making out somewhere around here."

Alec groaned and thumped his head against the wall. "I didn't even want to come." His eyes widened, and he jerked his head back to Magnus with his hands raised. "Not—Not that it isn't a great party because it is uh—everyone loves them and I—" he sighed and shrugged his shoulders, "Parties have never been my scene and it's just easier to stay on the sidelines."

"Perhaps," Magnus conceded, "or maybe you just need to keep trying." He handed the extra drink to him. "Start with something to drink. It'll do wonders to relax those tense shoulders of yours." And what gorgeously broad shoulders they were.

Alec shook his head and pushed the cup away. "Can't, I'm the designated driver."

Magnus arched a brow and poured the new drink into his original cup. "More for me, I suppose." He took a sip, ignoring the fire that licked his throat on the way down. "In the meantime, we might as well see if we can entice you into enjoying the party,” he set the cups down on a random table and held out his hand, “dance with me."

It wasn't a question and Alec recognized that but still, he shook his head. "Unless you want me to accidentally break your toes, I’m gonna… I'll just stay here."

"Pretty boy, I taught Ragnor how to dance." It'd been his own personal hell for half the summer but Ragnor had gotten significantly better at dancing enough so that he didn't look like he was suffering a seizure when the desire to dance struck him. "I'm sure I can teach you something."

Alec swallowed and looked around the room for anything that might help him. "I'm really not a good dancer," Alec insisted even as Magnus started to coax him from the wall. "I'll look stupid which means you'll look stupid."

Magnus waved him off. "Practically everyone looks silly when they dance, so you won't be alone there." He seized Alec’s hand and pulled him away from the wall. “Give it a try for five minutes, and we’ll see how it goes.”

Alec let himself be dragged to the dancefloor with consternation. “Five minutes and that’s it.”

This conversation was going lightyears better than their first few conversations. “If you want to stop, that is.”

He let go of Alec’s hand to grab ahold of Alec’s hips. “We’ll start with a sway, literally everyone can sway,” Magnus instructed as he started to sway his hips with Alec’s. He quickly directed their swaying to match the beat of the music. “See? Just gotta listen to the music; your body should pick up on the beat.”

A nervous laugh bubbled from somewhere in Alec’s throat as he bopped his head. “Yeah—okay, now what?”

“Arms, you don’t want to just flap them about.” You could knock someone out by accident if you did that. “Though if that’s your style, we can work with that.”

Alec raised his arms, shifting them side-to-side like muscled windshield wipers. “This?”

Magnus threw his head back and laughed. “God no, that’s—“ Magnus dissolved into another fit of giggles, waving a hand at Alec, “I’m not laughing at you, I promise. I just—I wasn’t expecting that.”

Alec scowled. “Then show me how to do it,” Alec commanded.

The scowl on the boy’s face resembled more of a pout than anything scary so Magnus figured the boy wasn’t too bothered by his laughter.

“You have to loosen up. You’re too tense!” Magnus ran his hands down Alec’s arms, relishing the shiver that ran through Alec’s body. “Relax your shoulders.”

“They are relaxed.”

He quirked an eyebrow and massaged at Alec’s shoulders feeling the tight muscles jump and release under his ministration. “Darling, I’ve seen assholes looser than your shoulders.”

Alec wheezed, his face twisting up, and squeezed his eyes shut. “That’s—why did you have to say it like that?” Alec groaned with a snort like he couldn’t decide whether to be upset or laugh at Magnus’ comment.

A Cheshire smile spread across his face. “I’m not wrong.”

Alec flushed, his eyes settling everywhere except Magnus’. “Well, I’m relaxed now.”

“Good, now just watch me for a moment.” He winked, biting his lower lip. “Try to keep your gaze virtuous.”

The laughter that tumbled out of Alec was beautiful and something he’d never heard before. His laughter echoed between them, somewhere caught between rough and warm. He’d never heard the boy laugh before.

But he wanted to hear it forever.

Magnus swayed his body, gyrating his hips and moving his hands up his body, letting them move with him. Lidded eyes gazed at Alec who’d stopped dancing altogether and was just staring at him with a familiar intensity.

“Feel free to admire me.”

Alec grinned and shook his head, already miles past his original comfort levels. “Thanks for the consent.” He crossed his arms and gave him a look. “You want a complete too? I feel like your fishing for one.”

“I very much am fishing for compliments,” Magnus said, “I’m just waiting for the hook to pick some up.”

“Normally people don’t admit to fishing for compliments.”

“Normal is subjective, Alexander.” He beckoned Alec over. “Now come join me, let that body talk.”

Alec shook his head again as he walked back over. “You’re so weird.” But his voice was husky belaying his real feelings on Magnus’ behavior. He clumsily joined Magnus and was soon following the beat more or less.

Magnus had thought this would be an innocent folly – just figuring the other boy out – but he found he was having fun. Alec's inexperience and awkwardness were endearing, and Magnus couldn’t turn his gaze away.

And he didn't want to.

He wasn't even sure what it was about Alec that drew him in. Magnus lived for partying, standing out, and being unashamedly himself. He wore glitter and sheer shirts that got him dress coded constantly.

Conversely, Alec was an introvert who orbited around the ones he loved. He'd started an archery club and followed all the school rules to an alarming degree. The only thing Magnus had thought stood out to him about Alec was that he was openly gay.

But just from his interactions with the boy tonight had revealed a hidden charm behind that stoic front. He had a laugh that made Magnus' heart skip a beat. His smile lit up the room way more than the assortment of lights did. He could dance only marginally better than Ragnor could now – which wasn’t saying much – but it made Magnus enjoy dancing with him all the more.

Just these observations made him wonder why he’d never noticed Alexander Lightwood before.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Alec interrupted, nudging him in the side.

Magnus shook his head from his previous thoughts. “My thoughts are worth plenty more than a penny,” Magnus sniffed.

Alec rolled his eyes. “Offer still stands.”

Magnus closed the distance between them. “You surprised me.”

“I surprised you?”

“Don’t sound so shocked.” Magnus put his arms around Alec’s neck and slowed their dancing down to a sweeping sway. “You’re more than I expected when I came over to you.”

Alec frowned. “More...?”

He shook his head. “I mean that in the best of ways,” Magnus reassured. “There’s just something about you, Alexander.”

Alec ducked his head down sheepishly. “There’s uh… something about you too.”

Magnus grinned, running his fingers through the short strands of hair at the back of Alec’s head. “Glad we’re on the same page about that.” He chanced a look around the room his eyes zeroing in on the clock before turning back to Alec who was finally looking at him again. “It’s been more than five minutes, still want me to leave?”

Hands grabbed at his hips as Alec leaned his head closer. “Please stay.”

Any quieter and Magnus would’ve missed Alec’s plea, but his grip on Magnus was telling enough. “Only if you’ll keep dancing with me.” Magnus gave Alec an exaggerated pout.

Alec snorted, shaking his head. “Stop being so cute.”

“Can’t, darling,” Magnus sighed, “it’s a curse.”

At this point, Magnus could feel Alec’s breath against his lips. With each moment his restraint grew smaller and smaller. He doubted Alec would gather the courage to mention his feelings. But he wasn’t going to wait for the other boy to make a move first. “Maybe this is the alcohol talking, but I really want to kiss you right now.”

Alec’s breath hitched, and for a second Magnus thought he’d ruined their moment until Alec let out a pleased sigh. “I – you uh… If I let you kiss me,” he paused to gather his thoughts, “You have to let me take you on a date.”

Magnus’ face lit up. “You wanna take me on a date?”

The tips of Alec’s ears practically glowed. “I’d like to.”

“I think,” Magnus drawled, twirling a piece of Alec’s hair, “that would be more than okay.”

The other boy’s mouth gaped and he seemed caught between awe and joy. Alec pressed their foreheads together. “So do I get that kiss now?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

Magnus bumps his nose against Alec’s. “How are you feeling about parties now?” Magnus inquired. He genuinely wanted to know if Alec’s opinion had changed.

Alec hummed thoughtfully before shrugging. “I won’t say I like them, but I got to spend time with you.” He brushed his lips against the corner of Magnus’ mouth. “So if you’re there, I can see the appeal.”

“Sweet talker.”

Magnus closed the distance between them. Alec’s lips were dry and deliciously warm against his. Just like his dancing, Alec’s kiss was inexperienced and their teeth clanked together before they got the right angle. Magnus led the kiss, coaxing Alec’s mouth to move with his own. It was hungry and sweet and profoundly earnest.

It was perfect.

Reluctantly Magnus pulled back to let them both breathe. Alec tried to chase his lips for a moment longer, eyes still closed as if he thought he’d open his eyes and Magnus would disappear.  Eventually, Alec did open his eyes, and quiet awe transformed his face.

“Would it be greedy to ask for another?” Alec asked between them, their lips still barely an inch apart.

“Terribly greedy,” Magnus chided with a grin, “But if you take me to that Thai place four blocks from the movie theater I’ll happily give you another.”

Alec laughed, their noses nudging against each other’s. “Promise?”

No answer was needed; his kiss was enough.

[iamfitzwilliamdarcy]

Title: Wind Down

Summary: When Bruce returns from patrol to find a still-awake little Robin, he teaches Jason stretches to help him wind down. (ao3)

Characters: Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne 

A/N: At the start of quarantine I was convinced I would write a bunch of short one shots for all of my friends. 6 months later, here is the third one lmao. Long overdue for @soldier-poet-king​, but you told me you liked Robin era Jason, so here is some Soft Bruce and Jay :) 

Jason was still awake when Bruce got home, well past three in the morning.

“Jay,” he said, blinking in tired surprise. “What are you still doing up?”

Jason, dressed in his soft pajamas, his thick hair still shower-damp though Bruce had sent him home hours ago, scowled and didn’t answer.

“You should go to bed,” Bruce insisted.

Jason pulled his knees to his chest and buried his face in them. He got like that, sometimes, when Bruce pushed him or he thought he wasn’t doing something right but he didn’t know how to fix it. It had been an issue at school, when he was struggling to settle in, that had worried Bruce constantly into his own sleepless nights.

“It’s just a big transition,” Leslie had told Bruce, hurriedly, when he’d asked her about it, in her professional opinion. She had disclaimed, of course, that she was hardly a psychiatrist and certainly didn’t specialize in children--she really had to be getting back to work, but had continued, almost sympathetically, “You’re his safe space, keep being that, and give him time.”

The incidents decreased and Jason started thriving at school. He was bringing home good grades, patrolling regularly with Bruce. They didn’t go away completely, but he seemed happy to Bruce, happy enough that Bruce tried not to worry about him shutting down again. It hadn’t happened in so long, Bruce thought maybe it was just a phase. Kids were always having phases, he thought. That’s what everyone said.

