#holding me together and i carefully open a tiny slot in the wall and just feel that 1 sliver.

[mejomonster]

(One of the sucky things) about healing dissassociation/not being able to feel shit. Is first u feel the stuff u did not notice u were feeling, which u disconnected from, which is mostly big Yikes heavy stuff. And only after u feel miserable a while do u regain the ability to feel like... happy. Excited. The pleasant stuff that has more feeling to it than the neutral content zone that's been your "nicest" felt emotion for the last year.

[graciesstrap]

Bite me (18+)

summary: juliette was so excited after y/n agreed to have a gym session together. but she didn’t knew which plans y/n had with her…

warnings: smut (minors do not interact!), rough sex, oral sex, fingering, hematomania (?), staking, bondage, overstimulation, enemies to lovers, pet names | tell me if I forgot something! |

word count: 7,8k

Juliette cannot stop pacing back and forth.

She makes another lap around the living room of her apartment in record time, pushing and kicking the couch, coffee table, bookshelf and anything that isn't bolted to the floor against the wall. Prior to now, she had been a bit sheepish about the square footage of her apartment. It was enough to be going to the most expensive private university in the area without also having this monstrous apartment. Now though, it felt incredibly small. She'd thought to try to set up her office as a work out space, but it had felt suffocating as she anxiously laid on the floor, stretching her arms to ensure that whatever Y/N had planned for them would work seamlessly. In her rational mind she knows that there is nothing to be worried about - there was more than enough room - but the thought of Y/N having to reschedule and leave moments after she'd arrived was giving her something akin to angina.

After taking several breaths she sighed, trying to ground herself. Someone was at the door.

She basically teleported over to it, wringing it open to find a mildly scared delivery man standing there holding a Whole Foods bag. She smiled, tipped him more than the delivery had been worth in cash, bowed for some reason, and then slammed and locked the door in his face to set the bag on the kitchen island. Reverently she removed bananas, kiwi's, a couple of Powerades, water, some birthday cake flavored protein bars, some granola bars, and a couple of vanilla protein shakes. The beverages went into the fridge right away, and she carefully arranged the rest in a basket.

As a vampire she wasn't exactly sure what people ate before or after workouts off the top of her head, but she was more than happy to look it up. Her mother had always impressed on her the importance of being a good host, and she was going to succeed if it killed her. She opened a small slot in the floor of the kitchen near the trash compactor, to expose a tiny refrigerator where she kept the fresh blood her brother Oliver shipped to her. She did not know where it came from, and hoped to never find out.

As it stood, Juliette had only managed to kill 2 people. The first was an accident, and she had not spoken to her older sister, Elinor, since. The second had been a recent LA alumni that had started hanging around Lancaster Academy while she was a junior. Quite a few years ago now since her current stint in graduate school. The boy had gained a heinous reputation for assaulting or harassing more than 10 different girls at different student's parties. One such girl was her classmate who'd come in the next day seeming totally lifeless. It didn't hurt that she'd had just a teeny tiny crush on the poor girl too. When it happened, It had been a case of wrong place, wrong time for both of them. His hands coming toward her in the dark behind a friend's house, no witnesses, and a hell of a migraine that Juliette just couldn't shake.

She gulped down a full handle of a drunk person's O negative blood to calm herself down. Allegedly, it was only .03 BAC, so just enough to chill her out.

Speaking of crushes though…

Juliette walked back into her bathroom and scrutinized herself in the mirror. Ponytail high and tight, a big athletic t-shirt tucked into a pair of spandex compression shorts were the best she could in the time she'd had. Of course she and Ben had run around the local shopping mall looking for he perfect workout fit, but she was ultimately unable to commit to one of the two piece numbers because it wasn't really her style.

As she preened herself, plucking her eyebrows, brushing her teeth again, and glossing her lips, she allowed herself a moment to imagine what Y/N might wear. Lilith knows she's basically a mental archive of the woman's outfits. Of course, as it so often did, her vampiric labido got the best of her and she ended up splashing her face with water to suppress the visions she kept having of them together, tangled up, her hands sliding under taut polyester towards the taller woman's-

*ding*

The brunette ran back into the living room, towards the sound of her phone going off. It occurred to her then, that she had actually lost track of time. Was it already 7:00? She would have heard a knock at the door from the bathroom right? Right. It went off again, allowing her to find it easily through what could best be described as echolocation.

"Right..." She palmed the device and saw that it was 6:58. The first notification had been from her bestie, sending her a gif of two women kissing, with the message [enjoy your "workout"] underneath. This was immediately swiped into oblivion as Juliette massaged her temple. The next was from her father, checking in, asking if she was eating well enough. She loved that guy. But his name was not the one she wanted to see. She wanted to see Y/N, and the very choice emojis she had put next to her name, telling her that she had arrived so that she could...so that she.

All at once as she stood there, it occurred to her just how complicated it was to get into her apartment.

She needed to provide a visitor's pass for parking, know where the visitor parking even was, leave a message with the front desk, and beep Y/N in on the elevator. The only people that Juliette ever had up to her room were Ben and the delivery folks who were already pre-approved……She had plenty of other classmates she spoke to and acquaintances, but none she felt comfortable bringing up into her room. What if they saw something they shouldn't because she was too relaxed?? It was different with Y/N. There was no way she'd ever relax around her. She'd already checked and double checked the whole place 7 times. Sweating, Juliette began typing feverishly. How could she have forgotten this till now?

*Knock, Knock*

She froze. Who could that be?

Gingerly, she walked over to the door. She had never been tall enough to peek through the hole, so she slowly opened it up, only to be graced by Y/N, as beautiful as ever tilting her head to look back at her.

"Hi." She said, adjusting the duffle bag on her shoulder.

Juliette almost broke the door chain trying to swing it open before scrambling to close it enough to disengage it, and opening it again.

"Hi! Hey." She stood sideways, and gestured towards the living room. "Come in! Uh, I was just about to text you. How- how did you get up here?"

Y/N turned slowly from her cursory inspection of the room and smiled. "Oh. I just followed someone in and told them what floor I needed.. Is that cool?"

Juliette closed the door behind them. "Uh, yeah. Yeah of course it is." Y/N resumed her spin around the room.

"This is…a fancy ass apartment. Very nice…"

The brunette followed the woman, in awe of the fact that she was really there, inside her place. Y/N had opted for a muscle tank top, that was more missing material than not, and had she not been wearing a sports bra, everything would have been visible from the side. She was also wearing a pair of…kind of tiny…running shorts, black spandex just barely concealing the curve of her butt.

Juliette cleared her throat and refocused. "Thank you…My parents insisted. This is the first time I've been anything but embarrassed about it."

Y/N nodded at her with that same captivating smirk, and then placed her duffel bag on the floor between the couch and the wall furthest from Juliette. The sound it made hitting the ground betrayed how monstrously heavy the thing must have been.

The shorter girl hummed. "Wow, you're strong. What do you have in there, a stairmaster? Elliptical?"

Y/N chuckled and bent down next to it, sitting a number of different weights and resistance bands on the floor next to her client's mat in the middle of the room.

"Nah. Well not today, unfortunately." She paused to wink at Juliette. "We're just gonna be…testing the waters."

Juliette came closer to her, wringing her hands. "Well that's good. I haven't done any real exercise since high school."

"Oh, word?" Y/N squinted at the other woman quizzically for a moment before going back to what she was doing. "You just naturally got legs like that?" She zipped her bag back up.

Jules blushed and looked down at them. "Oh...what? These old things?"

Y/N tilted her head back gesturing upwards with her chin. "Flex your arms."

"My…arms?"

"Yeah. I just want to see something."

Reluctantly, and feeling like she might burst into flames, Juliette flexed her biceps while burrowing a hole into the floor with her eyes.

Y/N quickly closed the distance between them, hands extended, now hovering over her skin. "May I?" After a beat, she began to drop them at her sides. "No pressure, I just don't have my calipers."

Juliette took a deep breath. "I'm just a little embarrassed. Uh…sure, of course."

Y/N nodded and stood in front of her while she stood there and tapped her arm to silently get the girl to flex again. Juliette acquiesced as the taller woman gently squeezed her arms, then her waist only to crouch in front of her and grasp her calves silently.

Jules had never been more happy to be a little tipsy and was beginning to wonder if this was a bad idea, What with the way her body was responding to what she assumed

was the other woman's way of assessing her fat/muscle ratio and her current proximity. Juliette felt silly watching her, looking so nonchalant, while she was freaking out. The fiendish little voice in her head was begging her to grab a handful of Y/N‘s hair while she was down there and kiss her lips till they were sore.

Wishing to fill the silence, the brunette laughed out, "Do I get to feel you up too, coach?"

Y/N stood up then and took a step back from her. "Sure. Go ahead."

"Ah…I was mostly kidding." Juliette spoke softly, hands already on the other woman's arms. "But I've been wanting to do this for a while."

Y/N was silent as she watched the shorterwoman run her warm, soft hands over the curves of her arms. She didn't intend to flex her muscles, but she did so anyway.

"Wow. They're so firm...Like steel cables…" Jules breathed, running both hands down brown arms. The two were close, close enough to feel breath on skin. Y/N raised an eyebrow, watching the small woman. A pregnant moment passed as their eyes caught, pale hands wrapped around Y/N‘s wrists. Every time the woman tilted her head like that, brow furrowed, a jolt of lightning ran straight through Juliette.

"Thanks." The Y/H/C said, abruptly turning away to sit on the arm of the couch. "You know..." She began, wagging a finger. "You have incredible muscle concentration for someone who hasn't worked out since high school."

Juliette snapped back to reality, but not soon enough to respond.

"Did you stretch? I want to see what we're working with, so I can come up with our first lil' regiment." Y/N leaned sideways to rest her body weight on the top of the couch and the shirt she was wearing was now revealing even more of the fine muscle of her torso, leaving her client's mouth just a little dryer than before.

"Yeah. Not like, right before you got here, but like an hour ago."

"Hm." Y/N mused, hand to her chin. "Let's see about your cardio. Is that going to be an issue for your downstairs neighbor?"

Juliette waved her hand. "Nah, there's no room underneath this one and the walls are pretty thick. We should be fine.“ Y/N smiled. "Great."

————

Juliette slapped her hands against her sides as she completed her final set of jumping jacks in the cardio circuit Y/N had put her through. Just like in her younger years, she mimicked the heavy breathing and exhaustion that her human classmates exhibited during the more strenuous gym periods under Y/N‘s watchful eye. The Y/H/C woman circled her, clapping her hands in encouragement before stopping to stand beside her with her hands on her hips.

"23...24...25. All done. Wow, that was really hard." Juliette sputtered as she ran her arm across her head and fanned herself with her shirt. Y/N walked over to her bag. "Good job, Juliette. Take a seat. Catch your breath." Juliette savored the crumb of praise as she sat on her couch, and threw her head back, letting her eyes cross, panting hard.

Long fingers pressed underneath her jaw. She glanced down to see that Y/N was staring at her intently, and then back down at her watch. A few seconds passed and the woman's brow furrowed.

"Not much of a sweater, huh?" She murmured.

"Yeah. I just get uh, really overheated. It's genetic…You know, kind of like dogs? So l don't work out very much."

"Mmhm.“

"Yeah..."

An awkward silence passed through the airas Y/N kept her fingers pressed at the woman's pulse point.

Finally, she pulled back. "I think that's enough for today."

Juliette's eyes widened and she scanned the room for her phone to check the time but didn't see it where she remembered leaving it. Had an hour passed that quickly?

"Hop on the mat for me." Y/N patted the girl's yoga mat as she sat down next to it. Yes ma'am. The brunette did as she asked, relieved that she had made it to the end without making too big a fool of herself.

"Child's pose?" Y/N intoned, returning the weights to the duffle bag she had brought with her.

Contrary to popular belief, yoga still had a meditative effect for vampires so Juliette was able to relax into the position without having to ask what it was.

"Take deep…relaxing…breaths." Juliette closed her eyes and imagined what their next meeting might be like as she leaned into the pose, bringing her knees underneath her stomach and stretching her arms out as far as she could on the mat.

"Now, corpse."

Juliette hitched herself up and then laid down on the mat, arms still out in front, face down.

"So what do you think?" Juliette asked shyly, muffled by the mat. "Will you be able to wrassle me into sha-"

The girl squawked as Y/N suddenly moved from beside her onto her back bearing down on her with all of her weight, swooping her hands up and into thick silver cuffs which she clacked shut quickly as Juliette hissed in pain, twisting and thrashing underneath her. The hunter growled in effort as she maneuvered an additional set of cuffs onto her ankles.

"Y/N!"

Finally, a slat of regular old duck tape was snatched off and pressed onto Juliette's mouth as Y/N rolled off of her, dusting her hands.

The small woman squirmed beneath her, groaning.

"You must have it too easy killing people in this soundproof room if you let your guard down this much." The woman said, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

Juliette's eyes were wide, panicked as she peered at the woman who was now holding a wooden stake in her hand.

"MMMPHH……MmmhmmPhh." She pleaded with her eyes as she writhed in pain rolling onto her back and then returning to her stomach.

"You know, my mother always told me that monsters like you were the most dangerous." She twirled the stake in her hands and crouched down next to the girl.

"Beautiful. Kind a smile that makes you want to..." Her voice trailed off as she watched Juliette begin to cry blood from the burning pain searing into her joints.

"When were you planning to drain me, huh? Suck me dry?" She dragged the stake across the smooth skin of the girl's face, wiping a blood tear away. "Were you going to wait until you had me hooked on whatever weird hold you have over me?"

Juliette closed her eyes, and the tears fell freely. This was insane! She'd just wanted to…If only she could explain.

"Well. I guess it doesn't matter." Y/N grabbed one of her fingers to unlock the girl's phone and typed a short message to both Ben and her father.

"I scoped out the place before I came. Dodged the cameras and scaled the wall. No one knows that I'm here." She tossed Jules' phone on the floor, just out of her reach. "And now your friend thinks I never showed up."

The girl walked over Juliette and put her knee on her back to hold her still. "Goodbye, bloodsucker."

And then, after hesitating once, she staked her.

Juliette let out one last muffled scream before her body went totally slack.

Y/N‘s heart sank and she sat back on the floor, breathing deeply from the exertion, her anxiety peaking.

After regaining her nerve enough to make another movement, she removed the cuffs and the tape gingerly, tossing them over her shoulder, and averted her gaze from Juliette's lifeless eyes.

It should not have felt so bad to kill a monster, but she couldn't help but feel heavy as the cute girl from the smoothie shop turned quickly to ash…

Except she didn't.

Y/N stared at the stake protruding from her back.

She rolled the girl onto her side. It was perfectly positioned through her heart.

Confused, she leaned against the couch and waited. And waited.

And at some point, from the compiled exhaustion of her crazy schedule, her two jobs, the legacy blood she'd gotten on her hands, and the labor she'd put in to pull this off…Y/N fell asleep.

————

In a cold sweat, Y/N Burns awoke.

Time seemed to crawl as she came to her senses. The woman worriedly assessed her surroundings, noting that she was in a strange bed, in a strange room.

Juliette's.

Her hopes of a quick escape die quickly as both hands catch, tied to the vampire's bedpost. Rope. The rope she had brought with her, just in case.

Blinking, to wake up a little faster, she began to search the room for something to free herself with. It was then that she noticed the Goosebumps blanket she was tucked under, and to her right, a small handmade doll.

"What the hell.." She muttered, struggling against her bindings.

Wet footsteps smack down the hallway toward her and her line of sight zips to the doorway, just in time to see a freshly showered Juliette, wrapped in a towel, freeze at the sight of her.

The air thickens as the two gather their bearings.

Y/N speaks first.

"Let me go." Juliette shakes her head.