Now, Jason mumbled something that sounded like, “Couldn’t.”

“Oh,” Bruce said. He frowned and studied his boy. Still small for his age, Jason barely fit in Bruce’s large computer chair. He’d been stiff out on patrol tonight, Bruce reflected, and Bruce was willing to bet he was tired. But patrol often left Bruce himself amped, and Dick had never been able to settle after their late nights together.

“If you wait until I shower,” Bruce told him, instead of pushing more, “you can stretch with me.”

Jason peeked up enough to roll his eyes at Bruce, but he was still there when Bruce returned, rubbing a towel across his hair.

“Come on,” he said, beckoning Jason over to the mats. Jason came, careful not to trip over the too-long legs of his pajama pants. Bruce wondered briefly how they’d escaped Alfred’s hemming, but he supposed the kid was growing fast and by tomorrow they might fit properly--and by the next day be too short.

Bruce sat down on the mat, crossing his legs. Jason imitated him, muttering, almost derisively, “criss-cross applesauce.”

“I like to stretch before I sleep,” Bruce explained. “It helps keep my body in shape and calms me down from the night.”

“You’ve been working your body hard on patrol,” Bruce continued, when Jason just looked at him expectantly, waiting for more. . “We have to stretch those muscles out or your lactic acid will build up. And then, we have to signal to our bodies we’re home and safe from patrol. It’s time to wind down and sleep.”

“B,” Jason said, very sincerely, “you have got to stop saying bodies,” Then, almost impatiently, “Well? How do we do--” he waved his hand around--”all that?”  

Bruce smiled. “I’ll show you,” he said, “If you give me a minute.”

Jason huffed, but watched him with rapt attention. In some ways, Bruce reflected Jason was a lot like Dick--eager to learn, eager to please. Dick had come to him already an athlete, used to stretching. In fact, he’d been the one who’d gotten Bruce into the habit.

Just barely ten-years-old, only with Bruce about seven months, Dick had watched Bruce groaning his way to breakfast one morning with a sharp eye, and had said, “Y’know, B, the reason you’re so sore is you don’t stretch.” He’d nodded sagely and taken a bite of cereal.

“Think it might be the jumping off buildings, chum,” Bruce had said grumpily, sipping his coffee. He’d studied under several yoga gurus in India during his training years-- he knew the benefits of stretching, even if he didn’t frequently practice. He was always too exhausted from crime-ridden streets when he returned home, and either stayed up doing reports or fell asleep instantly.

Dick had rolled his eyes. “Only partially,” he’d insisted, mouth full of food. He’d chewed, swallowed, and pointed his spoon in Bruce’s direction. “An athlete has to take care of his body, or it’ll eventually give out on him,” he’d quoted solemnly. Then, brightly, “I’ll show you tonight.”

Bruce had never admitted the stretching had made him looser on patrol, but Dick was observant enough he’d noticed anyway and strutted around smugly for weeks. It had turned into a nightly routine, and Bruce was smug himself that it helped settle an amped Dickie down from patrol enough to sleep. One second, he’d be chattering away and re-enacting jump-kick fights from their night, the next he’d be asleep over his calves, in a full seated forward fold.

He wouldn’t even wake when Bruce carried him to bed.

Bruce missed Dick terribly, but he didn’t know how to poke at those feelings, and Jason was looking at him expectantly, so he cleared his throat, remembering Dick had come to him an athlete already--one whose flexibility had been paramount and who had been taught, with loving patience, the importance of practice, discipline, and good self-care--and Jason had come to Bruce straight from the streets, never having played a sport and often skipping whatever passed for a PE class at his school.

Bruce started Jason with some simple neck stretches--left ear to left shoulder, right ear to right shoulder, some small circles. He didn’t hold the stretches as long as he might have on his own, anticipating Jason might grow quickly bored with them, but this kid stuck with him longer than his last might have, curious about what was coming next, not dictating.

(It wasn’t that one was better than the other--Bruce had always appreciated Dick’s input and opinions, and the kid typically hung in longer than Bruce anticipated, when he wanted, when it felt good-- but he enjoyed Jason’s anticipation of learning something new, eager to know what was to come next, eager to please.)

(That Jason was willing to hear him out, even, was a win over where they’d started, so many months before, when he was convinced everything Bruce did was to Jason’s own detriment. Everything was boring, nothing had a point.)

Bruce then guided Jason through a seated forward fold, a side body stretch, a spinal twist that made Jason giggle at Bruce’s back cracking, then go “oof” when he copied the pose. He moved into a child’s pose next, and then suggested they try a corpse pose, though he thought Jason might protest that lying on his back and doing nothing was hardly a stretch at all. Jason, however, didn’t say anything.

Bruce peeked up from where he had his head resting on the ground, then moved his hips back towards his heels to sit upright. Jason was still in child’s pose, but his face was turned to the side, facing Bruce, and his eyes were closed.

His breath had evened out--he was fast asleep.

Bruce watched him for a moment, the rise and fall of his chest, the relaxed arms, still stretched out overhead, his soft, still young face. He couldn’t count the times he’d put Dickie to bed--before he’d grown up and resented being treated like a kid--but this was a first for Jason.

Keeping his own breath soft and slow, almost reverent at the level of trust placed in him, Bruce bent to pick the boy up. Jason shifted in Bruce’s arms, and Bruce caught his breath, waiting to see if he’d wake up again. But Jason only mumbled a little, before settling his head against Bruce’s chest, still asleep.

Bruce’s chest, for its own part, felt as though it might burst, cradling such cargo. Bruce himself, superior to his own emotions and  more controlled than his heartbeat, breathed in and out, deeply and slowly, then carried his Robin to bed.

If, he supposed, all he had in his life was this, he was grateful for such trust and the Robins who had come into his life when he’d thought he had nothing left to fight for.

[eremiss]

21. Foibles

Thancred knows he’s in for a tedious day when the faint tickle in his throat blooms into an uncomfortable itch and a headache begins to brew between his temples. He covers his mouth with his hand and clears his throat as quietly as he can, hoping it’s nothing.

Of course it’s not.

Within the bell Gwen notices something is off about him, even though he makes a point to not give even the smallest sign discomfort around her. It doesn’t help that his condition has decided to rapidly start worsening. Her brows tug together and start to tilt at a worried angle, and her green eyes grow sharper, scrutinizing every little detail.

He’s not the least bit surprised when she follows him to his room, her journal in her hands and a flimsy excuse about work and spending time together on her tongue. They’ve passed many a day reading and working together, after all, and she has often hidden in his room when the pressure of others’ company has grown uncomfortable. 

He doesn’t have the energy to fight with her, and stringing together sentences is terribly hard when the pounding in his head is breaking them apart, so he reluctantly accepts her company. She doesn’t attempt to force conversation or an admittance of his poor health out of him, but he can feel her eyes on him while he works --or tries to appear like he is, at any rate-- and he’s painfully aware of every grunt, groan and rough sound he makes.

When clearing his throat turns into a minor coughing fit, Gwen abandons her flimsy pretense of reading reports and writing in her journal. She appears at his side in moments, brows knit, mouth bending in a frown and eyes filled with concern.

“Just a frog in my throat,” Thancred dismisses, purposefully bending over the pages of code he’s been pretending to decipher. He can barely read the text for all the pounding behind his eyes and the fogginess in his head, but he doggedly tries anyway.

“You should lie down,” Gwen murmurs, lowering her voice and speaking softly enough that it doesn’t further irritate his head. 

Thancred waves her away, jotting down a bit of nonsense to further the illusion that he’s working. 

A hand rests on his arm, tentative yet heavy, while the other lifts his hair and braid off the back of his neck, letting a draft of fresh air touch his skin. The cool of her hands and the air feel wonderful.

“You worry overmuch,” he mumbles, his stubbornness starting to waver under the combined might of discomfort and the look she’s giving him. “It’s just a cough. It’ll pass.”

“Work in bed, then,” she says, squeezing his arm and rubbing soothing circles on the nape of his neck. “I’ll make you some tea for your throat.”

“You don’t need to. I’m fine.”

“I want to.” Her hand leaves his arm and her knuckles ghost across his cheek. Too late he realizes she’s checking his temperature and turns his head away. 

She steps away, but he never hears the door open. Instead there’s the sound of shifting cloth and flopping blankets, and when he looks back she’s turned the sheets down and rearranged the pillows so he can recline against them. Before he can protest she scurries around and finds a book with a hard, smooth cover and sets it on the nightstand--for him to write on, most likely. 

He heaves a sigh. Godsdamnit, he’s weak. 

By late afternoon Thancred is well and truly sick and doubly miserable, burning from the inside out with a slow, stifling heat that casts a haze over his senses. His skull is full to bursting, and his chest is thick with scratching cotton that won’t budge no matter how much he coughs. At the very least he’s not nauseous, which he supposes might be worth something.

Gwen’s fretting and hovering is wearing at him, but he can’t quite bring himself to be outwardly surly about her sincere concern--though on the inside he’s grumping and complaining plenty. In the end, though, keeping his low mood and irritation to himself is for the best. Growling and snapping won’t send her away, nor ease the worry woven so plainly through all this coddling and mothering. It will just make her continued presence uncomfortable for the both of them, not to mention make him feel guilty for snapping at a dear friend for having the nerve to want to help him.

Besides, he can admit it’s a relief to drop the act of good health and not force his mind or body to work when neither wants to.

Thancred grumbles under his breath, massaging his pounding temples with clumsy fingers. Too much thinking...

Gwen mumbles something in a soothing tone, nudging his hands aside. The constricting pressure around his head lessens and then vanishes as his bandana falls away, and then a cold, damp towel presses to his forehead. He shudders at the wonderful chill that sinks into his skin and dulls the feeling of nails being pounded into the backs of his eyes.

He makes a grateful sound, tilting his head back and relaxing against the pillows. The movement upsets all the loose, sticky pieces clogging up his chest, and his next breath crackles audibly in his throat. He coughs quietly to try and ease both, but to no avail. 

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Gwen tense up.

He coughs again, harder, and then he suddenly can’t stop. He struggles not to bow forward, head pounding with every spasm of his chest and resonating down his neck and into his shoulders. 

Gwen helps him stay upright and holds a handkerchief near his mouth. He takes it and muffles his coughs into it, attempting to keep his misery and whatever it is he’s hacked up to himself. He hopes he’s not going to get her sick, too. 

The moment he starts to calm she guides him back against his supporting pillows, replaces the towel on his forehead, and presses a mug of warm tea into his hands. It’s some medicinal blend that’s bitter in a way that honey and sugar can’t wholly mask. 

Thancred croaks his thanks somewhat reluctantly, irritation slinking around the back of his mind and poking at him. Gods but he hates nothing so much as feeling like a useless burden. He takes a small swig, letting the bitter warmth wash away the raggedness hanging on the back of his tongue and soothe his aching throat.

Gwen gives him a brief half-smile, hovering like she thinks he’s apt to start coughing again. Once a full minute passes without issue she finally relaxes, and he realizes just how tense she’d been. Odd. 

Come to think of it, she’s had a similarly stricken look every time he’s coughed, and she’s much more tightly wound than she usually is when one of her friends takes ill. 

Why might that be? He could ask, but he knows she won’t answer him, at least not fully honestly. Besides, he needs something to do besides sit around and be miserable, so why not try and puzzle the answer out himself?

The thought that it might be because he’s the one who’s fallen ill begins to come together and he pushes it away before it can take shape, though he can’t fully explain why. 

He makes another vaguely pained grumble and shifts his head. She reaches out to adjust the towel and hums a sympathetic sound. Her fingers trail over his face and across his shoulders, pressing here and there to try and ease tense muscles.

A few minutes later he makes a --partially genuine-- comment about the heat and she fetches a lighter, looser shirt for him. When he isn’t yet freed from all his confounded buckles and straps by the time she returns, she helps with that, too.

He feigns clearing his throat, only to genuinely cough a few times when the act inspires an unpleasant tickle in his chest. 

Her head jerks up immediately, apprehension writ plain on her face. Her hands flutter indecisively before one reaches for the tea and the other retrieves the discarded handkerchief. He detects a hint of unsteady tension, like an over-tightened bowstring, while she checks his pulse and murmurs at him. She watches him sip the bitter tea and hovers for a few more drawn-out seconds before slowly, carefully lowering herself back to the edge of her chair.

So it’s coughing, specifically, that puts her on edge. Curious.

Thancred sinks back into his pillows and ponders, and Gwen gradually relaxes as minutes pass without incident. He can’t recall all the instances of others taking ill in the past, but he’s reasonably certain their ailments hadn’t involved much coughing, at least not to the same degree as this. 

He thinks to try and ask about it. She likely won’t tell him the truth, but he might still be able to glean some insight as to why she’s so distressed by his coughing, or why she feels the need to tie herself up in such knots when a friend falls ill. .

There are a few different ways he could parse the inquiry. He knows they’ll all be met with resistance and silence, but mayhap one of them will eventually yield an answer. Concern works better than bluntness when trying to get her to open up, as is the case with many people. Concern is soft and seeps into cracks and around walls, rather than butting up against them. It’s gentle enough to tempt, to coax her to reach out rather than close herself off.

“Not that it’s out of character for you to fret when a friend takes ill,” he says without preamble.

She looks up from all the things she’s crammed onto his nightstand, a pout on her lips.

“But I can’t help thinking this is above and beyond, even for you.” The words make his throat hurt, and the more he talks the more his voice turns to gravel. “Is aught amiss?”

Her brows knit and bend, a wash of melancholy dulling her eyes. She avoids his gaze and adjusts his blankets.

“Though it may not sound like it, I assure you I'm not truly at risk of coughing up a lung.”

The corners of her mouth tighten and dip, and her shoulders tense. 

He wraps a hand loosely around her wrist and she stills. He softens his tone as much as he’s able, trying to reassure, “I’m fine, Gwen. It’ll pass.”

She glances at his face, then back down at their hands. “I know.”

“Then why do you look like I’m about to breathe my last whenever I have a tickle in my throat?”

Her brows furrow and her expression shifts, trying to close and flatten out into a look that brooks no room for more questions. It almost works. Her eyes, however, are far away and quiet, a heavy shadow rolling across them like nightfall. 

Ah...? Mayhap this is a more delicate topic than he thought. He probably should have assumed as much, and might have, if his head was clearer.

Thancred slides his hand into hers and squeezes gently.

Gwen studies their hands for several breaths. Then she rests her other hand over his, slotting her fingers between his knuckles. 

Something in his chest rattles wrong and sends a coughing fit kicking up his throat. Godsdamnit. 

She keeps him from doubling over on himself, patting his back gently and mumbling soothing things until he collapses back against his pillows, lightheaded and breathless. His head is full of thunderstorms and his throat is burned out and raw, the air like sandpaper as he gulps it down.

Cold dampness dabs at his temples, his throat, his chest, sending little shocks of chill through him that clear away the dizziness and snuff the waves of heat rolling under his skin. The cloth vanishes, water splashes and trickles elsewhere, and then it settles on his forehead again. Murmured words and ghosting fingertips conjure ripples of healing magic that do more for his aching muscles than his head. For all it’s usefulness, the list of things healing magic can’t help is surprisingly, aggravatingly long.

Drained as he is, Thancred still has the energy to take the mug when Gwen lifts it to his mouth. He’s not that bad off. The overworked muscles in his stomach and chest ache as he sits a little straighter to drink.

“Drink it slowly,” she advises, hands hovering like she thinks he’ll drop it.

He does. His throat continues to tickle and scratch even after the tea is gone and the rest of him has settled, inspiring a few small coughs here but, thankfully, not another fit.

Weary and with his thoughts lagging, he allows himself a few minutes to simply  sit and be miserable. He sinks into the pillows and lets her move his hair around, dry his face, fix his blankets and whatever else will quell her apprehension and satisfy her need to fret.

He doesn’t deserve to be fussed over like this, he knows. He hasn’t earned this time and attention, especially not from her. The Warrior of Light has better things to do than coddle him and put up with his neediness.

She doesn’t agree in the slightest and, in truth, a small part of him is grateful for it. The same part that selfishly revels in the gentle care and affection that have nothing to do with getting him back in working condition and everything to do with her genuine concern for his comfort and wellbeing.

A hand touches his cheek, tugging at his muddled awareness.

“Thancred?” Gwen’s voice is hazy.

He peels his eyes open and blinks sluggishly until they focus. His head is full of quicksand, and breaths sound rough in his ears and feel worse in his throat.

“You dozed off,” she says, still speaking quietly. “I made some more tea.”

Thancred grunts and pushes himself up, and Gwen helps him rearrange and fluff the pillows so he can sit more upright. The hot tea feels like heaven on his parched throat, and the fact that it’s a different, less bitter blend only makes it better. 

She perches on the edge of her seat, looking satisfied, and picks up her journal. Then she pauses, expression shifting slowly. She sets her journal in her lap and purses her lips contemplatively, that dullness gradually returning to her eyes as a thoughtful little wrinkle forms between her brows.

He cocks his head, curious. He’s doing relatively well, he hasn’t coughed or even cleared his throat, so what’s this look for?

“I, ah…” Gwen pauses. She sinks back in her seat, leaning heavily against the backrest. “I was thinking, while you were asleep. I… Heh, I do tend to get, ah, a little wound up when people get sick, don’t I?” The corners of her mouth tighten and lift into an awkward, guilty smile. Her tone is careful, testing the topic and his reaction.

“I’d argue more than ‘a little,’” he drawls. It makes his throat itch, so he takes another swallow of tea.

She inclines her head, acquiescing the point. “I spent a little time thinking about it,” she stops. “And I realized it’s...”

She sighs, expression tightening with mild frustration. She opens her journal and leafs through it until she finds where she left off last, one page full of writing while the other is mostly empty. She reads over the full page, fingers moving haphazardly over the words as her eyes dart back and forth.

His brain isn’t functional enough to decipher her chocobo-scratch upside down, but tries anyway. No luck.

Gwen curls her fingers over the top of the page and tips it shut on her hand, like an actress holding a spot for reference while they work to memorize their lines. Her eyes drift slowly over the room, looking around but not at anything in particular. Eventually her gaze comes to rest in the vicinity of his elbow.

“I,” her voice is soft, “had a brother.”

Hearing her say it aloud is like a cold shock of water, even though he’d already been aware of that sad truth. She’s written about him before, though only on occasion, and she was so sparing with details and accounts of him it might even be fairer to say she’d mentioned him.

In want of a suitable reply Thancred gives her his full attention, turning to better face her. 

She opens her mouth then pauses, looking vaguely pensive. Her gaze shifts around indecisively, that thoughtful wrinkle between her brows coming back. Trying to determine what to say next, and how much she needs to share to properly explain whatever thought is forming on her tongue.

Thancred asks, even though he’s half-convinced any sort of disruption will make her stop and withdraw, as if this piece of her past is a deer he can startle away, “What was his name?”

Her eyes flit to his for a moment, and she looks touched that he would want to know. 

“Aifread,” she says gently, her tone more fond familiarity than reverence. The smile that tugs at her lips is tinged with reminiscence, and he wonders how long it’s been since she last said his name aloud. 

Aifread. Thancred commits it to memory and mumbles it to himself for good measure, feeling the shape and weight of it on his tongue. 

“And he-- he.... Was younger than me. By four summers or so,” she says slowly. “So I had to take care of him.” One corner of her mouth tugs down. “Us, rather. Both of us. And…” there’s a slight pause, less than a breath, and her eyes flash, growing dark and hard, “...and father.”

The change is so sudden and sharp he’s almost taken aback. He’s seen her angry before, but this is more than mere anger. This is something deeper, something loathsome with teeth in it.

Then it vanishes, like a puff of wind, and the hard emeralds of her eyes are replaced with soft, dull moss. “It wasn’t easy but...” She shrugs, expression drooping as she reaches up to pet one of the silver streaks in her hair. 

“When I was nine summers old, almost ten, I…” She glances down at her journal but doesn’t open it. “I took ill. There’s no name for what it was, then or now. But the healers think it was the same blight that struck the lalafel who made the mill.”

Thancred lifts a hand and gestures for her to stop, a quiet, heavy hole opening in his chest. She told him enough when she said she’d had a brother, in truth. He doesn’t have all the details, but he doesn’t need them. He knows enough.

“Started as a tickle in my chest,” Gwen says anyway, purposefully looking away from his hand. Apparently she’s determined to finish now that she’s started. “Then it got worse… a few days later I couldn’t get out of bed. Then Aifread started coughing, too. Then father.”

Thancred leans over and rests a hand on the one tangled in her hair. “Gwen...” 

She shakes off the gray strands and weaves her fingers through his instead, looking faintly relieved.

Her brows bend and she-half winces at an unpleasant memory. Then a certain little wrinkle appears on her forehead. “It’s, ah, it gets-- hazy. After that,” she says stiltedly.

A lie. And a rather obvious one, at that. He squeezes her hand and says nothing.