Y/N glowers at her. "The fuck you mean,

'no'.“

Juliette grasps the towel around her chest, adjusting it slightly. "I mean, are you going to try to kill me again? Or worse, bring someone to help you try to kill me?"

The bound hunter falters.

Juliette snatches something off her dresser and waves it around. "I was able to snoop through your phone too. You're a hunter. Your whole family is."

Y/N frowns. "I'm gonna do my job, with help, or without it."

Juliette throws her hands up in exasperation. "Why the heck would I let you go then?" She wrings her hands. "Do you really still want to kill me that badly?" Her eyes begin to water. "You could at least lie."

Y/N‘s mouth falls open as she feels herself losing steam. She shakes her head "Don't give me that sad crap. I know what you are, Juliette. Monsters like you don't feel anything."

"Ughh!" The damp woman puts her hands on her hips. "Clearly, you don't have the slightest clue what I feel. Especially not what I feel for you."

"I think I can guess how you feel about the person who just tried to kill you-"

"I really, really like you, you know!" The girl paces in front of the bed. "I can see that you think I brought you here to drink all your blood or whatever but I actually just wanted a reason to hang out with you! You're really…hot and…intimidating and I couldn't get up the nerve to ask you out so…When you offered to train me I thought..." She trails off as she buries her head in her hands.

Y/N is silent, thinking, desperately trying to hold onto her righteous anger. "Why should I believe someone who lies so easily about the most mundane things? Look at you now! Fresh out of the shower, even though we both know that nothing I had you do could make you break a sweat!"

Juliette rolls her eyes and comes a little closer, pointing to her heart and searching the other woman's eyes. "I can't really apologize for showering when I was covered in my own blood. If I'd left it, I'm sure you'd have thought it was someone else's."

The Y/H/C haired woman leans her head back on the pillow she'd been sleeping against.

“I won't apologize for saving people's lives from a killer. Well," she gestures with her head, "at least trying to."

"I'm not..." Jules marches over to her, phone in hand. "I can't believe I'm really going to show you this." Y/N balks as the shorter woman carefully sits down next to her on the bed, unlocking her phone. She opens the text message thread between herself and Ben. "I'm assuming that you didn't pay much attention to the conversation we were having before you texted him that I was going to do some homework because you didn't end up coming."

Y/N reads, dumbfounded, message after message of Juliette talking about how beautiful she is, how excited she was to see her, and what appears to be a weeks-long crush, in excruciating detail.

Jules: [There's no way she'd be interested in me]

Jules: [Did you see what she was wearing

today…GOD]

Jules: [I'll try to actually talk to her, next time for sure]

Jules: [Okay, I wussed out. Maybe next time?]

Jules: [She's like straight out of a magazine, Ben! What do you want from me?]

Benny Boy<3: [You want to fuck her so bad

it makes you look stupid!]

Jules: [Shut UPPPPP]

And so on.

Y/N‘s eyes dart around the room, feelings of defeat clamoring in her chest. And guilt. And excitement?

Juliette pulls the phone away, blushing. Her fingers pick at loose threads in the blanket she'd spread over Y/N as she continued sheepishly.

"I've been having these insane dreams about you. Almost every night. I can't get you out of my head." She leans close to the hunter then, trying to catch her gaze.

"I…You..." The other woman flounders. To say the scent emanating from the warm, damp vampire was disarming would be an insult of an understatement.

Juliette bites her lip. "I'm not very good at flirting, I know, and I don't know maybe it's vamp brain. Maybe I'm genuinely just that crazy about you, but I could have sworn when you talked to me that night in the smoothie shop…that even just a little…“ she whispered, drawing just slightly nearer…"That you…liked me too." Juliette feels extremely silly to be saying this to a person who had attempted to murder her a couple of hours ago, but she gets the sense that nothing could make her like the woman even a little less.

Y/N was moving her lips but no words were coming out. There was naught but a hairbreadth between them, and there she was, confronted with a dripping, toweled Juliette. Her mind was swimming now. With the last of her resistance she manages, hoarsely. "I don't."

The vampire is quiet for a moment before slowly, a broad, incredulous grin spreads across her pretty face, her eyes flashing with mischief.

"Then why is your heart beating so fast?"

Y/N tilts her head and licks her lips, throat feeling thick, pointing with a bound hand. "Your towel..."

Juliette's hands come up to feel skin where cotton should be, stuttering as her skin turns bright red.

Y/N is unfazed, angling her head towards the half-naked woman. "You know..." Her voice is like silk now, her lips parted. "I can't lie..." She leans as far forward as she can, the rope pulled tight, her eyes glazed over. "I've always wanted to…see how far down…that blush spreads."

Juliette's hand creeps up and over

Y/N‘s thigh like molasses as she carefully closes the distance between them, landing a whisper of a kiss onto plump lips.

The towel settles around her waist loosely as she fully rests her weight on her hands, gripping Y/N‘s strong thighs. They brush their lips together softly, Y/N straining her neck to capture Juliette's lips fully. The pale woman can't help but moan, gingerly pulling herself onto her knees, so that she can take the hunter's face in her hand. She locks eyes with her shyly, biting her lip, before kissing her again tentatively…once, twice, three times. And then she feels Y/N‘s tongue slide languidly over her bottom lip.

Sirens sound in Juliette's head immediately as her body begins to ache in earnest. Y/N‘s racing pulse is like a metronome ticking the small woman over the edge. Her fangs extend in response, prompting her to cover her mouth and pull back, gathering the towel around herself.

Y/N watches, in a fog, as the girl's fangs appear, and a strange darkness blankets Juliette's usually cherubic visage. It thrills her substantially more than it should.

Juliette's hands fly up to her temples. "Shit." She drank before she got in the shower to avoid this, but with Y/N her body seems to just do whatever it wants.

Y/N doesn't say anything, just continues observing the girl who begins hurriedly untying her wrists. When she leans across Y/N to untie her other hand, the ravenette briefly considers catching the towel in her mouth. Before she can decide on that course of action, Juliette is back standing off to the side of the bed.

"You can leave." The anxious vampire exhales, with a voice like gravel. "I don't want to hurt you."

Y/N‘s brow furrows as the shorter girl slowly backs away.

"My key fob is by the door, so please take the elevator so that you don't hurt yourself." She says, walking towards the kitchen. "I'm very, very thirsty."

Juliette shuffles away then, leaving Y/N confused, nearly catatonic, and strangest of all, throbbing like an open wound.

The short woman hardly turns the corner to access her secret refrigerator before Y/N is tossing off her tank top and pressing her against her regular refrigerator, pupils totally blown out, panting like she ran.

Juliette, now a mite calmer, is bewildered. "Y/N? You-"

"Shut the fuck up."

The taller girl grasps her neck, on the edge of choking the girl, before crushing her lips onto Juliette's.

The shorter girl is lost in the softness of Y/N‘s lips immediately, legs weakening as she throws her arms over the girl's shoulders. Y/N presses fully against her body, leaving nary a space between them.

Her mouth is hot, open, and searching as she grasps the woman's waist with her free hand grinding against her. Juliette responds with the same fervor, her tongue sliding against Y/N‘s, one hand finally tangling in her thick hair, keeping her close, the other sliding down Y/N‘s chest. Flushed red hands caress the soft skin and hard muscle of Y/N‘s stomach outlining the faint divisions of her defined abdomen.

Y/N‘s grip on Juliette softens as she holds her face, breathing heavily, pressing her head back against the wall.

"You make me feel fuckin' crazy," she growls.

Juliette gasps, eyelids fluttering closed, tugging a little on Y/N‘s hair. "You make me so fucking wet."

The streak of molten desire that shoots through Y/N borders on painful as she lifts Juliette up, who loses her poor towel in the process.

Y/N had kissed girls before. She had had sex before. But this was like an itch she could not scratch. Her body was crying out for Juliette and she could not fight it, not this close, in the sanctity of the girl's home, where only God could judge. Not anymore.

Juliette instinctively wraps her legs around Y/N‘s waist, too drunk with lust to feel embarrassed about the viscous wet streak she is spreading across the girl's tum. She holds her tight around the neck and shoulders, as the magnets she'd fixed to her refrigerator are knocked onto the ground.

Y/N kissed her hard, biting her bottom lip, before sliding her tongue against Juliette's. The shorter girl moaned as long, lithe fingers gripped her ass and Y/N‘s warm body held her steady against the fridge. The hunter angles her head down to roughly kiss and suck Juliette's neck, prompting her to moan loudly, holding onto her for dear life.

"Y/N..."

As if following a command, the Y/H/C haired girl switches her grip, hoisting Juliette higher to fully support her with her arms, pressing soft kisses onto her collarbones as she walks her to the living room.

Jules lets out a breathy laugh. "God, you're so hot." And it's making Juliette deliriously horny. Is she dreaming again? Did she actually die earlier?

Y/N stops sprinkling her with kisses to give her a look that makes Jules gulp before laying the girl down onto the yoga mat, which was still lying there, now spotless again.

She pinned the brunette's hands over her head with one hand, devouring all of the girl's naked form with her gaze.

"It spreads all the way down to your toes, I See." Her fingers make a trail from pursed lips, to the flushed valley of her breasts, down a soft stomach to make lazy circles at the base of the vampire's pelvis. Y/N has never seen anything more compelling. It’s taking all of her restraint to move at this pace. She wants to see the woman come completely undone. It's only fair. But it's worth the time to burn the image of the mewling, pliant vampire submissive underneath her. She can't really predict what either of them might do next.

Juliette is squirming again underneath her, this time crossing and uncrossing her legs, trying to generate some kind of friction at her swollen apex. "Please…I can't..."

Y/N‘s smile is wide and wicked. “You keep trying to convince me that you're so sweet, so innocent." She continues her lazy circles, creeping lower toward Juliette's most sensitive bits. "But you're leaking onto this mat and I haven't even put my mouth on you yet baby."

Juliette's mouth drops open and her ears now too, are the color of strawberries. "Have you…Have you seen yourself? Have you felt your own hands? Kissed yourself before?" The woman rolls her eyes. "I don't want to hear it!" Y/N‘s words, while inciting her to protest, only turned the poor girl on even more. But it really wasn't her fault. Y/N was built like an olympic track star.

Y/N grins and dips her finger within Juliette's folds. "Just down that bad, huh?" She grazes her finger over the peaked bundle of nerves, and delights in the way Jules' back arches immediately, eyebrows raising with glee. This was kinda like torturing her, right?

The brunette is desperately biting her lip. "Horrendous." She gasps. "Astronomical." The burst of affection from the smoothie shop returns full force. Y/N knows that if Juliette really wanted to get free of her, she absolutely could. Instead, she's just suffering, waiting, saying whatever embarrassing thing Y/N provokes her to say.

Yeah. She likes her.

Y/N releases Juliette who then immediately props herself up on her elbows to try and kiss her. The hunter deftly avoids her attempt, sitting back on her knees and sliding her hands underneath warm thighs, lifting the girl's legs over her shoulders.

Y/N likes Juliette a lot. And she's tired of pretending that she doesn't.

Fangs are out again as Y/N gently drags her tongue over Juliette's clit, then down to her opening to gather a significant taste of her, and back up. Hot air grazes pink silk, "If I didn't know any better, l'd think you were about to cum already, princess."

The brunette covers her mouth with her hands, both to hide her teeth and to suppress an embarrassingly loud moan. Overstimulation is the word for the vampire's experience as she watches Y/N‘s head bob like she's fishing for apples, working her over with the precision of a surgeon. Juliette squeezes her eyes closed, hands still over her mouth. The only thing she has left to hide is the fact that she is, in fact, cumming right now. Way too early.

Y/N stops momentarily at the feeling of the girl's legs quivering, thighs threatening to end her life. If she hadn't figured out Juliette was a nightcrawler before she'd found herself in this position, the taste of her would have confirmed it. No one tasted like this. Y/N peeked at the girl's strained expression and continued drinking her in ravenously, wondering if that was what being a vampire felt like. "Fuck baby…you taste…delicious."

Y/N was feeling very bold. Killing monsters was one thing. Being in complete control of one, who also happened to be an incredibly gorgeous, gorgeous girl was another. Of course, if she was honest with herself, she didn't really think of Juliette as sharing energy with the likes of ghouls and shamblers. Not even close. But that didn't stop her from being irreconcilably turned on by this.

With the brunette's legs still over her shoulders, she rises up to be directly above her, pressing the girl's knees almost against her chest. She chuckles.

"And you lied about being flexible too. Tsk, tsk." Juliette is breathing erratically under Y/N‘s penetrating gaze, still trying to come down, unable to defend herself. "Let's see what else you're keeping from me." Her fingers tenderly massage Jules' slit and the exposed woman's breath hitches. It only takes a couple of second for two of Y/N‘s fingers to become sufficiently slick, and only a couple more for them to be 3 knuckles deep.

Juliette's eyes roll back into her head and she groans as Y/N tucks her head between her neck and shoulder, viciously kissing her neck, biting, and leaving dark hickeys in her wake, while steadily stroking her insides. She angles up to Juliette's crimson ear, whispering wantonly.

"I want people to know I was here. I want your daddy to see what I did. Who bit who." Juliette is already starting to contract around her, moaning helplessly, her hands back in Y/N‘s hair.

"For a good girl, you sure like it when I say wild shit to you..." Y/N licks her ear. "I think…you like it."

"Please, please." Juliette’s prey whimpers as she suppresses the urge to bite her, which was just one feeling in a cacophony of sensations that were threatening to drive her insane, and the coil twisting within her loins the girl was nearing the brink.

The two lock eyes as Y/N repositions, moving Juliette's legs around her waist before gently entering her anew.

"Baby girl," She intones, licking her lips. "I'm bout to fuck you like nobody else ever did."

Y/N‘s pelvis presses down onto her hand, body rolling into Juliette's in sync with her thrusts, adding additional weight to her strokes, her fingers a substitute for the one thing she didn't bring in her bag.

And Juliette is cumming again, crying out as Y/N fucks her relentlessly, and wave after wave of orgasm wracks through her body. She finds herself pulling Y/H/C hair demanding "More, more," until her voice is hoarse and even her nigh immortal body cannot handle another wave of pleasure rippling through it. Finally, all is still as Y/N rests her head on the woman's chest, not the least bit tired, but finally able to see through the haze of her inordinate lust.

They just lie like that for a moment.

Juliette's heart truly racing as Y/N breathes deeply, allowing herself a moment to enjoy the soft hands stroking her face and hair.

"Still trying to end me, I guess..." Juliette sighs, able to speak coherently again. Y/N huffs, nodding into her chest.

Juliette has learned that there is something else in the world that feels almost as satisfying as drinking enough blood to kill a man.

Almost.

Y/N‘s balls are as blue as the sky in July, but she moves to get up, surprising a suddenly cold Juliette as she paces round the room. Despite the lack of post nut clarity, her skin flashes mahogany as her mind replays what just transpired.

She looks at a fully naked Juliette who's earlier sheepishness seems to have temporarily dissipated in favor of a strange mix of bliss and confusion.

"You look like you're about to run off." Jules says softly, concern evident on her face. Y/N‘s hands are on her hips, then folded across her chest as she continues walking back and forth. Embarrassed, and still throbbing, she sits down on the couch and puts her head in her hands.

"Well I sure feel like I want to," she groans, leaning back and putting her arm over her eye. Never in her life; not with Tess, or Diamond, or Britney, or Maria…none of her past flames have made her lose herself like that before. It's kind of freaking her out.

„This is nuts.“

Juliette laughed. "You're telling me. I'm just now getting the feeling back in my feet." She curled and uncurled her toes, kicking them up at the stressed woman.

"Ah…Yeah." Y/N can't meet her eyes. "I may have gotten a little carried away."