“Next thing I remember, I…” Her voice wavers slightly and she lowers her head. “I… woke up in the Adders’ medical ward. And... “

She takes a slow, steadying breath. Her voice trembles anyway. “And I... I was alone.”

Words have always abandoned him when it mattered, and now is no different. Thancred squeezes her hand and pulls, stopping just short of hauling her out of her seat and into his arms.

She jerks her head up, green eyes glassy and confused. She’s just on the verge of tears, but still keeping herself together, if only barely. When he pulls again she lets him drag her into his arms, stiff for a moment before melting into his embrace. She hooks her hands over his shoulders and clings to him, burying her face in the crook of neck. Her breaths shudder slowly against his throat, only a few tears smearing against his neck as she fights to hold the rest in.

He wishes she wouldn’t. She doesn’t need to.

He tries to tell her so. Instead another sodding cough claws its way out of his chest, and all his half-formed words of comfort get hacked up along with one of his lungs.

For what it’s worth, Gwen isn’t upset by the sudden derailment. If anything, she’s grateful for the distraction. 

She slips away from him, producing a clean handkerchief from nowhere and rubbing soothing circles on his back until he finally slumps, wheezing, against his pillows. Somewhere in the midst of it all she rubs her hands over her face and manages to steady her breaths out. 

He all but collapses against his pillows, dizzy and wheezing. It almost hurts to breathe, though he’s not sure what’s worse: his aching chest or his raw throat.  She dabs his forehead with the cold towel, pours a fresh mug of tea, and fixes his blankets while he catches his breath, mumbling quiet, soothing nonsense and sympathy once she’s sure her voice won’t waver.

Rather than trying to fumble through expressing condolences, he settles for promising himself to be more patient with her fretting in the future and not complain about it... within reason.

“So, well...” she fumbles slowly, still measuring her breaths as she shifts her weight on her feet and tugs at her shirt. “All that to say I, ah... I only just realized that I, heh, have never really taken the time to understand where this,” she tries for a smile, “’fretting’ came from, myself. And... I have a bit of reflecting to do.”

He makes a vaguely affirming sound, unable to properly read the look on her face or the way she’s holding herself through the renewed pounding in his skull that’s hazing over his senses. Awkwardness, discomfort, maybe a bit of guilt, but he’s not entirely sure. Those, at least, are understandable. That was a rather heavy bit of history to tell someone, particularly when they weren’t quite expecting it. It’s not the sort of thing she would share with many people --or anyone-- which would only give it that much more weight when she finally decided to do so.

Gwen leans down and presses a soft, lingering kiss to his brow, then tips her forehead against his. "Thank you.”

The affection is welcome, but it doesn’t stop Thancred from confusedly croaking that he didn’t do anything but sit.

She straightens up and smooths his hair back from his face, a measure of the worry and concern she’s been carrying since she first caught him coughing replaced with something more pensive. “You helped,” she pauses, trying to find the words she wants, “clear my head a little.” 

“By sitting here?” he rasps between sips of tea.

She considers that, picking up her journal from the floor and flattening out a bent page. At length she says, “By asking. And listening.”

Asking...? What, asking why she was fretting so much? Has no one asked before?

She gives him a slight smile. “I’ll get you something to eat.” Her expression firms slightly and she points a warning finger at him. “Stay in bed.”

He grouses good-naturedly at her as she leaves, then frowns at the closed door. 

He doesn’t know how long he’d dozed off for, but apparently it was long enough for her to take a thoughtful look at the root of her anxieties surrounding illness.  Enough time to steady herself out a little and recognize her motives and behaviors for what they are, not just the good intentions she veils them in, and the toll all that worrying takes on her. Apparently she has never spared it much thought herself, though it’s hard to say whether or not that had been a conscious decision. Either way, it had surely been far easier to simply accept it as habit and dig no further.

It’s quite the step for her to take, both in confronting herself about her brother’s death and opening up to him about it. Despite the discomfort of such heavy news, he has no small amount of satisfaction, even pride, in knowing she trusts him enough to share the more painful and tender parts of her past. He imagines the hole in his chest is not going to fully go away any time soon, but it’s worth it. Aifread. 

When Gwen comes back with soup, Thancred isn’t not much better physically, but his spirits are higher. She offers, with only a hint of reluctance and a dash of awkwardness, to get out of his hair and give him time to himself.

He asks her to stay. 

They don’t talk about Aifread again, or anything else about her. But that shadow of worry from before isn’t hanging so heavily behind her eyes anymore, cracked open and broken apart into pieces she can try to work with, rather than something she simply has to carry. She still worries, of course, but she isn’t so distraught and tense, even when he starts trying to hack up his other lung.

It makes sense, he supposes. Secrets are heavy things, as are the consequences of carrying them for so long. They’re much easier to bear when shared.

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

Foible - noun a minor flaw or shortcoming in character or behavior 

HNNNGGGG TOOK ME SO LONG TO WRITE AND ENDINGS ARE HARD

But overall I’m pretty happy with it!!

*is debating removing that last line hmmmmmmm....*

TY TY @evangeline-cross for the advice and the beta read :B

[aliceaddellheidde]

Fatum

A/N: This is for @the-ss-horniest-book-club Lucky in love. March 31 – Windfall.

WORDS: 855

WARNINGS: fluff, feels

PAIRING: Bucky Barnes x reader (eventually) {Soulmates AU}

DISCLAIMERS: Endgame happened, but only Thanos and his peasants died. English isn´t my first language so sorry for mistakes.

Moi, Rai and Parca are genderless & are using they/their pronouns.

This is soulmates au. When you get tattoo, your soulmate gets it as well on same spot. It glows when you touch.

Y/D/N - your daughter name

Y/S/N - your son name

Last part. I'm emotional 😭

This is multi-chapter story. 19/19

Gif from here

Divider by @rainbowkisses31

You were sitting on rocking chair on porch with glass of ice tea in hand, watching two kids playing on the grass with the dog. „They are perfect, aren't they?” asked Bucky, sitting on chair next to you with his beer. „Yes.” you smiled widely. „I can´t believe they are five today.” „I know. It was like yesterday when we found out you're pregnant.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bucky threw you on mat at the gym and you groaned in annoyance. „I hate this training Buck.” „Only because you are sore looser. C´mon babe, I know you can kick my ass anytime.” Suddenly you felt twisting in your stomach and you vomited before you could ran to toilet. „Y/N!” Bucky was right next to you. „I'm taking you to doc.” „No Buck, I´m  just a bit sick.” you protested. „At least now don’t be so stubborn, ok?” He picked you up and carried you to medical bay.

„So Y/N, tell me what's bothering you?” asked Dr. Cho. „I'm feeling sick. Like vomiting, headache an I´m tired all the time.” „Fever or muscle pain?” „Don´t know about fever. And my muscles aching all the time. We have very strict exercise regime, you know.” „No sneezing or cough? Sore throat?” „No.” „Ok, I´ll take you blood and check your stomach. You can take some Paracetamol for headache, take a nap and drink lots of water.” „Great.” „Lay down please.” You did what she told you and let her do her work. „Amazing. I´ll call you when I´ll have results. You also should eat something light. Some cracker with butter or toast.” „Thank you doc.”

Bucky woke you up hours later. „Doc is calling us doll. How are you feeling?” You yawned and snuggled to him. „Better, but I don’t wanna go out of the bed. You are so warm.” He laughed. „I know baby. But we have to go. To know what's up with you.” You groaned and sat up. Immediately you felt light-headed. „You ok? You are pale.” „I'm good. Lets go.”

You were sitting in med bay room, impatient. Dr. Cho came minutes later, holding clipboard. „Mr. and Mrs. Barnes, I have some good news for you.” she smiled at you both. „Tell us before I´ll throw up again.” „By the symptoms I thought you may had a flu. But your blood showed us something different.” She turned the clipboard to you and you saw red stamp on paper. „I'm pregnant?” you asked silently, tears in eyes. „Yes!” Dr. Cho squealed. You looked at Bucky with wide eyes. He had same expression. Then he smiled at you. „We are gonna be parents doll.” he said before he kissed you tenderly. „Yes, we are.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

„Nine months later we had our Y/D/N Rebecca, Y/S/N James.” he smiled. „You were blaming yourself for throwing and punching me so hard that day and couldn’t stop apologizing to me and our babies.”  „I still feel bad about it.” „At least this one was planned and we knew I´m pregnant.” You fondly touched your swelled belly. „Yeah. Y/D/N, Y/S/N and Winter can´t wait to be older siblings.” He softly kissed your forehead, hand on your belly protectively, as he stood up. „Ok kiddos, time to get you clean up before guest will come.” He picked them both and even when they had super soldier serum, they weren't that strong yet. „Will you brush my hair daddy? Please?” asked Y/D/N, looking at Bucky with puppy eyes. „Of course princess. Give a kiss to ma and hurry up.” They did what he said and then he helped you to stood up. „Thank you.” „Always doll.” He gave small peck to ring on your left hand and your kids giggled before they ran inside. „You take a rest, I got them. Winter, guard mode.” You watched as your Golden retriever stood up quickly from ground and sat next to you, ears alerted. „Good boy.” you told him and he licked your hand.

You were telling Winter about your and Bucky's wedding when a car came through the gate and he started barking, his tail high, ears alerted again. Your friends stepped out of the vehicle and he relaxed. „Y/N! Good to see you again!” Tony said excessively, walking up to you. „Good to see you too.” You hugged with everyone and moved inside. „Where are our godchildren?” asked Nat and Wanda. „Should be here soon. Help yourself with appetizers. And on that small table is kids food.” Nat´s two years old daughter Anastasiya and Wanda´s four years old twins Billy and Tommy and Clint´s Nathaniel ran up there while Morgan, Peter, Harley, Cooper and Lila were more civilized. Until they saw a trampoline.

Later on more of your friends with their families came. Even Loki and Steven Strange teamed up for magic show. Wakanda sent another goat as a friend for your Lucy and Guardians sent box full of galactic sweets. Your huge garden was full of people you loved and your life couldn’t be more perfect.

Moi, Rai and Parca were sitting on the tree, happily watching a party below, proud of themselves.

[nimmy22]

A Mistake: Chapter 7

A man and a woman, each strapped to a surgical table and naked, screaming for help. Their cries shifted from, "God, please help. Please!" to, "It's your fault, you bitch! You wanted to come to this god-forsaken town. You did this! Why am I here? I didn't want to come here. I did nothing wrong, I swear. It was all her. She kept wanting more money. She kept stealing from everyone, even our daughter."