Juliette touches her neck, which is for the time being still somewhat tender. "I can't believe you tried to give me a bunch of giant hickeys…I don't remember wishing I didn't heal so fast before today. Not to mention-"

"Yeah..." Y/N rubbed her face. "That line about your dad...Outta pocket. I know. I don't have an explanation for that." The girl grabbed the decorative throw from off of the couch and tossed it toward Juliette who caught it and draped it over herself, clearly giddy, just pleased Y/N was still there.

"You said a lot of things actually."

Y/N groaned.

"I've never been called delicious before."

"Stop…“

"I have had girlfriends who couldn't make me feel like this. Much less figure out how to put me out of my mind like that. I guess that's why youre middle name is Antigone."

The hunter was silent, massaging her temples.

"Speaking of…for a moment there…. it kinda sounded like you wanted to stake…a little claim on me." Juliette waggled her brows. "Get it? Stake a claim?"

Y/N stared at her, through her fingers for a moment. "I think I'm going to go now."

"What??"

"I can't do this."

Of course, Juliette also couldn't let her leave. Not yet. Not after the most earth shaking orgasm of her life.

She was in her lap in a blink, blanket draped over her shoulders, so that she was bare to Y/N. As mortifying as it was for her to be so brave, being naked had worked before so she had hope that it would work again.

"Don't leave. Please." She took the other woman's wrists and rubbed her palms with her thumbs. The two peered into each other's eyes, seeking understanding, reciprocation. "I didn't take you for the type to boot and scoot.. You didn't even leave right after you tried to kill me."

Y/N gasped in spite of herself.

"Juliette."

"What?" She waved both their hands around as she spoke. "if you leave now, that's what you'll be doing. I don't make the rules. Besides, if anyone should be feeling weird about all this, it is me, and I don't appreciate you stealing my moment!"

The Y/H/C haired girl can't help but chortle, raising her eyebrows. "Ha! …Fair enough."

Juliette is beaming again, now running her thumb over Y/N‘s lips.

Y/N, totally enamored with that smile, captures her hand to kiss the mostly healed silver scars on her wrist.

Juliette hates that no matter how sweet Y/N‘s actions may be, if they include touching her, they start her engine. It's stupid that the butterfly kisses to her sore wrists are making her so warm.

"Why does it feel like everything you do is sexy..."

Y/N giggles. "This?" She kisses her wrist again. "You are so easy to please. Even easier to tease."

Juliette shakes her head. "For you? I'm just easy in general."

Dark eyes glint with mischief, "Uh huh." It was just so damn fun to play with the little vampire. She was usually so measured, thinking things through. But when it came to Juliette, she was finding that she couldn't pass up any opportunity to fluster her. It was just too hot to watch her fold so quickly.

She peppered the girl's wrist with more kisses, then moved up to her palm, kissing it gently at first. She watched Jules' carefully with a heavy gaze as she swapped her lips for her tongue, licking up one of her fingers before taking two into her mouth.

Juliette is stupefied, and of course, immediately back in the hopeless state she'd been in when Y/N had kissed her in the kitchen. Her breathing hitched as she looked at Y/N who was wickedly servicing her fingers now, sliding her tongue in between them, sucking them off with a punctuating pop - all the while maintaining eye contact.

Blue eyes darkened as legacy blood now pooled in Juliette's core, shockwaves flitting throughout her each time Y/N‘s tongue made contact with the soft skin of her fingers. She felt the air around her shift while her lips formed into a pout. "Well… now you're just being mean."

Y/N was all teeth, totally pleased with herself. "I am. What are you going to do about it?" She winked, totally self-assured. But perhaps, she should not have been.

There were two sides to Juliette.

The angel that she so adored who was awkward, shy, cute and kind of dorky.

But there was a devil too.

Juliette's fangs were already out, so Y/N was a little slow to detect the change. And so, the hunter was taken completely off guard when the short woman lifted her into her arms, bridal style, as easily as a bag of potatoes.

She walked them back to her bedroom and placed Y/N on the bed, face down to straddle her back. The Y/E/C eyed girl turned slightly with suspicion as Juliette pushed her hair back behind her ears, a slightly off-putting lust painting her face as she gently helped pull the woman's sports bra off of her head.

"Uh. Are you okay?"

Juliette smirked. "Never better. Now..." The brunette continued looking at Y/N as she slid the athletic shorts and spandex just far enough down perfect thighs to be able to pull her underwear to the side. Without fanfare, she dipped her head down and raggedly licked the woman's slit.

"Oh…shit…" Y/N moaned, grabbing hold of the sheets at her sides, looking back at her impromptu lover's blue doe eyes. „Jules…Fuck."

"I love the way you say my name even more while I'm eating you out." Juliette sighed as she continued, placing both hands on the woman's legs, pushing them until Y/N understood and shifted onto her knees. "Everything you do is so freaking sexy to me, you know."

Y/N could only pant and keen as dainty hands grasped the curve of her ass, pulling her back into the vampire's mouth.

The short woman rocked her back onto her tongue again and again, as Y/N began to unravel, pressing into the bed to meet Juliette's face halfway.

"Not so fast, meanie.." Juliette licked her lips, biting them as she snaked a hand up well defined back muscles to thread her fingers into Y/H/C hair, and pull the woman toward her till her back was arched.

"Ohhh, fuckkkkk." Y/N gasped as Juliette penetrated her from behind, sidling up against her, curling her fingers to stroke inside her longingly, planting feverish kisses against smooth shoulder blades.

As Y/N‘s excitement rose, so did Juliette’s as she listened to her heartbeat continuously accelerate.

"Can you believe you were about to leave me before I could return the favor?" She asked tongue trailing her spine.

"Juliette…" Was all Y/N could manage as she fucked the fingers back, using her own to press at her own clit, lost in the sensation.

"Vampires are great hosts, you know. I even bought you some snacks. I can be super generous.." The girl murmured, pouting as she added another finger carefully and redoubled her efforts. And I think I'd do anything for you."

"Please," Y/N begged, teetering on the edge.

"Do it."

Juliette blinked, startled out of the red haze by genuine confusion. "Do…What?"

"Do it." Y/N growled. "I want you to do it while you're inside of me. Please don't make me ask again. Don't make me say it."

Oh.

Juliette’s eyes nearly crossed as she leaned forward, tossing Y/N‘s hair over to one side, craning her neck into range, and bit her.

Y/N nearly screamed at the feeling. It was much, much different than she'd imagined. She blinked back tears at the euphoria of being fucked and drained at once. Juliette's eyes lolled with complete satiation.

If Y/N‘s juice had tasted like heaven, her blood brought her to hell. Together they came one last time as the taller woman breathily rattled out Juliette's name, clawing at the headboard.

————

[wwilloww]

sh. | ot7 | chapter five

PAIRING ot7 x reader

RATING Explicit.

GENRE smut. fluff. angst. nonidol au. wildnerness au. roommates au. friends to lovers.

SUMMARY Six months of quarantine have kept you apart. Somehow the distance sparks something new in each of you: questions, unfinished conversations, threads once chased now left cold. So when your roommate invites you to come with him to a mysterious house in the mountains with your friends, how could you even think of saying no?

WC 8k

WARNINGS AND TAGS protected sex. friends with benefits relationship. dirty talk. power play dynamics. angst. semi-public nudity. mentions of open relationship. sexting. reckoning with feelings. talk of alcohol use. 

AN: One million bazillion thanks to the best beta and geologist out there, @hesperantha. Everyday I think to myself, how the fuck would this series exist without this magical lady? And every day I am thankful for her beautiful existence. 

Also, if you haven’t seen /the trailer, you might wanna check it out. Just because I had a lot of fun making it and it was super fun to visualize the characters and their tiny little world. 

Going forward, you can read with they/them pronouns by navigating to the series m.list and reading from there. 

That said, LETS JUMP IN!

← || series m.list || →

©️ wwilloww do not repost, translate, or use my stories without my permission.  

chapter five

January 2020

What is left when you’re not sure where to turn?

You know there’s Yoongi. Dependable, familiar, predictable Yoongi. Predictable in the sense that you know, unabashedly, that no matter what, you can always count on him to draw a short term — but important — curtain over whatever notion, anxiety, or complication that happens to be singing in your mind that day. Erase it, temporarily, with those long fingers, gliding over your skin in expert patterns, drawing you and your pleasure exactly where he wants it to be.

And predictable in the sense that you know you will be perfectly and endlessly satisfied at the end of the night, no matter what.

See, Yoongi doesn’t mess around. He doesn’t tease you. Doesn’t draw you out and dangle you over your own pleasure. He gives it to you. Over and over and over and over again. Extends his palm and pulls as many orgasms from you as you can physically muster and then lets you collapse in his arms. Dependable, see? Dependable, always.

Once you’re settled in his lap, Yoongi lets you grind on him for a bit as he undresses you expertly, long fingers slipping under the fabric of your clothes before tugging them off gracefully and tossing them across the room. This, this he did love to do. Loved to scatter your clothes around and then watch you from the bed as you tried to piece some semblance of an outfit back together after he fucked you senseless.

“Don’t throw my bra behind the furniture again,” you murmur as you kiss down his neck. “I know you thought it was a great tactic to get me to rearrange your room the last time — but I’m not moving a hundred pound dresser to get my very expensive bra back again.”

He chuckles. Murmurs, “As you wish.” And then throws your bra someplace you can’t see.

Now that you’re topless, he lets his long fingers skate up the skin of your back, tracing the flesh of your hips and with such delicacy it almost tickles. That is, delicate until his hand weaves itself up your neck. His grip tightens at the root of your hair, tugging your head back in a swift motion and exposing your neck to him.

“How do you want me to fuck you tonight?” His voice is deep and it raises goosebumps on your skin. He lets his teeth trace a line up the sensitive skin of your neck until he reaches your ear and bites down hard.

“Fuck,” you breathe as a shiver runs through your body. Yoongi always took particular care to curate a library of knowledge about your ticks, turn ons, and vices. And then he played them out for you in an expertly coordinated hand.

“Yes, that’s in the cards. But tell me specifically how you want it.”

Behind him, the large bedroom is equipped with enough musical equipment to run a fully functioning studio. Instruments hang on the walls and a large black bed rests in the center of the room. The dark tones of the wood and sheets make the otherwise sparse room feel warm and dark. Compared to the shabby little apartment that you share with Namjoon, this is luxury. Your gaze rests on the large wall of glass that looks out over the city.

“The window,” you say.

He grins.

The glass is cold against your bare skin when he presses you to it. The difference in temperature between the fired heat of your skin and the iced window slices right through you, makes you gasp as his hands run over your body, taking you in as you are: bare and ready for him.

You watch as he strips off his clothes, gracefully and swiftly. First the shirt, then his pants. It’s no surprise to you that he’s not wearing any undergarments at all. Delight lights in his eye when he notices how greedily you watch him.

“Do you want me to—” He begins to lean down, but you stop him and pull him up.

“Just fuck me.”

He turns you around in one movement, your hands flying up to stop the impact, your chest — and your nipples — pressing to the glass. The sensation overwhelms you as he slides two fingers between your folds, collecting the slickness that has gathered there.

“You’re already so wet for me.”

A smile spreads across your face as you hear the condom packet rip and he slots his cock against your cunt, coating himself in your arousal.

“Don’t tease me,” you say, a hint of a whine slipping into your voice.

“Don’t worry. I have no patience for that tonight.” And he pushes in. “How’s that?” he says, the lilting tease in his tone cutting sharp against your ear as his dick sinks into you, inch by delightful inch.  

It feels like you have to catch your breath to speak. “Is it always this good?”

“Baby, if it isn’t, you should ask for a refund.” He punctuates the last word of his sentence with a harsh thrust that rams your chest up against the glass.

“Fuck—” you hiss.

Memory whitens like it’s been covered in a blanket of snow as he begins a punishing pace, hips rutting up into you before drawing almost all the way back, tip barely inside of you before thrusting back into you, all the way to the hilt. Sensation overtakes thought. The slicing coldness of the glass against your nipples paints a stark contrast to the softness of lips pressed to yours, softness of a hand cupping your cheek—

You should be thinking of anything but that.

And it’s easy to do, in this moment. To focus on Yoongi, his commanding presence, the way he plays your body like one of the carefully polished instruments that hangs on his wall.

You cry out when he hits a particularly soft spot within you, and he pauses his movements, drinking in the sound of you.

“God, you sound so fucking good.”

He pulls out of you, turns you around, and pushes your back against the glass.

“Hop up,” he says, and you frown in confusion before realizing what he’s referring to. You wrap your arms around his neck and with a jump, wrap your legs around his waist.

“Fuck—” With a grunt of effort, he holds you up while slotting himself against your folds and pushing inside again.

The most you can do in this position is tilt your pelvis and grind down on him — while holding onto dear life — and you do, rotating it against his waist, drawing the most delicious sounds from his lips. Your hips begin to move in tandem, each pushing closer to the pleasure that you both so desperately desire.

This is better. This is worse.

See, the two of you have fallen into patterns in your hookups. Rules, even, although no one but you thought of them as such. But the habit — and therefore the lines — were clear to you:

You didn’t kiss. You didn’t confess your love. Hookups only, and breakfast together the morning after. Usually he takes you from behind, because, as he once commented to you, “the ass cheeks are the eyes of the heart.” Which to you, made no sense at all, but you still obliged him. Plus, at the end of the day it was all a little more impersonal that way, anyways. Easier to separate from the rest of your relationship.

But looking into his face, pressed so close — there’s something there. A warmth. An understanding. Too much.  

Your head falls to his shoulder and his grip tightens on your thighs as he fucks up into you. Several heavy breaths before you bite gently at the sensitive skin of his neck and he hisses.

“You’re too sensitive,” you chide, although the teasing lilt of your tone is broken up by him fucking into your body — and you both know you love the way he lets you know he likes things done.

“And you’re too shy,” he cuts back. “Why don’t you look at me when I fuck you?” It’s posed as a question but you know it’s a command.

Slowly, you draw your head back and look at him. His eyes are deep and dark, his hair tousled and face lined with pleasure.

“That’s a good little pet,” he whispers. It falls too softly.

It makes you want to kiss him. All you want to do is —

You press your lips to his. Just a peck — the smallest, lightest of pecks.

But the plush of his lips, the way they part so slightly when your lips meet... it leaves you wanting more. So you kiss him again, pressing yourself to him, chasing the feeling of his softness.

He responds, opening his mouth to yours, his tongue darting out to meet yours. His pace doesn’t falter as he continues to fuck up into you. His lips move against yours, fierce, needy, demanding. And it’s then that your stomach drops. It’s as if the winter chill that lays just beyond the door at your back slices through your veins.

You pull back.

“No,” he says, and pulls you back to him. “Stop running.” He brings your face close enough to yours but doesn’t kiss you, just waits.

And you meet him in the middle, kissing him again, afraid of losing the warmth you sparked between you. He groans against you as your hips swivel around his cock, and bites down on your lip.

“Fuck,” you hiss.

With one arm wrapped around his shoulders, you let your other hand press against the nape of his neck, nails digging in just the way you know he likes it. You both have always been in rhythm, in tune with one another, but now with him kissing you — something new sparks between you. Something new, something terrifyingly warm.

When you pull back he smiles.

“Shit,” you whisper, your eyes widening. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Yoongi says, an edge in his voice, his hips still circling against yours as he presses your back to the window. “You have nothing to apologize for.

“I shouldn’t have—”

“Shh... stop. It’s okay. It was good.” He punctuates his meaning with a thrust, a small groan slipping from his throat. You want to swallow the sound of his pleasure whole, but still. You let the guilt in your chest rise to your throat.

“No, no, it’s not,” you say, though the coil that’s winding tighter and tighter in your belly makes it difficult to speak. You take a shuddering breath in as he hits your g-spot, your eyes fluttering closed.

“Yes. It is,” he grunts, and you can tell he’s close too. “You fuck better when you kiss. You feel it. You get into it.” Your brow purses at his words. “Now be good for me, forget it, and cum on this cock.”

You nod.

“Tell me what you’re going to do.”

“I’ll forget it, be good for you, and cum on your cock.”

“Good,” he smiles.

Each thrust brings you a step closer. He kisses you, again waiting for you to meet his lips, and together you move like dancing partners closer and closer to the edge.

You cum, clenching around his cock and crying his name into his mouth.

The two of you breathe heavily, foreheads resting together for a moment that stretches long enough for you to call it a distance.

“Fuck—” Yoongi says, pulling out of you and smiling gently as he lets you down. “I’ve never heard you come like that before.”

Heat rises to your cheeks.

“Hold on, let me get you a towel or something,” Yoongi says, pressing his thumb to your forehead and wiping away a bead of sweat. You watch as he shuffles about his room, looking for anything to give you. “One second, I think there’s clean ones in the dryer.”

He wanders out of the room wearing absolutely nothing at all.

When you turn back to the outside world, the glass is fogged and the world feels a million miles away. The tension that rises up in your chest feels like a wrought iron ball and you need out, out, now.

There’s a fuzzy blanket on the dresser next to you and you snatch it, wrap yourself up tightly and push open the glass door to the tiny balcony. With a held breath, you step out. The cold concrete sends a chill through your body as you step out. Blue washes through you, shocking the pleasure-numbed nerves in your body back to life.

When you suck in a deep breath of snow-cold air, it feels as if clarity settles into you. You take a second, but shuddering, breath as you realize with a lucid sharp pain the reality of your situation.

Yoongi didn’t erase tonight from your mind. Sex didn’t remove Hobi’s kiss from your lips. An orgasm didn’t ease the unnamable want in your chest. If anything, it all just burns a little brighter.

This thing with Yoongi — it’s not supposed to be a distraction for you, or a means to make you feel something else. It’s supposed to be its own thing, a compartmentalized friends with benefits situation that has always been clear and defined between the two of you. But as soon as you showed up on his door with an ulterior motive other than sex, it became something else. As soon as you kissed him, you made it something else.

Fuck.

Around you, fat flurries drift down from the dark sky. They melt as they land on your bare skin. There’s no escaping this thing inside you. But the intensity of the cold seems like it keeps you here, grounded, in Yoongi’s home and facing actuality. As if any form of warmth would leave you wandering into the sickly sweet honeytrap of the what if’s that already threaten on the edge of your mind.

“Come to bed,” Yoongi calls from inside. When you don’t, he comes out onto the tiny balcony and wraps himself around you from behind, his head notching on your shoulder. “Christ, you’re freezing.”

“It feels good,” you say, nuzzing your body back against his.

“I know I didn’t work you up that much that you need to stand in the snow to cool down. Come to bed.”

Still wrapped around you, he waddles you inside, earning a giggle from you as you tumble into bed and he slams the door closed with a bit of a shiver.

“Here,” he says softly, wrapping you in a blanket before settling beside you.

He’s close. Wildly close. His breath brushes softly against your face as you look at each other. You take in the flushed pink of his face, the way his hair is tousled into a gorgeous mess from the effort of your intimacy.

You could kiss him again, you think and a shock runs through your body at the thought. Christ, his cock’s been inside you a million times and yet you balk at the thought of kissing him, of pulling him right where you want him, where he fits so perfectly, where he feels so warm —

“What are you thinking?” Yoongi says softly.

“What are you thinking?” you cut back, just a little too quickly.

Yoongi chuckles. “I’m thinking that you keep yourself so tightly together.”

You smile tightly. “I don’t know what that means.”

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

You bite down on your lip.

“You’re thinking so loud I can almost hear it,” Yoongi says. “Just tell me. You know there’s nothing you could say that would upset me.” When you don’t say anything, he continues. “For god’s sake, I’ve seen your asshole. It doesn’t get much more personal than that.”

“Fine,” you say.

“Fine,” he grins.

“Maybe we should…” You trail off and bite the inside of your cheek.

Yoongi rolls onto his side, propping his head up with one hand.

“Maybe we should…?” He prompts. “Join a sex dungeon?”

You laugh, the thought of going to one with Yoongi is one that sends a thrill through you. “That sounds like a wonderful idea, but that’s not what I was going to say.”

“What were you going to say?”

You take a deep breath. “That maybe we should… stop. This.”

He doesn’t ask what you mean. He knows. “That, my dear, sounds like quite the antithesis to going to a sex dungeon with me.”

You laugh. “I can’t believe you’re making jokes when I am friends with benefits breaking up with you.”

“What? Were you expecting me to be angry?”

“I mean I expected a little bit of a fight. Or at least… I don’t know. Questions.”

“Do you want questions?”

You look at him.

“I don’t know.”

“Okay. Well. Why are you ending things.”

You flop onto your back. Look at the ceiling. The way the lights of the city reflect paley onto the white surface. They look like ghosts.

“I don’t really know.”

He pulls you to him, rolling you onto your side and tangling your hands together. “Okay.”

And then the two of you just lie there, staring at the ceiling in silence, the weight of your decision, of this ending, settling over you with a concrete taste. There’s something uncomfortable in this kind of silence. But it’s not him, it’s not an awkwardness, or the building of tension or resentment. None of that lies between you. It’s the fact that within the silence the answers rise up in you, and you find the words spilling from your mouth.

“I don’t want it to be complicated, Yoongi.”

He waits a moment before responding. “Is it complicated?”

“Well.” You sigh. “No. Not with us. Us is easy. I feel like I can tell you what I need or what I want and I trust you to be able to either give me that or set a boundary.”

Yoongi hums. “I feel the same. So then if it’s not us...?”

“I made a mistake tonight. Crossed a line I shouldn’t have crossed.”

His brow furrows. “Not with me you didn’t. I don’t underst—”

“Not you. It’s me. It’s — it’s always me. I don’t want things to spin out of control. And I feel like they’re about to.”

Yoongi is silent for a long moment.

“I don’t want you to feel that way.” He pulls you closer to him, his grip tightening on your hip. “Really.” You stare down at your intertwined hands. “Look at me.” He waits until you do, summoning an inner strength you didn’t know you needed to look at your friend. “There’s a part of me that wonders how much of this is you punishing yourself for something that you don’t have any reason to be punishing yourself for.”

You can’t help the nervous laugh that shoots from your chest.

“What!? Are you laughing at me!?”

“No, no,” you shake your head. “Just… I don’t know what it is, but if anyone were to look right through me and see everything that’s going on, it’s you.”

He smiles softly.

“Do you want to stay tonight?”

Do you want your friend to wrap himself around you? Pull you in tight to his warm chest? Remind you of the summer that lies on the other side of this long, long winter?

“No,” you say slowly. “I think I need some space. To… process.”

He nods. “Well, as my newest friends with benefits ex, I agree, you should probably leave. You know. So it doesn’t get awkward.” He grins.

“Yeesh, you’re so quick to kick me out.”

“I know. I guess I just need some space. You know. To process, too. Grieve.”  He paints a fake frown on his face and does a dramatic rendition of a very gross sniffle.

You giggle.

“Yeah, yeah, sure.”

Together you get out of bed, Yoongi — for once — rifling through his room in search of your clothes. With every piece of clothing you put on, you feel like you take another step backwards. Away from Yoongi, away from the vulnerability in you that feels like it tears open everytime he looks at you. His comfort. Each new piece of fabric is another wall resurrected. But when you go to hook your bra behind your back, he steps behind you, taking the straps from your hands and gently hooking the clips together.

“Here.”

When he’s done, his fingers linger on your skin just a moment too long.

“Thanks,” you say softly, turning back to him.

His eyes are still blown wide, his hair perfectly disastrous. There’s something so deadly soft about him. He looks just as he did when you marched into his bedroom earlier in the night. And yet, on the other side of this night, you feel like a totally different person. As if the stranger inside of you has finally stepped forward and introduced herself.

You turn away hastily, heading to the living room. He follows and pulls your jacket from the couch and helps you into it.

Shoes on, jacket on, you’re all ready to walk out the door. And still you linger. Yoongi glances at his watch.

“Well, I’d say six hours is a proper mourning period. Breakfast tomorrow?”

“How about brunch? I’m not getting up at 9am for eggs.”

“Oh and I’m the one who needs space huh?” He smiles softly. “11am. You’ll get up at 11am and I’ll buy you a breakup brunch.”

“Yeah,” you smile up at him. Even as you taste the edge of fear — of anxiety — on your tongue, there is still a kind of undeniable warmth that blossoms in your chest every single time you look at him.

You broaden your smile. Push it down.

There’s one last thing.

“And—”

But he already knows what you’re asking. He steps forward, taking your head between his hands and pressing a kiss to your forehead. The shock that runs through you is quick and cold.

“I know,” he says. “This’ll still be our little secret.”

When he steps back, there’s something soft in his gaze — too soft, you can’t help but think. Tenderness, surrounded by acceptance and strength. All the things that make Yoongi, well, Yoongi. And yet it feels like too much to handle. Too much to be looked at, to be seen, to be understood when you can barely wrap your mind around what’s going on.

“Sleep well, buttercup.”

Different taxi, different driver, different route.

“Home,” you tell the woman at the wheel when you give her your address, her over-bleached and curly hair forming a kind of halo around her in the seat.

“You got it,” she says smacking her gum and throwing you a wayward smile.

As the car pulls away from the curb and picks up speed, you feel a kind of numbness wash over you.

It was the right decision to end things with Yoongi, you remind yourself, even as you feel a kind of twinge in your chest. You haven’t lost a friend. In fact, you’ve probably preserved your friendship. Saved it from wandering into the brambly bushes of complication and ultimate destruction. Even if it means the loss of killer sex.

You phone dings, and you instinctively brush a hand over your body to make sure you left with all the clothes you arrived in.

When you look at your phone, it’s not who you imagine. It’s not what you imagine.

tae: I forgot how loud you are when you orgasm.

You choke, hand snapping up quickly to cover your mouth.

“You alright, hun?” the driver asks.

“Yeah, yeah, just fine,” you say, but your voice is strained. You immediately type out your response.

you: fuck. i’m so sorry. you: it won’t happen again.

Your heart is pounding in your chest, embarrassment and confusion tightening around your throat. How much more can you really take tonight? Hobi, then Yoongi — now this? You tap your foot as you wait for the response, which takes just a minute to pop up on your phone.

tae: oh… well that’s too bad. I actually didn’t mind it all that much.

Oh.

Oh.

Before you know what you’re doing, you’re typing out your response — and turning down the brightness as if it will hide the loudness of your message from the world.

you: is that right?

tae: i said it didn’t i? ive always been a man of my word. brings me back to the old days, in a way.

you: oh?

tae: you know…

you: do i?

tae: you do.

you: it’s been a while. why don’t you remind me?

tae: you’re playing coy tonight. two very loud orgasms and you’re still not done playing?

you: i’d send that shrugging emoji but i can’t find it you: what can i say? I can be needy

tae: should i remind you tae: when we used to park behind the grocery store tae: there was never anyone around but you’d still get so shy and embarrassed tae: and try to cum without a sound tae: but i didn’t hear a single note of shame or restraint tonight tae: shamelessness looks good on you tae: **sounds good on you

you: you were always quite shameless yourself

tae: it gets me far in life

You blink down at your phone, not really sure what to say. Taehyung’s hearty banter is something you’re used to. Even after all these years, your quick back and forth was still twinged with the smallest teasing edge of sexual interest. But you had always kept it within strict boundaries, never returning to your previous relationship, never suggesting—  

tae: but my question is how far will it get me with you?

Your breath freezes in your throat. Never suggesting that you return to anything of the past.

tae: jk tae: unless…?

Taehyung’s sexually laced messages have your head spinning round and round on its pedestal. It’s not as if you had never thought about it, never considered it. But there was a line there, was there not? A line you shouldn’t cross, shouldn’t even think of crossing, no matter how you wanted to. With a deep breath, you respond.

you: i don’t know if we should be having this conversation right now?

tae: why? because you’re my ex? or because of Jin?

Before you can even manage to type out the long list of reasons why you shouldn’t be dipping your toes into the perilous waters of sexting your very happily taken ex, the screen is lighting up again.

tae: if it’s the latter, don’t worry. he’s here too. tae: he says to tell u you’re hot   tae: which is news to me tae: not that you’re not hot, but that he thinks that tae: and he says hes “sorry he missed the show earlier”

you: tbh that was NOT the response i was expecting to get.

tae: we’re very open about these things. he’s quite… encouraging actually

As if this is the opening, you walk through it.

you: in what way?

tae: he likes visibility in a specific way. he likes to watch. likes to be watched and… the attention, especially when its directed at me, especially when he knows that at the end of the day i’m crawling back into his bed

Your heart races in your chest.

tae: sorry, maybe that’s tmi.

you: don’t apologize. i don’t mind tmi

tae: then i won’t apologize.

you: good.

tae: good 😂 tae: you know, i liked it.

you: sorry, liked what?

tae: hearing it tae: hearing you cum

you: did you?

tae: more than i expected

you: more than you should?

tae: that’s not what i said

you: well, like i mentioned, it won’t happen again

tae: why not? You finally get me to admit i didn’t mind it and now you’re telling me i won’t get more? :(

You chew on your bottom lip before responding.

you: it’s complicated.

tae: an orgasm is never complicated.

you: …

tae: but you know what is complicated? tae: feelings. tae: you’re having feelings. tae: oh my god you’re in love with yoongi

you: i am nOT in love with yoongi you: surprisingly it has very little to do with yoongi

Even as you send the text, you know that’s not entirely true.

tae: okay, then what’s going on??? pls don’t play cryptic with me, it’s too late for that shit

you: i don’t even know what’s going on.

tae: oh. tae: so we’re talking big boy emotions

you: i don’t have *emotions*

tae: you’re a fucking liar

you: hey you: language

tae: alright then let me rephrase it tae: what are you so afraid of will happen if you let yourself feel?

Your heart catches in your throat. Oh.

“We’re here,” the taxi driver says, and your head snaps up from the light of your phone to see your apartment complex towering high and familiar above you.

“Oh!” You blink yourself from your reverie and hand the woman the cash for the ride. “Keep the change.”

“Thanks,” she says, twisting around to look at you as you skootch across the backseat. “Hey—” You pause, looking at her. The orange glow of the streetlights rings like a halo around her head. “You take care of yourself, alright?”

“Alright,” you smile and nod.

A haze settles around your body as you climb out of the taxi. The hard edge of soberness and the sharpness of the winter air mixes and shocks life back into you as his question rings around your head. What are you so afraid of will happen if you let yourself feel?

Your breath feels strained as you climb the echoing stairs to your home. The sound of the key fitting into the lock rings with a harsh click, but it brings you back into your body, to the little marks where Yoongi’s hands dug into you, to the confusion that rattles around your mind, and finally, and most devastatingly, the warmth that has sunk deep and inextricably into your heart.

The apartment is dark when you enter.

“Namjoon?” you call out.

No one answers. You don’t bother to flick on the lights as you feel your way blindly through the darkness, hand brushing against the soft fabric of your sofa, the bumpy texture of the wall, and finally the cold knob of your door. Instead of pushing the door open though, you lean against it, taking what feels like the first full breath of the night.

You look at the screen of your phone, Tae’s question, his voice, spiraling around your head. With a shaky breath you respond, fingers flying across the blue light of the screen.

you: something feels off. I don’t… i don’t want to mess anything up. I feel like the only way to keep things in order is to keep myself out of it all.

tae: can i call you?

you: yeah. Joon’s not home.