With a bracelet authorization approval, a door slid open with a beep, revealing two staff members in yellow biohazard suits fitted with oxygen tanks and masks. One wheeled in a metal cart covered by a sterile blue drape. The cart was positioned and locked in place near the medical tables, the blue drape lifted.

The man and woman looked at the sheer size of the needles and the vails of bright purple liquid laid out neatly across the cart. Any day, they would've stolen, cheated, and lied to have the sweet relief of a drug but not like this. The irony was unwelcome.

Their wide eyes stared unblinking, their pleading lips forming incoherent words. The nightmare refused to let them go, no matter how hard they bit their tongues, tasting metal. Reality sunk in harder than the restraints digging into their raw bruised flesh. Soon the woman became delirious before fainting while the man sported a growing wetness between his legs, dripping onto the floor of the unadorned white room. The only colors in the room were the yellow of the suits, the dark brown urine, and the Umbrella logo in the center of the floor.

One of the staff members turned to the camera in the corner of the room before speaking, "Experiment number 9932-Code X, subjects are a 43-year-old female and a 51-year-old male. Treatment with Serum X41 injected intramuscularly at the deltoid site. "

The contents of the syringes were injected into the upper arm of the two test subjects. They didn't so much as blink an eye as the male begged for his life and questioning their humanity.

"Mama... please, I'll be a good boy. Please let me out. Mama..." the 51-year-old man wailed, digging his nails into the leather restraints. They retreated as fast they entered, sealing the door behind them.

"Experiment in progress, do not enter experimentation chamber number 451 due to a biohazard element in containment." The voice of a female AI sounded through the speakers, a warning to all employees on the level.

William's eyes glowed as he watched through the reinforced glass, his thumb repeatedly pressing the ballpoint pen in his hand. He leaned forward, licking his lips as the serum began taking effect. The subjects began convulsing against the restraints, their limbs spasming as their entire genome was remodeled.

With a scream, the bones of the female cracked. Her teeth tumbled out of her bleeding gums, muscles and tendons ruptured. She burst out of the restraints and threw herself against walls, pounding with bloody fists as she screeched. The serum made work of replacing her organs and connective tissue, reforming her into something stronger, faster, and more deadly—an elegant hunter of pure carnage.

William hardly paid attention to the male whose body exploded, spraying the entire room with innards. Nothing remained to identify him as having once been human. Smelling the fresh blood, the female lapped the bloodied walls with an impressively long tongue slithering out of a mouth layered with sharpened teeth. With skinless appendages, she explored the room, climbing the walls and walking on the ceiling. It wasn't long before instinct led her to devour what remained of her husband.

"Excellent! We are making progress. This is the first subject to survive injection with Serum X41 without becoming a pile of liquefied tissue. Increasing the concertation of the base chemical allowed the body to become more receptive to the serum. I can't wait to Annette and Albert know. I'm thinking of calling this project black widow." He babbled to himself, feeling like he deserves a pat on the back. All those nights spent bent over his desk were finally paying off.

Sparing one last glance at the remains of the male, William frowned. "Looks like your mama didn't quite hear you but thank you for offering yourself to science. Your contribution is greatly appreciated." William said as he began recording the experiment's findings into a clipboard adorned with the Umbrella logo. William loved making progress in his research. It flooded his brain with dopamine better than a night of good sex or winning the lottery.

------------------------- It had been three days since the last time she had seen Wesker, but she heard his voice plenty enough, calling her for hourly updates while she was alone with Sherry in his house. He didn't personally pick her up after school. Instead, He sent a very kind elderly driver under the assumption that he was employed by her' parents' to drop her off 'home.' Both were so extremely far from reality. Thankfully, the man seemed busy playing cops and robbers. She was left alone with Sherry, and while she was in a more relaxed mood, she didn't dare go exploring the property belonging to the devil. The less she knew about him and his dealings, the looser the noose around her neck.

Her actual parents were nowhere to be found. Still, she wasn't worried. Aside from the whole situation with Wesker, these were the most peaceful days she'd seen in a long time, in fact… ever. The bruises could finally heal without the addition of new ones. Her parents most likely realized the extent of their financial situation and made a break for it. The loan sharks were not going to wait forever and will soon take more forceful actions. As much as it hurt Cara, she believed they left her behind to distract the collectors. They had done something similar years back in a town not too different from Raccoon, but at least they took her with them. It worked once, and they likely believed it will again. She decided to worry about that later, placing her problems on hold. A break was much needed.

Putting on her nicer pair of sneakers and her least washed-out pair of jeans, Cara regarded herself in the mirror and opted to leave her hair down. Wondering whether she should take the cellphone, Cara spent ten minutes arguing with herself. With a heavy sigh, she stuffed it into her back pocket, hoping to 'accidentally' smash the damn thing while sitting down extra hard. What would Wesker say? You have a big butt? Don't sit down?

Today Cara was hanging out with Rick, a mutual friend. They never hung outside school before, especially on their own, and she was a little nervous about things getting awkward. Due to Cara's 'full-time job' after school, they decided to skip a few classes and go out for a hike in the Arkley mountains. This would be her most needed change of scenery, and she may walk away with a good friend.

For Cara, the past few days have been a routine, wake up, go to school, go to Wesker's home to watch Sherry, and then come home to sleep only to do it all over again the next day. Things have been calm, and so Claire's suspicion turned off its headlights, but she often complained they couldn't hang out as much.

Cara tried inviting Claire to head out with them, but she turned the offer down, smiling from ear to ear. She hinted to Cara that Rick might have caught some feelings for her and that the courage to make a move required they be alone under the right circumstances. Guys and girls alike often confessed in the Arkley mountains. It became an omen of good luck for couples to stay together longer. Of course, that was total bullshit as many of those same couples break up soon after. However, it's nice to have hope in a relationship, something Cara never experienced. She decided that if Rick did indeed liked her that she would at least give things a try.

She was shy about Rick picking her up from the bad side of town and instead promised to meet him by the start of the Arkley trails. By the time she arrived, he was already there, standing by a pickup truck in the trail parking lot. Cara smiled, catching him in the midst of fixing his brown hair and testing the smell of his breath in a cupped hand. Why hadn't she ever noticed him? He seemed like such a pleasant guy.

When he finally noticed her standing behind him in the reflection, he spun around, almost stumbling over his feet. "T-there was something stuck in my hair, I swear," He stuttered, scratching his neck while his ears roasted tomato red.

"Whatever you say, pretty boy," Cara laughed, feeling her heart grow lighter with every minute. She had a good feeling today will be very meaningful.

The two walked along a path marked with bright orange ribbons tied to the trees. They passed dozens of signs warning hikers against straying off the path, many of which were covered with graffiti. All around them, birds chirped, and strangely, a few crows cawed as they hovered over the trees.

Walking around a growth of poison Ivy, they talked about random silly things and the distant future. Cara was glad to find herself closer to another person. Real genuine friends were a shortage in her life. She always had to be to one extending a hand, reaching out first. It was nice for a change that someone else extended their hand.

"You know, Cara, despite all the things I kept hearing about you from everyone, I knew they were wrong. They judged you without knowing shit about you."

"What…kind of stuff. And who is talking about me?" Cara's voice held a hard edge, her feet taking a pause. With furrowed brows, her eyes followed Rick as he walked ahead before noticing she stopped. This was the first time Cara heard of any rumors concerning her. She never made any enemies, keeping herself relatively unnoticed at school. Cara felt betrayed, wondering if Claire heard the rumors too, and if so, why hasn't she said anything? Why does she have to hear it from Rick?

"Oh, don't worry about it. It's nothing important. What matters is that I'm on your side." He spoke quickly, scratching the back of his neck.

"Rick, what are they saying about me," Cara walked closer to him, her eyes piercing through him.

"You'll be upset," His eyes kept avoiding Cara, settling on a hole in his shoe.

"I can take it. I just want to know what was said. Please Rick."

"Ah shit…um… they've said that someone saw you walking on Chandler street where all the…dealers and escorts hang. They said you offered to give blow jobs for five bucks to some older men behind a dumpster. That the bruising on your arm because you inject heroin, that your parents pimp you out to-"

Cara expelled a breath, her eyes misting rapidly. "No! that not true. I didn't do that. Why would anyone say something like that? I'm a fucking babysitter, ok? I'm not this, I'm not…my mom." She turned on her heel, wanting to get out of there. "I'm not like her." She repeated, clenching her fists. They didn't have the right to spin stories about her, turning her into a lunchtime gossip storyline. It wasn't fair. She was wrong. She couldn't handle it. She was always pathetic, always crying.

Rick caught up to Cara, grabbing her shoulder to spin her around to face him. "I'm so sorry Cara, I knew it was going to upset you, and I still told you about it. God, I'm so stupid." He said, wrapping his arms around Cara. She was caught by surprise and tried to push him away. Eventually, she found herself leaning against him, letting out a sigh as he stroked her hair.

"It's ok Rick, I'm glad you told me. They're just stupid rumors. I don't know why I'm over- " He kissed her open mouth midsentence, softly at first but quickly added more pressure. His hands fisted into her shirt, forcing her closer. She felt the bile rise quickly.

Cara's eyes were wide open as she tried pulling back, but he held her tightly. She tried forcefully turning her head, but his hand reached up to hold her chin in a painful vice grip, his tongue demanding entrance against her lips. She whimpered, clenching her teeth shut. Her lack of participation agitated him, and he grabbed her arm with a bruising tightness. Cara cried out in pain, and he took the opportunity to force his tongue into her mouth.

Cara wanted to shout for help, her eyes darting around the forest, encircling them. Still, they were completely alone, save for a couple of crows weeping among the trees. They seemed closer than before, sensing a meal in the making.

Allowing his tongue full entrance, Cara bit down as hard as she could on it, gagging against the metallic taste. Rick shoved her away, groaning in pain as blood spilled from the corner of his mouth.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Cara spat the blood in her mouth before shouting. Her eyes burned into him as she backed away.

"I believed in you despite everyone else. I told you I was on your side, and you hurt me. Do you know how many times I defended you? How many times I got picked on for simply standing beside you? You led me to think that you felt something, and then you hurt me." He growled, nursing his tongue in his hand.

Cara let out a pained breath, closing her eyes before turning her head away. She replayed what happened in her mind, wondering where things went wrong. She said she will give him a chance but, this was wrong, so very wrong.

"Rick, stop this. I appreciate what you did for me, but you made me uncomfortable. I did not enjoy that, I did not consent to that, but you touched me anyway."

"How much would it take you to fucking notice me? I've tried being Mr. Fucking nice for two years, Two fucking years. But you never look at me differently." Rick snarled, clenching his fists. He unleashed his rage against the nearest tree punching it repeatedly. He did not stop the assault even as his knuckles split, and the blood flowed freely, staining the bark.