You finally press into your room. All that silver light from the city reflects off of the white flakes that flutter softly down from the sky. It spills onto your bed like a pool of molten silver, waiting, chilled and cold for you. You flop down onto it, your breath coming out in a long huff.

When your phone rings, there’s a second of hesitation before you hit the answer button.

“Hello?” your voice is shakier than you expected.

“One second.”

You hear the rustling sound of Tae getting out of bed and the door shutting.

“If I can hear you orgasming, Yoongi sure as hell can hear a phone call,” Tae whispers, a slight chuckle to his voice. “Unless you’re just always unreasonably loud.” You can imagine the sly smile that plays across his lips right now. Another door opened and shut and he sighs. “There. Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay,” you say. “I…”

You trail off. You don’t know what to say. Don’t know what there is to say.

He says your name softly into the phone, the syllables forming such a familiar shape on his tongue. “Are you okay?”

“I...I don’t think so. I don’t feel great.”

“You’re home? Safe?”

“Yeah. I’m home.” You look around your room. Art on the walls, your little desk the messiest place in the room, stacked high with papers and photos and plants.

“Good.” Taehyung takes a long breath. “So. Tell me what’s going on.”

You want to. But your voice freezes in your throat and you can feel the way your silence falls around him.

After breaking up at nineteen, you and Taehyung had always remained friends. The truth was that even though you loved each other, you were so caught up in the physicality of it all that the rest of your relationship — and your relationships outside of that — began to deteriorate. No more sex, you both had decided. And at the time, that meant no more romance. There weren’t lingering feelings of resentment, but you did know — because you both talked about it — that you were both plagued with the lingering question of what if. What if…. But the answer was simple. You both needed more than what the other could offer.

Best friend turned lover turned best friend. If the lingering sexual tension was the only consequence of that, you could handle that. And if you were honest with yourself, you enjoyed it, in a safe, flattering kind of way.

But the reality was that the consequence of your relationship wasn’t limited to just a couple of sex dreams here and there or comments about your former sex life thrown about as jokes. The truth was that there was a permafrost of cautiousness that sat like a layer of ice beneath all of your interactions; one that only thawed away after midnight or a second drink.

Right now, the clock on the wall reads: 3:12am.

“You don’t have to tell me—”

“No — I want to.” You shake your head. “I should… I should talk to someone about this.” You take a deep breath as the sharp images of tonight’s events spiral around your mind. When you speak, it comes out a whisper. “I kissed Hobi tonight.”

“Oh. Shit.”

“Or he kissed me. I don’t really — don’t really understand what happened, we were just standing there and had both had some drinks and suddenly it was happening and I should have kept everything within the normal boundaries, I shouldn’t have done it, shouldn’t have overstepped our friendship, but we kissed and I…” Your voice trails off.

“And you liked it,” Taehyung finishes for you.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “I did.”

“And it scared you.”

“Yeah.”

“And then you both ran away from it.”

“Yeah.”

“And your way of running away from it was to go fuck Yoongi again, huh.”

“Goddamnit, Tae,” you huff, annoyed by how right he is.

Taehyung chuckles. “Babe, I’ve known you way too long for me to not pick up on these kinds of things. These kinds of patterns.”

“Patterns?”

Taehyung sighs through the phone. “I love you, dude, but… yeah. Yeah. It’s a pattern.”

As you let his words sink into you, you realize. It is a pattern.

“Can I be honest with you?” he asks. “Do you really want to know what’s going on here?”

You laugh softly, even as fear nibbles at your heart. There’s a part of you that wants to turn into blindness. That wants to shield your heart from the reality of the situation. From the reality of yourself.

But there’s also something about facing into the truth — clear and cold like the night waiting just beyond your window. You want the shock of truth through your body, glaring and sharpened like ice. Because at the end of the day, you’ve had enough of this numbed ignorance.

“Yeah. Go for it.”  

“This might be out of the blue. And you might not want to hear it. I could be totally off—”

“Tae, it’s okay. I want to hear it.”

He takes a deep breath. “But maybe… just maybe, it’s time to think about the way you push people away.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you whisper, although the reality of what he’s saying is already dawning on you, even if it’s at a glacial pace.

“How you let people in just long enough, just far enough, to let them see something authentic of you. But you don’t really let them take any real stake in your life.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

“And that’s okay!” He adds quickly. “At least, it has been okay. We do what we need to do to keep ourselves safe, but… I think you’re past that all now.” You take a shuddering breath and he pauses. “That place in your life where you need to keep the walls and the rules so strict for fear of falling. You’re not there anymore, babe. Maybe it’s time to start looking at the wall that you’ve built and considering letting yourself tear it apart.” And then, so softly you think his voice might be made of something as delicate as a flower petal: “You know, maybe it’s time to think about how you want to start letting love in again. Because you deserve it.”

It’s not until you brush your hand against your cheeks that you realize they’re wet. You look down at your fingertips, glistening with fallen tears, shining silver in the snowlight.

“Fuck, Tae.”

Taehyung lets loose a light, but pained, chuckle.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You sniffle. “Goddamn it.”

Silence settles between the two of you. Tears slip silently down your face as you hold the phone to your ear. You can hear him breathing softly on the other end, but Taehyung doesn’t say anything. It’s as if he knows you need a minute to process.

His words slide right under your skin. Directed straight at the thing that has felt so heavy in your chest all night now, it’s as if the whole thing has been broken open within you. Suddenly, you can see it all.

The past years, this game of cat and mouse with your own vulnerability. This façade of carefully curated openness and faux vulnerability. All of the things that you kept as reminders of your freeness, your unlocked heart — the hookups, the fast and furious romances that ended in nothing but silence, the friendships you kept so carefully defined — were actually all just markers of the opposite:

A deep and abiding fear that if you let someone love you, a fear that if you let them close enough to really, truly see you, they might see something they won’t like.

Better to keep things clearly organized. Clearly marked and known and understood. That way you’d know exactly when things were spinning out of control and when someone was just about to get too close.

“You know, there are so many ways to love,” Taehyung says. “It doesn’t just have to be in that one way of fucking and falling in love and then a big white marriage, tada! the end. And, uh, it’s okay to want love. It’s really, really okay, actually. In whatever weird way love shows up for you, even if it’s not the traditional way. It’s even more okay to let yourself have that love, even if you don’t know what it is — don’t know what to call it.”

When your breath comes out shaky and ridden with tears, you can hear a soft oh echo through the phone.

“Hey,” Taehyung says with all the love in the world laced so delicately through his voice. “It’s okay. It might not feel like that right now. But opening up again — if, you know, if that’s what you want — that’s something you can do. It can be done.”

“I-I do, Tae. I don’t want this anymore. I don’t want to keep fighting this.”

It’s as if you can hear his smile through the receiver.

“That makes me really happy to hear,” he says.

“Where do I even begin?” It comes out a whisper, your voice cracked from the tears that have begun to slow. You’re half afraid to even hear the answer. Half afraid to walk down the path riddled with your greatest fear.

“I think you begin by going to sleep. And in the morning I’ll call you. And I’ll keep calling you. And we’ll work through this together. You know, this isn’t something that you have to do alone.”

You’re silent.

“You’re in bed?” crackles through the phone.

“Yeah?”

“Go put on some pjs and go to sleep. You don’t have to do this all in one night.”

You nod, wiping the rest of the tears from your face and sniffling. “Yeah.”

“Alright. I love you to the moon and back, no matter what. You know that. Right?”

You close your eyes. For a second you imagine accepting that it’s true. It fills your chest with a new kind of warmth. One you want to sink into.

“Yes,” you say. “I love you too, Tae.”

“Get some rest then. Goodnight.”

“G’night.”

The dial tone clicks and the room falls into complete silence. Only the sound of your breath breaks through, too loud and uncomfortable amidst the darkness. But still, you climb out of bed, dump some water on a towel and wipe at your face, and change into the largest t-shirt you can find in your drawer.

Tonight, you dream the first dream of many in a line that will haunt you — and spark you back to life. It’s Yoongi, his body pushing you up against the ice cold glass, his hands in your hair, his lips whispering, over and over and over again: Is it complicated?

In the morning, you lay awake, just feeling the way your breath falls heavily in your chest. You text Yoongi to tell him you can’t meet up. You look outside.

The world is covered in a blanket of snow. Unrecognizable. Beautiful. Washed clean.

Something hopeful flutters in your chest.

When you look down, your hands are clutching the collar of your sleep shirt. With a deep breath, you wrap your arms around your torso in a hug.

“I don’t really know how to do anything else other than this,” you admit to Tae one day over the phone, flourishing a hand you know he can’t see to emphasize the point you know he already understands.

“Well. I don’t know how much of it is really choosing to be different. Instead, maybe you ought to try looking at it like an undoing. Whenever you match up against that impulse to run, think about sitting with it. Feeling it. And then choosing to move in another direction. Yeah,” he says, and you can tell he’s nodding on the other end of the phone. “An undoing.”

What does this kind of undoing look like? you wonder.

When the world comes to a screeching halt around you, you don’t expect to find your answer. The reality of the pandemic and quarantine — the emptiness of it, the long, drawn out days that feel long and drawn out when you’re in them but that then seem to blend together into one long, monotonous, anxiety riddled day and leave you wondering and wishing for the end — it’s hard. It’s hard in that quiet way that’s easy to ignore and push off, and hard in the way that there’s a big ache in your chest every time you go to sleep, one that crawls straight into your throat and sits there until the morning. It’s hard, and you learn to live with it. It’s hard, but somehow it brings you what you need. When distance seems to be the defining feature of your life, you don’t expect to find clarity. But you do. As you sink into the new routine of quarantine and pandemic life, and as life begins in a new rhythm with new rules and new realities — slowly and wildly new and sometimes horrific — it becomes clear to you.

What does this kind of undoing look like?

It looks a lot like feeling the emptiness in your home when Namjoon is away. Silence louder, space smaller. You find yourself reflected back to yourself, as if you are staring in a mirror.

It looks a lot like distraction. Emotional exhaustion turning into physical. You do distract — and it’s good — with a new drama or a new hobby. Exercising in your room until your cheeks are flushed. Cooking something new and delicious every night. Or sometimes just letting the small rectangle of light in your hand absorb you until the lingering discomfort is numbed, until you’re ready to fall asleep.

It looks like listening to your thoughts, really, truly listening, for the first time. Hearing the stories that you’ve built up in your head over the ears and how deeply they’ve sunk into your reality. It looks like noticing them, and wanting them to change. It looks like standing in the empty hallway of your apartment, feeling it all, and deciding to do something about it.

It looks like weird-ass sex dreams. Once dreamless nights are repopulated with strange and specific sexual fantasies featuring none other than your seven gorgeous friends in various states of undress and revelry.

It looks like letting people in again. Laughing on the phone until tears well up in your eyes. Building up the courage to tell Jimin about your vivid, even pornographic dreams. Writing letters when facetime just doesn’t do it anymore. Telling your friends just how much they mean to you, even when that voice warns you that you ought to keep your feelings held tight to your chest.

It looks like falling asleep one night, the traffic of the city now quieted by reduced travel, and the silence offering you a new kind of truth:

Love can be without limitation.

Love can be without limitation. It is allowed to flow from you without doubt or embarrassment. It is allowed to exist in the world — and in you — without needing to be reciprocated or validated. And you are allowed to ask for it. To demand it from life, even if, at times, it feels like the only place it pours forth from is from that great gaping space in your chest.  

The phone rings a couple of times before it’s cut off in the middle of a digital brrng. You’re ready to hear the familiar buzz of a robotic voice reading: the caller you are trying to reach is not available—

But instead, the deep, heady voice you’re so familiar with comes over the speaker.

“Hello?”

“Hoseok?” His name feels foreign on your tongue. After all this time, pushing it away, pushing him away, welcoming his name back into your body feels almost like a fresh rain, washing away the dust on your skin.

“The one and only,” he chuckles. “What’s up?”

A ball of emotion wells up in your throat and the phone line hangs in silence as you try to glue together what you want to say, what you had practiced to say, what you should say. But it feels as if it’s all disappeared. 

“I thought—”

“Did I mess up?” he blurts.

You blink in confusion. “What? No, I—”

“That night, I had so much to drink, I’m worried that… I messed up, that— ”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Hoseok.”

You can hear the breath release from his lungs and shudder through the phone. “Oh.” It’s silent for a moment. “Oh. Okay.”

“I just…” You close your eyes. Take a deep breath. “I just miss you.”

“I miss you like there’s an ocean between us,” he says, laughter mixed with sincerity threading through his voice.

“It feels like there’s ocean between us,” you sigh.

“I know,” he says, too quickly for him to realize the meaning behind your words. “But I promise this will all be over soon, babe. How long can something like this really last? In no time it’ll all be done with and I’ll be right back beside you. Right?”

You smile. “Right.”

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[joonie-beanie]

The Demon Brothers + their reaction to you having a nightmare

[The Undateables Reactions]

Lucifer:

Is surprised to hear a knock at his door a little past one AM. He’s still up going over documents for RAD, and doesn’t bother looking up

“Come in,” he says simply, too tired to be mad at whoever is interrupting him at this late hour

He hears the door open, but no one greets him. After a moment, he finally looks up and finds you standing there--shyly clinging to the door frame

You’re dressed in your pajamas, bottom lip caught between your teeth

Lucifer is immediately concerned, all of his attention shifting to you.

It’s not like you haven’t paid him late night visits before to check on him when he’s working, but this time something is clearly amiss.

“Y/N, come here.” He holds out a hand, beckoning you closer, and you finally enter his room--the door clicking closed behind you.

Once at his side, Lucifer takes your hand and presses to his feet. He hooks his other hand gently beneath your chin--flashing you a tender smile as you meet his eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

“I...it’s stupid,” you mumble, but when Lucifer only stares patiently.

You sigh and continue. “I had a nightmare...”

Knowing you, Lucifer bets that you’re feeling childish for seeking him out, but he cannot blame you. As powerful as he is, it’s not like he hasn’t been afflicted by bad dreams.

“Would you care to stay with me, tonight?”

You glance up at him, and he sees the relief in your gaze. Nodding--too shaken up to think about saying no to company--and lean into him, and Lucifer immediately sweeps you off to his bed.

“Sleep,” he speaks against your hair, pressing a kiss to your head, and you nod. With Lucifer nearby, you’re not scared to go back to sleep.

You spend the night safely in his arms--with his warmth on your back--and no more nightmares plague you.

Mammon:

Happens to pass by the library at 5am, because man that was a long ass night at the club, and sees you huddled by the fireplace.

He immediately pauses because uhhhhh...it’s Saturday. Why the fuck are you awake at 5am?

“Oi,” he greets as he walks into the room, catching your attention.

He can tell that you’ve barely slept--dark circles beginning to form under your eyes.

“Why the hell are you up?”

You muster up a small smile, your legs still tucked to your chest. You’ve managed to drape yourself in a soft blanket, and Mammon can only guess that you’ve been here for a while.

“I, um...had a bad dream.”

Mammon frowns, not liking that your brain decided to make you scared for no good reason.

Is it possible to fight a brain?

“How long ya been up for?”

“Since 1,” you admit, laughing softly. You’re exhausted.

Despite being a little hungover, Mammon can’t stand for this. It’s only 5AM--you’ve still got a chance at getting some good sleep! After all, it’s the weekend!

“Come to bed with me,” he mumbles--his cheeks pink as he sheepishly rubs at his neck. “I’ll make sure no more bad dreams come your way...”

Your eyes widen in surprise, but after a moment, you press to your feet and Mammon is quick to take your hand.

He sheepishly leads you to his room, grumbling about how he doesn’t necessarily care about you and your dreams until the moment his head hits the pillow on his bed.

Then he finally shuts up.

By the time you both wake up that day--snuggled together beneath Mammon’s sheets--it’s already afternoon.

Levi:

He’s a light sleeper--so he jumps awake the moment his door clicks open

Startled, he flings himself into a seated position--wide eyes sliding to look at the door

When he sees you standing there, his brain pauses. He figured it would be Mammon trying to break in and steal his stuff.

“I...,” you can see how you’d made him jump, and immediately feel horrible. “Sorry, I can just--”

You start to back out into the hall, and Levi quickly reaches out his hand as if to stop you.

“No! N-No, you can stay. I just...you surprised me.”

Nodding, you step back into his room, and he regards you curiously. You...seem a little...off

“Are you okay?” he finally asks, sitting cross-legged in the tub as he stares at you. You avoid his gaze.

Levi is suddenly reminded of one of his shoujo games, but he pushes that thought to the back of his head.

“I had a nightmare, and...I don’t know, I guess I just ended up...here.”

The demon tries to ignore the way his heart goes doki doki. Luckily, he’s more concerned for you than he is flustered over your comment.

“I-I mean...you can stay here, if you want.” His eyes fall to the mess of pillows and blankets in his tub. “I don’t know if it will be weird, since this is the only bed, but...”

You smile at him, and he can see the remnants of fear etched into your face. “As long as you’re ok with it.”

Levi nods, and within seconds, you’ve climbed into the tub.

Levi decides to sleep with his back to you (because how much space is he supposed to give you?? Will you be bothered with him so close?? He’s not prepared for this kind of situation at 3am!!)

However, by the time morning rolls around, he’s managed to entangle his limbs with your own--his arms around your waist, and his tail slung securely over your hip.

If you notice his clinginess in your sleep, you clearly don’t mind. 

Satan: 

Legitimately opens his door the moment you intend to knock--and you both startle

As you drop your hand to your side and struggle to find your words, Satan regards you with scrutiny

Satan, for one, is confused and concerned at your appearance. It’s nearly 2am. He’d gotten wrapped up in reading, but you have no reason to be up this late.

“Is everything okay?” he ends up asking when you don’t speak. 

When you look up at him, your eyes are like that of a scared puppy dog, and he feels something tug at his heart.

“I...had a nightmare. I saw the light on under your door, and...”

You glance to the side, and Satan suddenly understands why you’re acting all guilty. However, it’s not like you’re imposing.

“Why don’t you come in?” he asks with a smile, hoping to ease some of your worries. “I’m not much company, but I’d be more than happy to be in yours.”

At his words, and tiny smile lights up your face, and he sees a bit of the remnants of fear dissipate from your eyes.

“Thank you, Satan.”

Once inside, he invites you to take the bed--letting you know that if you fall asleep, it’s no big deal.

You’re determined to not fall asleep and hog his bed, but...after about half an hour, Satan looks up from his book and finds you passed out beneath the covers.

Breathing a laugh, he closes his book, and moves to the edge of the bed--regarding you for a moment. Then, he carefully maneuvers himself to join you--one hand moving to wrap around your waist.

He feels your body relax against him and, for once, Satan feels at peace as well.

Asmo:

Is walking to his room one night when he passes your door and hears a little strangled cry from inside

Immediately concerned, he knocks on your door, and enters your room when he doesn’t get a response.

He finds you in bed, thrashing around. Your eyes are squeezed closed--sweat beading on your brow--and he knows you’re having a nightmare.

“Y/N--wake up,” he gently rocks your shoulder back and forth--reaching out to hold you when you shoot awake--chest heaving.

“Wha--Asmo?” 

Once you realize it’s him--the Avatar of Lust hugging you softly and cooing reassurances into your ear--you instantly cling to him

As you ground yourself, Asmo seats himself on your bed and curls you into his lap--his hand petting against your hair as you calm down.

“Asmo, I...” your weak voice breaches the silence after a few minutes, and Asmodeus can hear the unsaid plea in your voice.

“Would it be okay if I stayed with you tonight?” he questions sweetly, asking so that you don’t have to. “I just don’t feel right leaving you alone.”

“Sure,” you respond with a nod and smile, and Asmo dedicates himself to putting you back to bed.

He tucks you in and brushes your hair out of your eyes, and when you grab his shirt--seeking more comfort--he curls up in front of you so your forehead and knees knock together

Between your bodies, he slots his fingers against yours.

“If you have anymore bad dreams, I’ll fight them, okay? Pretty humans having bad dreams is not allowed!”

That gets you giggling, and he presses a sweet kiss between your brows.

“Now~ No more thinking, just sleeping.”

And, as if his words are magic, you’re out within minutes.

Of course, Asmodeus stays with you--snuggled in bed--the entire night.

Beel:

Some days, his stomach wakes him up in search of a 3AM snack, and today is one of those days.

Dressed in his pajamas and still half asleep, he makes his way to the kitchen--pausing in surprise when he sees someone sat on the kitchen counter.

After a moment, he realizes that it’s you--nursing a glass a water, and staring blankly at the wall.

Beel frowns with worry. “Y/N?”

His voice startles you out of your thoughts--quite literally causing you to gasp, and jump. Your head whips towards him, fear in your eyes, and you lift to press a hand against your heart when you realize it’s only him.

“Are you okay?” he immediately asks, making his way to your side. It’s clear that something is wrong.

He gingerly raises his large hand to cup one of your cheeks, his heart cracking a little when you instinctively flinch away. Thankfully, after a second, you sigh into his touch--your hand lifting to cover his.

“I had a bad dream.”

Beel nods in understanding, because he knows how shitty it can be when your brain plagues you with a nightmare. 

“Here,” he walks over to the fridge, and pulls out a tub of ice cream--snatching two spoons from the cupboard on his way back to you. “This will help.”

You giggle, leaning against him and taking a spoon when he hops up on the counter beside you.

Since Beel’s appetite is much bigger, he gets a little lost in devouring the dessert. He’s not sure how much time has passed, but at some point, he pauses and looks over to find that you’re asleep against his shoulder.

Carefully, he leans over and curls you into his strong arms--making his way back towards his bedroom. 

Tonight, you’re saying with him. He’s sure he’ll keep the bad dreams from coming back (and besides, he just really wants to hold you).

Belphie:

Since Belphie’s sleeping schedule is basically ass-backwards, he tends to go to bed just after his brothers and you have left for RAD.

He’s used to having the house to himself--complete peace and quiet--so when he walks past the lounge and finds you tucked into a chair near the fireplace, he pauses.

You’re nursing a mug of coffee between your palms--dark bags hanging beneath your eyes.

“Why are you here?” he asks, walking up beside you. His first question was honestly “why do you look like shit”, but that seems a little mean. Especially considering you...unfortunately look like shit.

“I had a nightmare, and couldn’t get back to sleep,” you sigh, not turning to look at him. “I’ve been up since 2.”

“You should have come and found me,” he blinks. “You know I’m up that late.”

“Yeah, but...,” you fingers curl tighter around the mug. “It just a stupid dream. I didn’t want to be a bother...”

Belphie frowns. He wants you to be able to rely on him--to let him be there for you when you need someone.

You pause as he grabs the mug from your hand and sets it aside.

“C’mon,” he says, grabbing your wrist and tugging you to your feet. He slots his fingers through your own, gripping tightly, and you glance up at him as he starts leading you through the halls.

“Belphie?”

“I’m going to bed anyway, so sleep with me. You need rest.”

“But--I was planning on going to RAD later--”

“Taking care of yourself is more important.” His words leave no room for argument, and you fall silent. Moments later, you find yourself beneath the warm sheets of Belphie’s bed--his arms wrapped tightly around your middle.

“Is this okay?” he mumbles, and you nod--your eyelids already drooping. Within minutes, you’re fast asleep, and Belphie joins you soon after.

He’s right, sleep (especially when it’s in his arms) is way better than school.

[The Undateables Reactions]

[bluecookies02]

Teacher!Aizawa x Student!Reader -Feathery mess/NSFW/-

warnings: teacher/student relationship(the student is of legal age).

quirk: angel wings

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You've been squirming in your seat like crazy for the past 30 minutes, your thighs rubbing together as you watched the man lazily write stuff on the board, his sleeves raised up to his shoulders and his hair tied in a messy bun.

You've been eying the man for years, always too afraid to step up or say anything (for obvious reasons), and even now as you're nearing the end of your education, there's this annoying feeling in your tummy that's making you all giddy and impatient.

It's the last class of the day, all of the students tired and just wanting to go back to their dorms while you're here, dreaming about being stuffed by the black-haired man's cock.

Your wings puffed in your seat as you chewed on your pencil.

You didn't exactly care about anything he was saying, the only thought as you looked at his moving mouth was the fantasy of it lapping at your cunt.

Such sinful thoughts shouldn't cloud the mind of someone so seemingly innocent and pure.

Your feathers ruffled up as you placed your head in your arms, alerting some of the students and obviously motivating Bakugou to ~quietly~ shout you out.

You paid no mind, still staring at the man in a haze...He must've felt something...

He was always so gentle and caring, offering to rub and clean your feathers on countless occasions after training, always checking up on you or coming to your table if you needed help with anything.

While he might've done that to everybody, you felt like he had a particular fondness of you. Maybe it was just your imagination...

Your wings fluffed back down, slumping against your back as they curled around your tiny form.

You spent your years in this school pinning for someone you might never have, instead of going out to parties and meeting new people. And the biggest problem was, you weren't only painfully attracted to him, but you also caught yourself falling in love with the man.

Maybe if you were a bit older? What if he already had someone and it was impossible from the start? You didn't want to know...it would crush you completely.

The bell seemed to have rung a few moments ago, all of the students already having their bags packed and on their back, leaving through the door one by one.

You stuffed your notebook in messily, crumbling it as you pulled the zipper. You stared at the floor as you made your way in-between desks, just wanting to take a long warm bath and cry.

"Y/N, everything alright?" your eyes darted to the voice, your mouth suddenly drying up as you just gave a weak nod.

Before stepping anywhere further, the door was pushed closed in front of you, the tall man hovering over you as he looked at you with warm eyes.

"You know you can talk to me, I want to help..." he trailed off, reaching for your hand as you hopelessly gave it to him.

He sat you down on his chair, him leaning against the table.

"I'm sorry Mr. Aizawa...I don't think there's anything you can do to help me in this situation."

Your wings felt heavy on your back, actually, your own bones felt heavy too.

He reached out to pet your head comfortingly, noticing the way your cheeks flushed and your feathers straightened.

"Can you look at me real quick, please" you raised your head a bit, looking at the man with scared eyes.

Your wings betraying you as they gave a small twitch.

"Y/N, please correct me if I'm wrong because I don't want to make you uncomfortable in any way" you nodded, waiting for him to go on.

"Is it a crush problem?" you nodded again, eyes falling down to your lap.

"Is that person in our class?" he questioned, his shoulders stiff.

"Theoretically..." you mumble, your form shaking a bit as you took in a deep breath.

"And theoretically...I personally...am actually capable of helping you out?" you clutched at the chair for a second before trying to will your legs to move and get you out of here.

His fingers hooked your chin up gently, your teary eyes closing and squinting shut.

"So you literally gave yourself a heartache for nothing angel" he mumbled softly, pulling you up in front of his face.

"Can I kiss you sweetheart?" you stared at him in shock, brainstorming through what's about to happen, your heart skipping beats as his breath ghosted over your lips.

"Pleasee" your needy voice filled his ear before he smashed your lips together, his arms snaking around your back and under your wings, pulling your body flush against his, holding you tightly as he deepened the kiss.

Your wings fluffed back, full and strong, flexing as they tried to look pretty and inviting.

He chuckled into the kiss, dragging his dull nails across the junction of your wings, kneading at the soft feathers.

You hummed in his mouth, pressing harder against him as you tangled your hand through his hair.

Once the two of you stopped to breathe, you were pushed onto the desk, your legs spreading to let him come back closer.

"It's my turn to lock all of the doors on this floor, no one will come here" he mumbled, gently kissing at your neck.

"Please...don't make me wait...I'll beg if I have to" you whined, fisting the fabric of his thin shirt.

"No need sweetheart, we'll have time to take things slow some other occasion." his long fingers slipped beneath your skirt, rubbing over your panties as he felt the soaked patch of cotton.

"Dirty little feather...were you thinking about me during class today? Do you even know what the subject was?" he grinned, pushing the fabric aside as he slipped a finger into your heat.

"I...maybe?" you whispered tilting your head back as he pumped the digit carefully, working you open before slipping in another one.

His lips swallowed up your moans, his free hand creeping under your shirt and rubbing at your flush skin. His fingers curled up, pushing snuggly against your spots making you gasp into his mouth.

"I'm gonna make you feel so full angel, is that what you want? For me to take good care of you?"

Your hands reached for his pants, hurriedly unbuckling his belt and undoing his zipper, slipping both his pants and boxers down.

Your wings shook a bit, your mouth watering at the sight of his cock. It looked painfully hard and heavy, twitching each time you clenched around his fingers, his tip oozing out pearly liquid.

You still couldn't fully believe everything, but the fact that he was willing to risk his job for you had to count for something.

"Hey princess, you think you could take it now?"

His forehead pressed against yours, breathing in deeply as he pushed another finger in.

"Fuck...Please, I'll go mad if you don't" you cried out, tugging at his cock as you slicked it up with his precum.

He groaned, his flush tip now rubbing over your clit and your puffy lips, hissing once he began to sink you down on his length.

You gasped at the feeling of being so stretched out, the countless times you had you pussy full with your toys couldn't compare to this.

Both of his hands found purchase on your hips, slowly guiding you against his cock, slipping out and sinking back in, his small groans coming out after each thrust.

You clung to his broad shoulders, keeping yourself steady as his pace picked up, the filthy sound of his dick plowing in and out of your soppy cunt filling the classroom.

"I'm gonna take you to my house after this princess, make you cum again and again, make you all nice and cozy and abuse your little hole...you kept me waiting for so long, kept this dirty little pussy all to yourself." His voice always sent shocks of pleasure through your cunt, the raspy hum his words held always making your thighs clench together.

"Oh baby you're just swallowing it all up, such a greedy little student I have...oh...look at you...you're gonna cum on my cock? I can see you shaking princess" your hand reached for your puffy clit, flicking it with the tips of your fingers in a hurry.

Your wings were violently flapping everywhere, sprawling around before wrapping around Aizawa as you came with a soft cry, clenching down on his length as he continues to push past your spasming walls, pounding you through your high as he struggled not to cum. You were gushing around his shaft, creaming over his cock and ruining his desk.

Once he couldn't hold out any longer, he pulled out, giving a few rough pumps with his fist, warm waves hitting your skin and coating your clit, dripping past your folds and sliding past your hole, your wings holding onto him tightly.

He rubbed his seed in possessively, gliding his cock along your sex before pulling your panties back in place, finally calming himself down.

He holds you by your hips for a while, kissing at your clothed shoulder and whispering praises into your ear, talking about wanting you for so long, dreaming about you, touching himself at the thought of you, praying to everything out there for a chance to hold you like this.

"Hey...didn't you say something about locking doors?" you mumbled tiredly, nuzzling your head against his cheek.

"Yeah maybe in a minute" he muttered out, kissing your forehead gently.

Thank your quirk for making you so obvious. Or maybe it was his devotion to you that made it easy for him to read you so well...

this lil commission was by @sinclairsamess, they r the sweetest little thing to exist 🥺. thank you for pointing out that I don't actual have a filthy chapter for my favourite teacher, shame on me! So as an apology I offer this soft little thingy🦋

Requests:closed

commission:open (1 slot)

Ko-fi link is in my bio💕

[carelessannie]

Winterspider, Peter x Bucky, omegaverse, smut, nff, other specific warnings in the tags

For this prompt from @femmeparker

Me: let’s do this, but something kinda different

❤️❤️❤️ I love these two honestly Hope you enjoy!