"Rick, please stop before you do something you'll regret," Cara whispered softly, reaching for his bloody hand.

"I will make you want me!"

Cara barely had a second to process things before a rock made a disorienting contact with her head. She saw an assortment of colors and shapes on her way to the muddy earth.

Rolling on her stomach, she tried to push herself up, but everything was spinning, or maybe she was spinning. She rested her cheek against the mud, willing the world to stop shifting. Blood trickled down her face, and she had to blink it out of her eyes, unable to wipe it away. Her limbs felt as if weights were tied to them, giving gravity a greater pull.

Cara fought to stay awake, drifting in and out of the dark, faintly aware of being dragged by her foot through rough earth. It scratched her exposed skin, forcing the back of her shirt to ride up.

[malecsecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, yorit1!

For @yorit1​​, I'm so happy I was able to write you this fic and I hope it makes you smile and you enjoy it. I've never written a high school au, but I wanted to keep it fluffy and funny. Wishing you a happy holidays; stay warm, grab your favorite warm drink, and read to your heart's content.

Read On AO3

*****

I Caught You Staring (And Now I Can't Look Away)

Alexander Lightwood was different. He was nothing like his brother, Jace who was the star quarterback of the football team and a bit of an egomaniac at times. He wasn’t like his sister, Isabelle who was free-spirited and made a statement with her fashion choices and opinions.

No, Alec was quiet. He tried to take up as little space as possible no matter how much room he was given. Despite his towering stature he tended to hunch unconsciously. Like he was afraid he was always taking up too much room.

But he was stubborn and terse to the majority of people and doted on his family. He stood up for others and advocated for LGBTQ+ rights at school and outside it. He took in those who wormed their way into his heart with nary a thought but kept them away from knowing him besides the front he presented.

He was an array of contradictions that only made him more interesting in Magnus’ eyes.

And he stared. At Magnus. A lot.

Initially, Magnus hadn’t even noticed Alec’s gaze. He’d only realized it when Ragnor and Catarina had brought it to his attention.

“You’re being watched,” Catarina commented offhandedly, taking a bite of her salad.

Magnus smirked. “I’m always being watched,” he purred.

A groan echoed beside him. “I swear, if your head gets any bigger they’ll be no way to hide it,” Ragnor groused.

“I refuse to have this negativity within my eyesight.” Magnus made a shooing gesture. “Remove yourself at once.”

Catarina giggled at their banter before clearing her throat. “I’m being serious, though. You’ve been being watched by mister brooding over there.” She inconspicuously pointed to somewhere diagonally to them.

Not one to shy away from attention, Magnus whipped his head around to try and meet the gaze of his admirer. His eyebrows shot up when he met the gaze of Alexander Lightwood.

Alec seemed to have met his eyes too because his face reddened. The boy gave him a timid wave before ducking his head to gaze at his food, seeming to ignore the other occupants at his table.

Magnus would have continued looking at the bashful boy if his vision wasn’t suddenly obstructed. He squawked and turned a glower to Ragnor. “Are you really trying to cover my face up with a paper bag right now?”

His best friend grinned. “You were staring.”

“He was staring.”

“You wouldn’t have even noticed his staring if Cat hadn’t informed you.”

Conceivably, there was some truth to that. He wasn’t short on admirers so it didn’t surprise him that he hadn’t noticed one person’s attention.

He was curious to see how this would all play out.

It happened at a party.

A Magnus Bane party.

Magnus Bane had risen to popularity with these outlandish parties he threw while his father was away on his business trips. They were grand with drinks flowing in red solo cups and music blasting so loudly that they had the cops called on them more than once.

Magnus could easily party the night away. Immerse himself in the sweaty, hormonally charged throngs of his fellow student body. Ordinarily, he would.

But Alec actually came to this one and that wholly couldn’t be ignored.

The boy still hadn’t acted on what Magnus assumed was attraction to him. He merely continued to covertly admire Magnus from afar. The few times they’d talked, Magnus had reduced the boy to scrambled word-vomit. Alexander was bright red and Magnus was beyond flattered.

Here under the colored lights, the boy was a wallflower if he'd ever seen one. He stuck close to the wall and people watched with a dour expression. Magnus had seen people more excited about midterms than Alexander looked at one of his parties. And that wouldn't do at all.

Optimistically, this conversation would go better than their previous ones.

He saddled up to him with an extra cup of whatever brew Catarina had concocted and a charming smile. "Staying over here all by your lonesome, pretty boy?" Magnus inquired lightly.

Alec lurched beside him and looked at him bug-eyed. "What?" He asked.

"Well, you're denying the party-goers a fine specimen while you hunker to the shadows." Magnus couldn't tell if the boy was blushing with the colored lights gleaming across the room but his expression seemed flattered if not terribly shy.

It was adorable.

"I'm uh—My siblings wanted to come."

Magnus hummed thoughtfully and looked around the room until he spotted Alec's sister dancing amongst the crowd. "Ah, Izzy seems to be having a blast." He turned to Alec with a smirk. "I'm assuming Jace and Clary are making out somewhere around here."

Alec groaned and thumped his head against the wall. "I didn't even want to come." His eyes widened, and he jerked his head back to Magnus with his hands raised. "Not—Not that it isn't a great party because it is uh—everyone loves them and I—" he sighed and shrugged his shoulders, "Parties have never been my scene and it's just easier to stay on the sidelines."

"Perhaps," Magnus conceded, "or maybe you just need to keep trying." He handed the extra drink to him. "Start with something to drink. It'll do wonders to relax those tense shoulders of yours." And what gorgeously broad shoulders they were.

Alec shook his head and pushed the cup away. "Can't, I'm the designated driver."

Magnus arched a brow and poured the new drink into his original cup. "More for me, I suppose." He took a sip, ignoring the fire that licked his throat on the way down. "In the meantime, we might as well see if we can entice you into enjoying the party,” he set the cups down on a random table and held out his hand, “dance with me."

It wasn't a question and Alec recognized that but still, he shook his head. "Unless you want me to accidentally break your toes, I’m gonna… I'll just stay here."

"Pretty boy, I taught Ragnor how to dance." It'd been his own personal hell for half the summer but Ragnor had gotten significantly better at dancing enough so that he didn't look like he was suffering a seizure when the desire to dance struck him. "I'm sure I can teach you something."

Alec swallowed and looked around the room for anything that might help him. "I'm really not a good dancer," Alec insisted even as Magnus started to coax him from the wall. "I'll look stupid which means you'll look stupid."

Magnus waved him off. "Practically everyone looks silly when they dance, so you won't be alone there." He seized Alec’s hand and pulled him away from the wall. “Give it a try for five minutes, and we’ll see how it goes.”

Alec let himself be dragged to the dancefloor with consternation. “Five minutes and that’s it.”

This conversation was going lightyears better than their first few conversations. “If you want to stop, that is.”

He let go of Alec’s hand to grab ahold of Alec’s hips. “We’ll start with a sway, literally everyone can sway,” Magnus instructed as he started to sway his hips with Alec’s. He quickly directed their swaying to match the beat of the music. “See? Just gotta listen to the music; your body should pick up on the beat.”

A nervous laugh bubbled from somewhere in Alec’s throat as he bopped his head. “Yeah—okay, now what?”

“Arms, you don’t want to just flap them about.” You could knock someone out by accident if you did that. “Though if that’s your style, we can work with that.”

Alec raised his arms, shifting them side-to-side like muscled windshield wipers. “This?”

Magnus threw his head back and laughed. “God no, that’s—“ Magnus dissolved into another fit of giggles, waving a hand at Alec, “I’m not laughing at you, I promise. I just—I wasn’t expecting that.”

Alec scowled. “Then show me how to do it,” Alec commanded.

The scowl on the boy’s face resembled more of a pout than anything scary so Magnus figured the boy wasn’t too bothered by his laughter.

“You have to loosen up. You’re too tense!” Magnus ran his hands down Alec’s arms, relishing the shiver that ran through Alec’s body. “Relax your shoulders.”

“They are relaxed.”

He quirked an eyebrow and massaged at Alec’s shoulders feeling the tight muscles jump and release under his ministration. “Darling, I’ve seen assholes looser than your shoulders.”

Alec wheezed, his face twisting up, and squeezed his eyes shut. “That’s—why did you have to say it like that?” Alec groaned with a snort like he couldn’t decide whether to be upset or laugh at Magnus’ comment.

A Cheshire smile spread across his face. “I’m not wrong.”

Alec flushed, his eyes settling everywhere except Magnus’. “Well, I’m relaxed now.”

“Good, now just watch me for a moment.” He winked, biting his lower lip. “Try to keep your gaze virtuous.”

The laughter that tumbled out of Alec was beautiful and something he’d never heard before. His laughter echoed between them, somewhere caught between rough and warm. He’d never heard the boy laugh before.

But he wanted to hear it forever.

Magnus swayed his body, gyrating his hips and moving his hands up his body, letting them move with him. Lidded eyes gazed at Alec who’d stopped dancing altogether and was just staring at him with a familiar intensity.

“Feel free to admire me.”

Alec grinned and shook his head, already miles past his original comfort levels. “Thanks for the consent.” He crossed his arms and gave him a look. “You want a complete too? I feel like your fishing for one.”

“I very much am fishing for compliments,” Magnus said, “I’m just waiting for the hook to pick some up.”

“Normally people don’t admit to fishing for compliments.”

“Normal is subjective, Alexander.” He beckoned Alec over. “Now come join me, let that body talk.”

Alec shook his head again as he walked back over. “You’re so weird.” But his voice was husky belaying his real feelings on Magnus’ behavior. He clumsily joined Magnus and was soon following the beat more or less.

Magnus had thought this would be an innocent folly – just figuring the other boy out – but he found he was having fun. Alec's inexperience and awkwardness were endearing, and Magnus couldn’t turn his gaze away.

And he didn't want to.

He wasn't even sure what it was about Alec that drew him in. Magnus lived for partying, standing out, and being unashamedly himself. He wore glitter and sheer shirts that got him dress coded constantly.

Conversely, Alec was an introvert who orbited around the ones he loved. He'd started an archery club and followed all the school rules to an alarming degree. The only thing Magnus had thought stood out to him about Alec was that he was openly gay.

But just from his interactions with the boy tonight had revealed a hidden charm behind that stoic front. He had a laugh that made Magnus' heart skip a beat. His smile lit up the room way more than the assortment of lights did. He could dance only marginally better than Ragnor could now – which wasn’t saying much – but it made Magnus enjoy dancing with him all the more.