- - -

There’s not much on the TV. Someone made the mistake of giving Steve the remote, and now everyone is subject to watching each channel fly by at an alarming rate, the only constant sound in the room the rhythmic clicking of the next channel button. None of them complain, though. It’s very rare that they all have a quiet night together, and everyone seems content to watch Steve surf the cable box.

The six of them are spread around Tony’s living room. Pizza is already gone and at any moment Tony or Nat will take away the remote and turn on a movie, but Bucky could care less. He usually sits back and watches from the outside, anyways. He looks over at Bruce, and they share a knowing glance— both of them happy to stay quiet and let the others take the lead.

He could go for a drink, though. Bucky ambles to his feet, offering to grab stuff from the kitchen as he heads there. With his head in the fridge, he sorts through the drink options, gagging dramatically at the thought of one of the fruity wine coolers Tony has tons of. He looks at the bottle, scoffing at the ingredients and alcohol content. Four percent? Why even bother?

“Those are mine,” a sweet voice chirps, and Bucky smacks his head trying to turn around.

“Ow, fu—” Bucky lets the curse die on his tongue as he gets an eyeful of the prettiest boy he’s ever seen, swamped in a university sweatshirt and wearing a playful smirk. He holds out his hand, expectantly, and Bucky stares at it, unsure of what this angel wants.

Deciding to play it safe, he shakes the boy’s hand.

“Bucky,” he says, like an idiot.

The boy just giggles, tightening his grip and tossing his unruly curls, “Peter. And honestly, I just wanted you to hand me a drink— but it’s nice to meet you. I feel like since I’ve been at college, I haven’t been able to meet any of my dad’s friends,” he pauses, giving Bucky an obvious once over, “and I think I would have remembered you.”

Bucky knows his face is glowing red. He clears his throat and pops the top on the fruity drink, handing it over to Peter, “And your dad is?”

Peter takes a sip, “Tony Stark. I guess it makes sense he didn’t mention me.”

Oh, he did. Bucky— like the fool he apparently is— just didn’t realize Tony’s son is only a few years younger than Bucky himself. And drop dead gorgeous. Definitely a no fly zone for ex-assassin, centenarian soldiers with war trauma.

He backs up, heading towards the living room in a hasty retreat, when the air suddenly shifts, catching Peter’s scent, and throwing it in Bucky’s face.

“Oh, shit,” this time he does curse, smacking into the wall as he holds his nose, politely stopping himself from smelling the ripe Omega scent beckoning him closer. “I’m so sorry, fuck, I didn’t realize...”

Peter takes a step closer, placing his drink on the counter. He has Bucky cornered against the wall, and the Alpha has never felt more terrified.

“Shh, it’s okay,” the tiny Omega whispers, no doubt getting a nose-full of Bucky’s fear scent, “you’re not gonna hurt me.”

He watches, helplessly, as Peter steps into his space, his maple-honey gaze wide and pleading. The young Omega wraps himself in Bucky’s arms, burying his nose in Bucky’s chest, and starts to purr deep, soft breaths that shake Bucky to his core.

Not heat— no, not quite— but something very close is burning through Peter’s small body. Bucky realizes he’s supporting almost all of Peter’s slight weight, and searches for a chair. There is no way he’s carrying Peter out into the living room like this.

He must black out for a moment, because the next time he’s aware, it’s pitch black and Bucky’s sitting on the floor, still clutching the Omega to his chest. He looks around, hoping to catch sight of something familiar. Rice. Flour, sugar, Raisin Bran— great. Of course his Alpha instincts would not only den them up, but put them in the pantry. Stupid, practical hindbrain.

There’s movement outside, and Bucky growls, low and menacing in his throat.

“Buck? Are you in there?”

It’s Steve. Another Alpha. Best friend. Threat.

“What?” Bucky snarls, running his fingers through Peter’s hair comfortingly.

Silence for a beat, “Do you... Tony thinks you have his son in there, Bucky. Please tell me that’s not true.”

“He’s safe, Steve.”

The other Alpha curses under his breath, “Dammit, Buck. Okay, let me grab Tony. He’s gonna help.”

Bucky wants to protest, but the Omega in his arms has started gently nibbling on his fingers, holding his hand and sucking on them lightly. He hums his approval, and Peter just smiles sweetly, never once opening his eyes.

“James Barnes, do you have my son in there?”

Tony sounds strained, trying to keep his tone neutral as he paces in front of the door.

“He’s safe in here, Tony.”

“Can you give him back to me, Alpha?” Tony asks, a hint of panic coming through his tone. “He’s unbonded and needs his pack.”

Bucky whines, looking down to memorize Peter’s features in the low light. It’s safe in here, warm and dark and full of food, but Bucky’s instincts insist Peter will be safest with his pack. Dammit.

He stands up, hauling Peter into a princess carry, and slowly opens the door, checking for threats. Tony stands on the other side of the room. His hands are tightly clenched around the countertop, and his face is riddled with worry. Bucky walks slowly to his side, and drops Peter into his waiting arms.

Without the Omega in his grasp, Bucky is suddenly on the verge of tears. Peter whimpers, a painfully sad sound, and Bucky has to retreat before he does something to make this worse. “M’sorry,” he rasps, and turns to head for the door, passing the group of Avengers on the way. Steve tries to lay a comforting hand on his back, but Bucky just brushes it off.

He rifles around the living room, grabbing his phone and wallet, and then heads for the door. As he’s slipping his shoes back on, he feels a painful tug in his chest. Then there’s a loud sob from the kitchen. Bucky’s stuck, frozen, with one arm in his jacket as he listens for more.

A small wheezing noise. Urgent whispers. Bucky’s on his knees. Another sob. Quiet pleading and begging. Bucky curls up against the door, feeling his stomach cramp up. Footsteps approach.

“... don’t think he could’ve gotten far— oh! Barnes, what the hell?”

He barely glances at Clint, “... couldn’t... leave,” Bucky breathes out, groaning as another wave of pain clenches in his gut, tight in his chest.

Bucky’s not sure how long he stays pressed up against the front door. He hears voices around him, but can’t understand them. There’s someone pulling on his arm and picking him up. He tries to protest— they can’t take him away— but suddenly there’s a weight in his arms, warmth against his body, and his nose is firmly pressed into the top of his Omega’s head.

Thank god.

He rolls them slightly, pressing Peter up against the soft wall and hiding him from unwanted gazes. He closes his eyes, letting the comfort of his Omega close by lull him to sleep.

- - -

When he comes to, it’s light outside. Peter is snoring gently in his arms, and Bucky’s head is clear. He sits up, taking in his surroundings. He’s in Tony’s living room and sitting on the largest couch, hovering over Peter’s still sleeping form.

“He imprinted on you, Bucky,” a voice behind him, Tony’s voice behind him, breaks the silence. He turns reluctantly to face the man, an apology already on his tongue.

“Save it,” Tony says instead, drinking from a coffee mug absently, “god knows why, but my kid, my only fucking son, chose you as his Alpha yesterday. I don’t get it. How did you even meet? Temporary mating bonds usually take weeks to form— but yours formed overnight.”

Bucky is speechless, so Tony rambles on, “That is what this is, right? Maybe scent compatibility, maybe his oncoming heat, but my Petey chose the world’s most deadly and unstable Alpha to imprint on. Not only that, but you had to go den him away— basically confirming your side of the bond in the process. You’re a fool, James. Actually, I’m a fool. Thinking you could be trusted—”

“Stop it, Dad,” Peter’s small voice interrupts, and the tiny Omega wiggles out from behind Bucky to stare down his father, “s’my choice. I want Bucky.”

“But why?” Both Bucky and Tony ask, in unison.

Peter just hums, looking up at Bucky with his precious doe-eyes, “Dunno,” he murmurs, addressing his dad while holding Bucky’s gaze, “He feels safe, Dad. His scent is different... calm and gentle.”

“Dammit,” Tony hisses, never taking his eyes off the pair, even as Bucky sways closer, enchanted by the perfect Omega pressed into his side.

“You sure, angel? You could have anyone, any Alpha you want would be head over heels to be with you.”

“Are you?” Peter asks, slotting his delicate thumb into the dimple on Bucky’s chin, tilting his head in a sweet, curious gesture.

“Am I...”

“Are you head over heels to be with me?” he smirks, but Bucky can see a sliver of vulnerable uncertainty in his eyes. His hands are still on Bucky’s face, and the bigger Alpha turns, pulling Peter to sit across his lap. He threads his fingers through pretty amber curls, smiling as Peter’s lashes flutter and tremble.

“More than anything— you’re already more precious to me than a hundred years could prepare me for.”

“Then let me choose,” Peter insists, twisting to look back at Tony, “please, Dad. Let me choose?”

Tony looks like he just ate a whole lemon, face twisted and body rigid in carefully controlled anger. Bucky gets it. He would never have dreamed of mating his friend’s son, but now— now that Peter has claimed him and invited him to stay— there is absolutely nothing that will separate them.

“Under no circumstances will he get pregnant, do you understand, Barnes?”

Bucky nods, but Peter fucking mewls, squirming on Bucky’s lap as arousal pours off of him in waves. The Alpha looks to Tony for help, terrified of the Omega slipping into heat in his arms.

“— fuck, no. Of course. Of fucking course,” Tony jumps to his feet, making his way down the hallway, “bring him with you— c’mon, Barnes. Hurry.”

With Peter cradled against his shoulder, Bucky runs, following Tony down the hall and into a bedroom. Tony’s bedroom, by the looks of it. The older man pulls out a tote bag, throwing it at Bucky, “Take inventory. I’ll be back in thirty-five seconds. Do not touch him.”

As Tony sprints from the room, Bucky upends the bag on the bed, keeping one arm around Peter as he sorts through the contents. Damn, this is the most thorough heat kit he’s ever seen. As he takes stock of meal supplements, electrolyte tabs, compresses, an embarrassing amount of toys and plugs, lotion and lube and even a few bath bombs, Bucky has a realization.

“Holy shit.”

“Don’t curse around my son,” Tony quips, tearing back into the room and tossing a small packet to Bucky, “these are his contraceptives. He takes one every morning, so set an alarm, do what you need to do— he’s not missing that.”

“Tony...”

“Also, you had better wrap it up. Alpha condoms are in the bag— we’re not taking a chance with your super soldier swimmers.”

“Tony,”

“— what?”

“... are you an Omega?”

There’s a moment where Bucky feels like he’s overstepped, “I just mean... I’ve never seen a heat bag so thoroughly stocked, even by a parent...”

Tony brings over a few of Peter’s clothes, shoving them in the bag, and laying a protective hand over Peter’s head. His eyes are steel when they look into Bucky’s, “Yes. Not a lot of people know that. I take high functioning suppressants, so I haven’t had a heat in years— not since I was pregnant with Peter. So you’ll understand if I’m a bit protective of my child, James.”

Bucky just reaches out, taking the bag from Tony, “You know I won’t tell a soul. The two of you are safe with me, Tony.”

Tony whips around and yanks him close, holding the collar of his jacket for leverage, “If you’re lying, you won’t be safe from me, Barnes.”

With one last, scalding look, Tony steps back and lets Bucky sweep his son away. Bucky shoulders the bag, heaves Peter into his arms, and runs out of the mansion, suddenly urgent to get them back to his den. There’s a car waiting, and Bucky settles them in the back seat, holding Peter close as they speed back to his apartment.

He’s so thankful for his own place. Living with Steve had been fine, but after a while, they realized that as Alphas, they desperately need their own territories. So Bucky bought an apartment in Brooklyn, thankfully only a twenty minute drive from Tony’s house.

It’s hard to pay attention, though, when the most alluring Omega is settled on his lap, pawing desperately at his pants and mouthing at his neck. He smells sickly sweet: caramel apples and funnel cakes with sugar and sprinkle-dipped ice cream cones all in one feverish body. Bucky rolls down the window.

When they arrive, Bucky hastily thanks the driver and heads right for his den, locking the doors and windows before settling Peter on his bed. He quickly unpacks the heat kit and fills a pitcher with water, letting Peter wake up and explore his space.

He almost drops the pitcher when he walks back into the den. Peter’s university sweatshirt and pants and pretty lace panties are all in a pile on Bucky’s floor, and damn do they look good there. His Omega is grinding, languid, on his bed sheets. His skin is flush and soft grunts escape his cherry lips as his hips move, flexing between an inviting presentation and a perfect bow of submission.

“Omega,” Bucky growls, causing Peter to freeze and look over his shoulder. His eyes are dark, needy and wild. “Look atcha, angel. So pretty ‘n desperate for me.”

Peter arches his back higher, showing off his perfect ass and pretty pink holes, “All for you, Bucky.”

Bucky makes sure to set the water pitcher down near the bed and grab condoms before climbing up next to Peter, kissing his flank and slowly stripping layers off. As he crawls to the headboard, Peter lifts his head up and pushes up onto his hands, tilting his chin up for a kiss. Bucky chuckles, more than happy to oblige.

It’s sweet, just like Peter’s heat scent. Bucky would be happy to drown in his Omega’s kisses and fade away in his arms. Peter's lips move slowly, tongue flicking out and tasting every so often as Bucky sits against the headboard, settling Peter in his lap.

They both groan. Peter’s tiny cock is straining against Bucky’s belly, snuggled smooth and wet against Bucky’s own length as they rut together, enjoying the dull pleasure and saccharine kisses.

“Touch me, Alpha,” Peter begs into Bucky’s throat, nibbling lightly and flexing his smaller fingers against Bucky’s hips.

Bucky sits up taller and uses both hands to part Peter’s supple cheeks from behind, slipping a few fingers underneath to trace along his delicate folds, scooping up a bit of the sweet slick he finds there.

“Open up, darling,” he murmurs, giving Peter a peck on the cheek as a reward when his Omega drops his jaw, mouth hanging open and tongue sticking out obediently. Without pause, Bucky shoves his fingers deep into Peter’s mouth, letting the Omega taste himself. Peter looks shocked, but sucks on Bucky’s fingers anyways. The inside of his mouth is scorching hot and velvety— tempting in a way that they do not have time for right now.

When he slips his fingers free, a slur of pleading and begging falls from Peter’s lips, urging Bucky on and ramping up his own aroused heat scent.

Bucky hitches Peter up further on his waist, sucking a swollen nipple into his mouth as he eases two fingers into Peter’s dripping entrance.

“Ho-oh-ly mother of shit, Bucky, please please... mm, need more. Please, more. Alpha!” Peter yelps as Bucky bites down, hard, on his nipple, using the distraction to work a third finger inside his Omega. He pumps them in and out, bouncing Peter on his hand. He shifts Peter’s weight, lifts him high, and uses his left hand to reach down and thumb at the throbbing clit he knows is just behind Peter’s tiny balls.

His mate screams, “Alpha!” and clenches down, coming violently while speared unforgivingly between Bucky’s hands. Clear, thick release spills from Peter’s cock, and Bucky leans down to suck it into his mouth, never stopping his assault on Peter’s sweet spots. He tastes absolutely divine, and Bucky’s eyes roll back in his head. Peter yanks on his hair, panting and wheezing as he trembles, thighs quaking around Bucky’s head.

“Bucky! Oh, oh oh oh,” Peter chants in between breaths, and Bucky jerks in surprise as his mouth is flooded, again, with his Omega’s cum. He strains to look up, to try and see Peter’s face as he comes apart a second time. Bucky swallows every drop and slowly lowers Peter to the bed. His pretty mate is still twitching, breathing hard, and is now staring at Bucky in shock.

Bucky crawls forward, leaning over his small mate, “Didja find nirvana, angel?” he asks, leaning down for a kiss.

Peter barely returns it, sighing happily into Bucky’s mouth, “Yes, Alpha.” His mouth suddenly pulls into a pout, and he turns sad, wide eyes to look at Bucky.