Just these observations made him wonder why he’d never noticed Alexander Lightwood before.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Alec interrupted, nudging him in the side.

Magnus shook his head from his previous thoughts. “My thoughts are worth plenty more than a penny,” Magnus sniffed.

Alec rolled his eyes. “Offer still stands.”

Magnus closed the distance between them. “You surprised me.”

“I surprised you?”

“Don’t sound so shocked.” Magnus put his arms around Alec’s neck and slowed their dancing down to a sweeping sway. “You’re more than I expected when I came over to you.”

Alec frowned. “More...?”

He shook his head. “I mean that in the best of ways,” Magnus reassured. “There’s just something about you, Alexander.”

Alec ducked his head down sheepishly. “There’s uh… something about you too.”

Magnus grinned, running his fingers through the short strands of hair at the back of Alec’s head. “Glad we’re on the same page about that.” He chanced a look around the room his eyes zeroing in on the clock before turning back to Alec who was finally looking at him again. “It’s been more than five minutes, still want me to leave?”

Hands grabbed at his hips as Alec leaned his head closer. “Please stay.”

Any quieter and Magnus would’ve missed Alec’s plea, but his grip on Magnus was telling enough. “Only if you’ll keep dancing with me.” Magnus gave Alec an exaggerated pout.

Alec snorted, shaking his head. “Stop being so cute.”

“Can’t, darling,” Magnus sighed, “it’s a curse.”

At this point, Magnus could feel Alec’s breath against his lips. With each moment his restraint grew smaller and smaller. He doubted Alec would gather the courage to mention his feelings. But he wasn’t going to wait for the other boy to make a move first. “Maybe this is the alcohol talking, but I really want to kiss you right now.”

Alec’s breath hitched, and for a second Magnus thought he’d ruined their moment until Alec let out a pleased sigh. “I – you uh… If I let you kiss me,” he paused to gather his thoughts, “You have to let me take you on a date.”

Magnus’ face lit up. “You wanna take me on a date?”

The tips of Alec’s ears practically glowed. “I’d like to.”

“I think,” Magnus drawled, twirling a piece of Alec’s hair, “that would be more than okay.”

The other boy’s mouth gaped and he seemed caught between awe and joy. Alec pressed their foreheads together. “So do I get that kiss now?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

Magnus bumps his nose against Alec’s. “How are you feeling about parties now?” Magnus inquired. He genuinely wanted to know if Alec’s opinion had changed.

Alec hummed thoughtfully before shrugging. “I won’t say I like them, but I got to spend time with you.” He brushed his lips against the corner of Magnus’ mouth. “So if you’re there, I can see the appeal.”

“Sweet talker.”

Magnus closed the distance between them. Alec’s lips were dry and deliciously warm against his. Just like his dancing, Alec’s kiss was inexperienced and their teeth clanked together before they got the right angle. Magnus led the kiss, coaxing Alec’s mouth to move with his own. It was hungry and sweet and profoundly earnest.

It was perfect.

Reluctantly Magnus pulled back to let them both breathe. Alec tried to chase his lips for a moment longer, eyes still closed as if he thought he’d open his eyes and Magnus would disappear.  Eventually, Alec did open his eyes, and quiet awe transformed his face.

“Would it be greedy to ask for another?” Alec asked between them, their lips still barely an inch apart.

“Terribly greedy,” Magnus chided with a grin, “But if you take me to that Thai place four blocks from the movie theater I’ll happily give you another.”

Alec laughed, their noses nudging against each other’s. “Promise?”

No answer was needed; his kiss was enough.

[youareiron-andyouarestrong]

35 49 - cassianxjyn, please? *-*

bathtub + fake married (only not really because they are, officially, as of the last prompt, married–legalities notwithstanding) 

they say he likes a good time (my oh my)

he comes alive at midnight (every night)

my mama doesn’t trust him (my oh my)

he’s only here for one thing (but so am I) 

“As honeymoons go,” Cassian says thoughtfully, lounging back in the tub, “this is definitely one of the better ones. 

“I still say it sounds like something you eat,” Jyn says, leaning against him, the water sloshing softly around them. “Some kind of ridiculous overblown Core world dessert.”

“A moon made out of honey,” Cassian muses. “Either that, or a really bad porn holo.”

“Can you imagine,” Jyn says, laughing at the thought. Her head falls back on his shoulder, her hair tucked up in a messy bun at the top of her head, rather than the base. It leaves the elegant line of her neck bared to his view, in what feels like a greater show of intimacy than what they’re currently doing. 

Cassian has Draven to thank for this mission, his commander’s way of (more or less) approving his marriage to Jyn. Not that Cassian needed or even looked for it; he’s already proved that when Jyn is involved, he’ll follow her anywhere. Draven was remarkably philosophical about Jyn hooking his best agent out from under him; he offered them blunt, if sincere congratulations after the ceremony. 

“You were headed to burn out before Erso,” he tells Cassian in private, later. “You’re more effective with her than without.”

Cassian had nodded, accepting this and turned back to his–wife. Jyn was his wife.  He wasn’t going to get over it anytime soon, and every time he looked at her it was a fresh marvel. 

According to the hotel roster, they are Eduardo and Liliana Strax, newly wed and freshly bedded on this plush Core world resort. They’re hungry young couple, just about to come up in the world, but not so jaded to the luxuries of this resort that they can’t be deeply impressed by the amenities on offer–and the personalities who stay there. It’s mostly mid to high level Imperial officers who stay here, with their entourages, wives and mistresses and assistants, all out to relax, enjoy the sights. Everyone’s a little freer, a little looser in their time, morals and money when on vacation. Which for spies like them, make perfect marks.

Eduardo and Liliana are young, eager, maybe a touch too openly ambitious. They fit right in with the rest of the strivers. The resort, the Jewel of Worlds (a stupid name, Jyn had said contemptuously, when they had gone over the brief together) is known for being the destination among the couples looking to show off how up and coming they are, and more importantly, for their complete and utter discretion. The amount they pay in taxes to keep the rooms unbugged, soundproof and camera free is truly obscene, which is probably why they charge so much. In this instance, Cassian can afford it; or rather, Eduardo Strax can. Being with Jyn has brought so many joys and changes to his life, not the least of these things being her truly incredible ability to scam Imps out of their money.

He could love her for that alone. 

He loves her for a lot more than that, not the least of which being the way she fits against him in this tub big enough to float a very small freighter in. 

“So this is what people do, on honeymoons?” Jyn asks in a musing way. “Lounge around the place, eat everything in sight, roll around in bed together–”

“They take in the sights,” Cassian offers, as she leans forward a bit, enough for him to take one of those luxurious bars of soap and run it up and down her back. It smells like flowers and the sea, and he’s found in the last few days, he’s liked the combination on her skin, how it smells and how it tastes. “Take tours of the town. Do some wine tasting. Some kind of outdoor thing.”

“Outdoor thing?” Jyn repeats, laughing. “Like what?”

“Hikes,” Cassian says, though frankly, his level of interest in outdoor things is negligible. “Beaches. Cliff sides. I don’t know.”

“City boy,” Jyn says, continuing to laugh as he washes her back, then her neck, her shoulders, and then the bar of soap makes it’s smooth and slippery way to her front, down to her chest… Then her laugh becomes a sigh, something like a moan. 

“What else?” she asks again, the water making their bodies move in interesting ways against each other. “What else do people do on honeymoons?”

Cassian considers this, the woman in his arms, his wife, the warm water and big soft bed, and all the interesting things they can do to each other therein. 

“Whatever they want,” he says and Jyn pulls away from enough him to turn and face him. The water makes it easy for her slide into his lap, pressed right up against him. A noise he’s never made before in his life escapes him as his thoughts scatter like clouds before a ship. “Whatever they want?” she echoes thoughtfully. “Well, I can think of a few things.”

“Please,” he gets out, staring up at her. She’s practically glowing in this soothing, neutrally colored room, a flash of life and vitality and vibrance, her hair gathered up like a crown, her green eyes commanding him, smooth white skin and strong muscles, her kyber crystal glowing… right between her breasts. That alone would’ve commanded his attention immediately, but she’s strung something else on the chain now as well–his ring. His true wedding band that he gave her when he married her in the eyes of the Alliance, not the flashy gold one currently sitting on their dresser in the main room.

He reaches up a hand to take the crystal and ring between his fingers, rub his thumb across it, like he’s trying to convince himself that it exists. A slow smile spreads across her face as her own hands creep into his hair, wind the strands around her fingers, tugging on it hard enough to make him groan softly. “You like that,” she murmurs, a statement of fact. “Seeing your ring on me.”

“I do,” he gets out, barely aware of what he’s saying. “I do–”

“I seem to recall something like that in our marriage vows,” Jyn says thoughtfully. “From this day it shall be only your name I cry out in the night–”

“I remember,” Cassian says, vaguely wondering how he’s holding a coherent conversation right now. “I liked that part.”

She laughs again, softly, amusement and affection all over her face. “I know. You honored that part of the vows a lot. At least three times, if my memory serves.”

“It does,” he agrees, because what is he going to do, say no? It wasn’t her name he practically screamed, worshipped, begged for over the course of the last few days? He’s a good liar, but he’s not that good. 

One of Jyn’s hands releases his hair, slides down his neck to where his own chain is, where his ring is. They can’t wear them out in public this mission–the rings don’t fit with their covers–but here, in the privacy of this very nice suite, they keep them on, around their necks. Jyn takes her own turn rubbing the ring between her fingers, even as his own clenches around her crystal and ring. “I like it too,” she murmurs, “so let me show you how much, husband.”

“Yes,” he says again, eager and willing, “yes, yes, wife–”

*

There’s a lot of snickering and indulgent laughter around the dining room table at the evening meal. Eduardo and Lilianna are flushed and dazed, snuggling against each other, smudges on their necks and hands intertwined, when they’re not using them for eating or feeding the other from off their plates. They say they’re honoring their wedding vows. Eduardo offers Lilianna a piece of iced fruit, which she parts her lips for; Lilianna casually helps herself some chocolate dessert of Eduardo’s, smirking at she licks the sauce off the spoon. 

“So are you two enjoying yourselves this evening?” an older guest jokes. He’s got a fat, self-satisfied face of someone who’s just won a lot of sabaac games. He has no idea Jyn’s already sliced his winnings out of his account. 

Eduardo smiles, the love-glazed look of a man who is well-sated. “It’s not so bad.”

Lilianna giggles girlishly, one hand stroking his thigh as she turns to whisper in his ear, “Feel like getting lucky?”

“Any more than I already am?” he whispers back, as the wives around them giggle at their antics. 

She smiles, all sweetness and danger, a combination that makes his blood run hot and fast. “Let’s go steal some credits,” she breathes and Cassian feels like honeymoons are the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

[shewhowillnotbenamed1]

Atrium

@mistkissedmoon​ - Sorry for the delay, this got away from me and there is a name and a part two :)

———————

A single naked bulb outlined a dark-haired silhouette. The fighter struggled to catch his breath as the heavy bag behind him swung like a pendulum on its axis. Jason reached behind him and grabbed a water bottle, taking a huge swig. The water streamed down his cheeks to mingle with the saltwater drenched down his body.

That two hours had been intense.

He had gone much harder than he had intended to today. It couldn’t be attributed entirely to recklessness or a lack of regard for his well-being. Jason Todd could feel something resting just under the surface of his skin struggling to get out. He needed to best it. To beat it back down. The feelings of inadequacy. That he was less than. That he still somehow… didn’t belong. It was only when he was alone with himself, the bag, and his emotions, would he ever allow those feelings to break free.

He was still raw - emotions and body alike - as he grabbed a cotton towel, and slid it roughly over his face. He felt his hyperactive heart rate recede, as he ran it through his damp hair, neck, and back. Allowing it to absorb the sweat, along with everything this workout had dredged up. Jason felt his cracked calm return, and his lingering doubts retreat back into the recesses of his mind. He turned his focus on the day ahead. There was regularity in routine, after all. And he did recall a large cup of coffee with a side of continental breakfast awaited him. His bare feet carried him up the stairs. Jason began retracting his scapula repeatedly. Stretching out his arms. Up and back. He was already anticipating two days of soreness settling into his muscles. As he approached the Entrance Hall, he could hear muffled voices start up. The click of high heels on marble. It was still early, so if it wasn’t the maids, it was probably another one of Bruce's overnight dates.

That man was on an indefinite break from Selina, and he was dealing with it in the only way he knew how. By enjoying half of the women who graced society pages in the Gotham Chronicle.

Or was it the Gotham Gazette?

Jason shook his head.

Whatever, it was getting old. And frankly, so was Bruce.

At this point, he pondered whether there was much point in a sarcastic greeting. He was running low on material, and it wasn’t like he would ever see these women again.

And yet…

Maybe, just one more. For a nice even total.

He abandoned the water bottle and towel on the nearest end table. Lazy gait. Loose hips. Looser sweatpants. Jason went. As he approached, he noticed something odd. Not only was there no shrill voice yelling for the maids, there wasn’t that strong, overt perfume scent in the air. The kind that… lingered. When he thought about it, their perfume was only thing about the socialites that had managed to stick around here.

Ah… And there she was. But it was odd. Relaxed posture… Waiting calmly. Now he truly wondered. Had the old man’s taste in rebound women changed overnight? And for the better?

An even closer inspection, told him that this woman, didn’t look to be on brand - at all.

Instead, Jason was face-to-face with a very stunning woman in a striped button down and tight navy blue skirt. As she glanced back at him, he noticed that her eyes were the deepest and darkest shade of blue he had ever seen. The woman gave his bare, dripping chest an unceremonious once-over. Clearly, she was trying to seem unaffected, but he knew better. He could tell. He could see her own chest started heaving at the sight of him.

This morning was turning out to be far more interesting than he had anticipated.

His mouth quirked up with a hint of a smile. “Good morning.” Jason started. She parted her lips and lowered lids as she traced the marble floor. Trying so obviously not to stare at his face or half-naked body. Well, that wouldn’t do. He moved closer and tilted his head down to her level, so she had to look at him. “And you are?”

“Looking for Mr. Pennyworth.” She replied and turned away, holding her purse to her chest. Almost like a shield.

“That’s an odd name. It’s rather rude not to greet someone when you’re a guest in their home…” He murmured. She didn’t answer, but her grip tightened on her purse. “Unless… you were planning on sneaking out after you received your fresh laundry.” He spoke to her profile, arms behind his back. “The panties - and last night’s dress.” Her pale skin broke out in a shocked flush. She whipped around and opened her mouth, but quickly closed it, when she saw the butler approach.

“Ah, Master Jason,” Alfred cut in. After appearing from seemingly nowhere. “Very good. I see you’ve met Ms. Roth.” He was oblivious to the tension in the room. That or he had the common sense not to notice.

“Actually, I was just introducing myself to our lovely visitor,” he replied, extending a hand. “Jason Todd.”

“Pleased to meet you,” she said, as she shook his hand firmly. He could detect a hint of annoyance in a tone. She had quashed most of it for Alfred’s benefit. “I’m Rachel Roth.”

Alfred explained her presence in his clipped British accent. “Ms. Roth is here to work on the library restoration project for Wayne manor.”

“I see, Ms. Roth…” Jason noted. “That’s wonderful news. That old library is certainly… overdue for an update.”

He smirked when he saw her roll her eyes. “Very good, Master Jason.” Alfred said simply, albeit sarcastically.

Well. That was a pleasant surprise. It looked like she would coming back after all. He could feel the familiar thrill of a good chase coming on. It would certainly be much easier now that he knew she wasn’t having late rendezvouses with his father - not that he would have cared.

When he saw something he wanted, he went after it.

Universe be damned.

The dark-haired man ran a hand down the center of his damp abdomen as he spoke. “Well, Ms. Roth, I would be pleased to personally volunteer my services…” Jason let it float in the air for a few deliciously uncomfortable moments, before he added, “To the cause.”

Alfred gave him a disdainful glance.

Worth it.

“Thank you, Mr. Todd.” Rachel responded curtly. She nodded at Alfred. “But, we’re covered. I believe we have all the volunteers we need.”

Alfred’s nose was in the air as he led her away, with an arm behind his back. “Right this way, Ms. Roth.”

Jason appraised every inch of her pale legs, even moving behind her as she went. And knowing full well she had seen him doing so, by the way she ran her hand through her darkly colored hair, pursed her lips, and haughtily marched ahead.

Jason was going to get her to take him up on that - one way or another.

That was certain.

———————

Rachel walked towards the library through the Grand Foyer with another box. This one larger and more cumbersome than the last. It was almost as heavy as it was unwieldy. That said, she was very glad she chose to wear flats today. This project was turning out to be much more manual labor than she had anticipated. Rachel was supposed to have help, but they had all but abandoned her.

Some volunteers they had turned out to be.

Before she could blink, strong arms slipped around behind her and lifted the cardboard box overhead. Relieving her of its weight. By the sharp clove and pine scent, along with the strong notes of smugness in the air, she already knew who was responsible.

This man had been playing games since her arrival at the manor that day.

Watching her. Goading her. Flirting with her. And even having the gall to ask her if he could steal a few minutes of her day. Part of her wondered what it would be like to say yes just once. But…

Mr. Wayne had been more than generous with everything. How she decided to organize the project, as well as how she decided to allocate her time. And also: labor, resources, budget. She somehow didn’t think his generosity extended to allocating an hour or two for her to fraternize with his son.

“Jason.” She wiped her sweaty hands on her trousers quickly, as she followed behind him. “I thought that the library was… that way…” She tore her eyes away from his form, in the clingy dark t-shirt, to realize that they had arrived at the East Wing of the library in half the time it usually took her.

Interesting.

It seemed that he had taken advantage of an unknown shortcut to get to the library. At least, one that had been unknown to her.

With no effort, he dropped the box next to the others. “Thank you. But as I said many times before, I have all the help I need.” Raven signaled for him to leave by gesturing to the open archway from which they had entered.

Jason stood his ground.

Figuratively.

What he actually did was slide into one of the very handsome dark leather wing chairs, that had been neatly arranged in a circular shape. “Really? I somehow don’t believe that.” Rachel’s arms folded under her chest. “If that were the case, then why are you carrying these all by yourself?”

Funny.

The way he asked this, it was as if he already knew.

“Everyone else is still at lunch.” Rachel explained. “Again.” She muttered tersely.

“Lunch?” Jason asked, as if hard of hearing. “Huh.” She observed him through slits.

“Yes, lunch. Pad thai…or something.” A navy blue feminine loafer tapped the box with its pointed toe.

“Pad thai? Ah, yes… I might have heard something about that.” He gave her a brief smile that didn’t meet the devious dark blue. “Alfred was rather aghast that they decided to eat out. He makes a decent pad thai himself.”

“Though not decent enough to make them stay,” she noted. Punctuating her bad luck by sharply sucking in air through her teeth.

Jason shrugged. Tracing the arm of the leather and peering over at her through his distractingly dark eyelashes. “I came to check up on you when I heard; I was concerned.”

“You were concerned, about me?” Right. He was so full of it. As if he didn’t know exactly what happened. “Is that right, Todd?”

“That’s right… I know you turned me down before, but I just thought you might change your mind.” He stretched his legs. “Or at least consider it.”

Raven was more than suspicious of his motivations. And the fact that her help had managed to disappear. But regardless of his manner of delivery, he had a point.

She needed help. She needed…him.

Raven turned. “Look, I’m a little behind, and obviously you know the manor…” The pale girl gathered her darkly colored locks behind her left ear as she took a couple of small steps towards him.

“I noticed…” Jason closed his eyes and leaned back. “And yes, I do.”

“So, what I mean is…” She began. And then, stopped. Rachel rose a brow at him. “You are loving this, aren’t you?”

“No, not at all.” Now, he placed a hand on his cheek. In a show of that self-serving concern of his. “But please, continue telling me that you need me, Rachel.”

She sighed and eyed him sulkily. “Yes. I would like your help.”

“Good start.” He stood and closed the distance between them with a few long-legged strides. “Though I’m happy to let you use me, what will I get in terms of compensation for this?” His twitching fingers were dangerously close to her hips.

“Just - grab a box.” She said through gritted teeth. “Don’t make me regret it.” She tried not to notice the heat of his chest just brushing her own.

Jason’s fingertips flicked hers, dark blue silently assuring her. And then, he disappeared through the archway. For a moment she wasn’t sure what she had just done.

Or what he might do.

Much her to her pleasure, (which naturally, she downplayed), he returned. And he came back with four boxes. With Jason helping her, she might be able to quadruple her efforts.

As she had surmised from the other day, when she received one shirtless and very sweaty surprise, Jason Todd was very well-endowed. And from today she could tell, he knew how to use his body well. He grinned at her stupor and reached over with a finger to gently bring up her chin. Sealing her parted lips, as her mouth, unbeknownst to her, had been agape. And off he went, for more boxes. Rachel felt her warmed face where he had touched her, watching him saunter on ahead. It seemed, he wasn’t just talk.

He wanted to be her personal assistant on this project.

And who knew? Rachel might even let him. After all, Jason Todd was capable.

More than capable.