“What’s wrong,” Bucky panics, running his fingers lightly over Peter’s skin, searching for injury and making the Omega giggle and squeal, “what is it, angel?”

“You’re... you’re still gonna knot me, right?”

Oh. Bucky throws back his head to laugh, tossing Peter onto his front and lining up his straining cock, “You think you’re ready for this, sweetheart? You ever taken an Alpha cock in this pretty pussy?” he lets the tip tease in between Peter’s intimate lips, listening to his Omega wheeze below him.

“No, no no, not n’Alpha cock, Bucky please. Fill me up, fu-fuck me, Alpha.”

Bucky groans, “Damn, you sound so pretty with those dirty words in your mouth. So pretty begging for my cock.”

His Omega keeps begging, arching his back and wiggling his ass in the air as Bucky slips on a condom, kneeling behind his mate and lining up. God, Omegas are so pretty from behind— perfect pink holes are glistening wet, and the tiny cock and balls are just the cherry on top. So precious. Untouched and innocent.

“Take a deep breath, angel. It’s gonna be a stretch,” he waits until Peter obeys before pushing forward, inch by inch, into the hot, wet clutch of Peter’s body. Holy shit. Bucky falls forward, panting into his Omega’s neck as he bottoms out. This is heaven.

When Peter gives him the go ahead he starts a steady pace, withdrawing fully before slamming home in one, strong thrust. Peter yelps, tearing through the sheets, and Bucky just smirks, fucking into him with renewed urgency.

He tangles their fingers together in the remains of the torn sheets. Peter meets each and every thrust, cursing and desperate, lost to his heat as he’s split open on Bucky’s cock.

Then Bucky feels it, feels his knot expanding— bumping up against Peter’s entrance and catching on the flexible skin— and feels his orgasm build, deep in his gut.

“Gonna... oh fuck, Peter, angel. Gonna come. Holy shit, gonna knot you up so good, getcha stuck on me, baby. Fill you up, all nice’n full. Shit.”

He knows there’s a litany of profane promises spilling from his tongue, but he could care less as Peter flutters around him, shouting, “Alpha, oh!” as he comes for the third time. The passage around Bucky’s cock is suddenly slicker, sloppy wet, and he realizes what happened.

“Damn baby, I think you squirted on my cock. Fuck, that’s hot, oh. Oh my god. I’m coming, Peter. Fuck, Peter—”

His instincts wash over him, forcing him to rut until his knot is locked inside Peter’s still soft, still trembling body. He wants to bite, to claim, and sinks his teeth into his own bicep, growling deep as his cock is milked through a gut wrenching orgasm. His eyes roll back when Peter clenches down, and he can’t stop coming.

Peter wiggles around, shifting the intimate lock of their bodies and causing both of them to groan. “You’re heavy, Alpha,” he whines, clenching down again.

“Mercy, darling— fuck.” Bucky shivers as a smaller wave of pleasure blinds him, and he flops onto his side, pulling Peter along with him and tangling their legs together.

“How long, Alpha?” Peter mumbles, yawning gently and turning his neck to look back at Bucky sleepily.

“Bout half’n hour. We can rest until then.”

Peter just hums, content to rest in his Alpha’s arms.

Later, they’ll talk. They’ll learn middle names and talk about their favorite colors and dream of a future together. Bucky will watch him go off to college, and Peter will watch Bucky go off to battle.

Until then, Bucky looks down at his dozing mate. He has absolutely no idea where this perfect Omega came from, or why he would be lucky enough to mate him, to knot him, to possibly love him. But Bucky decides not to care.

With a warm Omega in his arms, smiling and squirming on his knot, Bucky will take whatever Peter is willing to give, and return it with as much of himself as possible.

[soobadnoonecanstopher]

Touch it for Real, Part 4

Genre: Humor / Fluff / Eventual Smut

Warnings: OMG they were roommates / slice of life / slow burn / mutual pining / crude humor / cursing / virgin!baek / idiots to lovers

A/N: The song featured in the kitchen scene is Fantasy by Mariah Carey.

Characters: Baekhyun X You/Female Reader

Description: You teach Baekhyun how to date. (Basically the Get You Alone M/V)

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4 , Part 5

You were puzzling. Alone in your bedroom, laying within the comfort of your own bed, you were positively puzzling.

After sorting out just who Ben was and fixing the damage Baekhyun had done to your reputation by explaining that your idiot roommate had just gotten a hold of your phone, you reintroduced yourself and apologized for the confusion.

This ‘Ben’ actually seemed to laugh off the odd behavior he’d gotten as a first impression of you, mentioning that your roommate seemed funny, if not weirdly protective of you.

You could see what he meant when you read through the rapid fire questions Baekhyun had asked him from his age, to his preferred operating system, whether or not Ben had Facebook so “you” and him could be friends, his profession, and his parents line of work, his current place of work, how long he’s worked there and whether or not he moves around a lot, his hometown, his hobbies and even whether or not Ben has now or has ever had any pets; it seemed that Baekhyun had actually done a whole lot of legwork to give you a pretty good idea of what Ben might be like.

But the moment Baekhyun’s conversation topic changed to innocently ask Ben for his astrological sign, something struck you as off to see Baekhyun proclaim you to also be the same sign and after the two compared birthdays you began to find the whole exchange quite odd.

You realized that Baekhyun had simply lied about your birthday. Baekhyun knew your birthday. Why had he given a fake date to Ben? Unless there was something else happening that you didn’t understand. Then again, Baekhyun had always been rather stingy about giving out personal information; both yours and his. He was probably just being cautious about revealing too much to a stranger.

And actually, Ben seemed rather …. nice. You always hesitated to give them this adjective right off the bat as most of the guys you met who seemed nice right away turned out to be very good at faking nice and stringing along at least three or four girls at once for the shot at fucking at least one of them, and the hopes of fucking all of them.

You’d been called the wrong name late at night, whispered through a sleepy voice over the phone. You’d been sweet-talked and then abruptly called a bitch for refusing to send nudes to a guy you’d been talking to for only a week. Apparently a week was his limit and all his other girls gave him what he wanted within a couple of days. You’d been ghosted by nice guys who felt victimized and led on when you said goodnight politely with a smile and a wave instead of inviting them inside for ramen.

You did want a nice guy. But you wanted a real one.

What you wouldn’t give for one of them, for just one of them to be honest with you and really show you their true self.

Perhaps you had been going about it all wrong.

Your conversation with Ben quietly fizzled and you put your phone away to charge and now, now you were simply puzzling.

It panged at your heart to think of it, but the upset with Baekhyun hours earlier kept replaying in your mind. You propped your feet up on your wall and let your head hang off the edge of your bed, enjoying the way the gravity pulled at the blood in your brain and you tapped your fingers on the bed absentmindedly to the soft beat of music you heard playing from his room.

And you puzzled.

Don’t use your beauty as a weapon against me.

You hadn’t been this bothered by something since you’d watched that Mission Impossible movie the first time and spent an hour and a half trying to wrap your head around the complicated plot.

A Weapon.

Your beauty … a weapon … against me.

Why did it bother you so much? Why had he been so upset that you were playing with him, that you were messing with him. He messed with you all the time. You messed with him just as much. He never got this upset. No, he never got upset in this way. In such a way as to call you out on using something you had, against him. Something that you hadn’t even known had any power at all to attack the man. Your beauty. Did you have such a thing?

You thought about the other times you fought with him.

Not really fought, the two of you never did that, but that fake sort of fighting like when he’d woken you up at 2am for the third night in a row with his loud working music and you found him out in the kitchen disassembling your favorite toaster, the one with the wide slots for bagels that also toasts four slices of bread at once and even has special buttons for frozen items. The stainless steel one that you won in a work raffle and proudly marched through the office carrying with a huge smile on your face. It was a deluxe model. Supreme even. The master of it’s craft. Said so right on the box. Your toaster in a million pieces on your kitchen counter; all because he needed some components or resistors or whatever the fuck it was and he decided the best move was to take your toaster apart rather than to just order what he needed online and wait two business days for them to arrive.

Sure, he put it back together a few days later but not without enduring the laser eyes you shot him over breakfast when you had to toast a piece of bread in a frying pan on the stove like a loser who did not own a four slice Deluxe Toastmaster Supreme.

You’d planned your revenge then. It was something tiny and it involved his TV remote. His precious TV was enormous, took up almost the whole wall, OLED or SUPER-NANO or ULTRA-NANO some similar nonsense words and had 8-Ks of pixels or so he claimed and had so many smart functions you could hardly get comfortable using it for anything that didn’t involve the Netflix button. And no, no, you didn’t do anything to the actual TV. Relax, this was just the remote. This was harmless. Absolutely harmless. Easy to solve really if he had half a brain in his head.

You just carefully cut out the smallest tiniest piece of IR blocking tape that fit exactly over the infrared sensor on the remote control and fit so well it was undetectable to the human eye. Unless you knew it was there and knew exactly where to stick your fingernail in under the plastic bezel to peel it back. You simply applied the tape and left the remote right on the coffee table before you left for work.

You’d come home that night to a pile of assorted battery packs all strewn about the coffee table, and the remote completely taken apart down to the tiny circuit board and Baekhyun was quietly touching the tip of some tiny tool to the different spots on the scary looking green part from inside of the remote with all the metal bits stuck to it and when you slowly walked by he looked up at you through the magnifying eye glasses he wore. His eyes looked comically enormous and you swallowed away your laughter and considered how long you’d let him suffer.

“Something wrong with your remote, Peanut Butter?”

“It was working fine yesterday. I just don’t understand it.”

“Maybe it’s the batteries,” you offered innocently and he just ignored your helpful suggestion as he began screwing tiny screws into place with a precision screwdriver.

He was reassembling it all now and you sat down beside him on the sofa about as amused as you had ever been to sit and watch him suffer.

He grabbed two new batteries from an unopened pack on the table and aimed the remote, pressing the buttons again and again. Nothing happened.

He was surprisingly calm about the whole thing and judging by the various shopping bags and different brands of batteries you saw, he seemed to have been working on this all afternoon. Probably for hours now.

“I’m going to have to take the TV apart.”

He was already standing up and walking across the room toward the wall mounted monstrosity when you leaned forward for the remote. He glanced back at you as you did it and he looked at you just in time to see you shake the remote back and forth and then hit it twice lightly against your left hand. Just a little knock-knock should do it. You were careful to keep the expression on your face calm and well controlled.

When you pressed the power button, the big TV came to life and you pressed the button for Netflix and scrolled through your recommended titles. You had a new episode to watch. You’d have to make time tonight for that. After he was done with his little project here.

Baekhyun instantly pulled his hands away from the TV and hopped back and away from the screen, peering up at it with his mouth hanging wide open. His eyes shot back to where you sat on the sofa holding the remote control. You did not allow your smile to form. Nothing in your whole life had ever been so difficult. You felt as if you could pop right here. You casually flipped through the menu on the screen and the man looked back up at the TV and back down at you again.

You could see him coming in then. He was moving fast with several large steps toward you and with the quickest movement you could manage you used the tip of your finger to slide the IR tape back over the remote sensor. You could not be as precise as you had been before with him coming right at you so quickly, but hopefully it wouldn’t be visible.

He reached for the remote. “What did you do, how did you fix it?” He held it up and pointed it toward the TV. Again, the remote did not work. You bit down hard on the inside of your cheek.

He was pressing buttons again and nothing happened with each new button he smashed down. You could see the madness growing in his eyes the more he tried.

He made the smallest whining sound from the back of his throat and it took every ounce of self control to keep from laughing as he lightly tapped the remote twice against his hand just as he had seen you do. Nothing.

You tried to hold it. You tried so hard. A tiny sound escaped, the smallest sniffle with a laugh broke free from your throat and you coughed lightly to hide it.

His face turned on you and those crazed eyes were back only instead of directing them at the remote, he was looking at you now.

“How did you fix it? Do it again.” He looked insane and desperate and a tiny smile betrayed you as you grabbed the remote from his hand. You played the smile off as part of the help you were willing to offer him but you also had to inhale a deep breath and carefully and slowly exhale it through your mouth to keep from breaking completely.

You held it up in your right hand and gave it a little shake. As quickly as you had done it before you turned the remote on its side as you gave those two little knocks and his head flipped toward the TV when you aimed. With his eyes averted you were able to slip the tape off just before pressing the button.

The Netflix logo greeted you and Baekhyun threw his head back and let out a loud frustrated yell into the ceiling above him.

You’d been holding your laugh for too long. It was becoming too difficult now and he was back, reaching for the remote when the first suffocating giggles took your composure and you laughed out loud.

Your laughter brought all of his attention right to you and only you. The entirety of his focus shifted and that brought those crazed eyes of his bearing down on you, wide and demanding.

It was, by far, the most successful and meanest prank you had ever played on him to date and you were gasping for air and laughing as he reached for you. He grasped both of your shoulders and he shook you as you laughed and laughed at the absolute madness in his eyes. Oh he was crazy. It was just so damn funny.

The remote was still in your hands and you flipped through the different inputs on the TV as you cackled and tears formed at the corners of your eyes.

“How did you do it? You devil! Tell me how you did it?”

He balanced with his knees on the couch and his hands were on you, roaming over the fabric of the sweater you wore, lifting your arms to look under them, maybe for spare remotes or for hidden batteries or secret formulas, who knows what he thought he might find.

You’d stashed the tiny circle of tape by sticking it to the skin inside your elbow and he was currently examining the fingers on all of your hands up close as if they concealed all of the secrets he was looking for.

It wasn’t until he searched higher, pulling your hand forward toward his chest and his thumb grazed against the shiny plastic of the tape circle you had on your inner arm when he did a double take, pulled your arm harder and lifted an accusing finger to point at the tape.

“What is that?!” He clearly thought himself to be the world’s greatest detective.  

You allowed yourself to be manhandled by him a little bit more as you got every bit of humor about your recent victory out of your chest and you lifted your other hand, the one he did not have held hostage right now to wipe at the tears that had fallen from your eyes.  

“Stop laughing and answer me, woman! What is it?”

“It’s my birth control patch,” you said through a laugh and his eyes widened as he pulled his hand back. It was a tiny movement but you were so close to his accusing eyes that it felt monumental and the dramatic reaction to your teasing lie made a fresh wave of laughter bubble up in your chest. You knew he would react this way. Any mention of your contraceptives always made him clam up.

“It’s IR tape, Baekhyun. Infrared blocking tape. I put it on the sensor this morning after breakfast. After I made toast in a pan instead of in my toaster.”

The truth pulled his whole head back and he fell down on his butt on the sofa briefly before he slipped and fell right off the couch onto the floor and he sat there with a blank lifeless look on his face; staring ahead without any focus in his eyes.

“Do you know how sad pan toast is, Baekhyun? Tell me, how am I supposed to be satisfied with pan toast when I should have been having Deluxe Toastmaster Supreme toast?”

He was shaking his head back and forth as you spoke and when he did move it was to lay down flat on his back on the floor of the living room. His hands were up and he rubbed roughly over his face.

“Oh my god. Oh my god—it’s so good. I would have never checked for tape over the sensor. Fucking tape. A piece of goddamn tape. I was so focused on the batteries.I went to three different stores today. The circuits to the sensor were all intact, I checked it, it was good — I never even considered this. Are you an evil genius? My sweet innocent Bug ... is actually an evil supervillain.”

You left him on the floor and made your way into the kitchen to make dinner. It was your night to cook and thanks to the man stewing on the floor of the living room you had to do it around the scattered carcass of your third favorite kitchen appliance.

You remembered the way he reacted then. He pouted and moaned on the floor for a few moments until he smelled the stew you were cooking on the stove. It was comfort food. Something with meat and potatoes and warmth and spices. It would lift anyone’s mood and his had been lifted almost immediately. There were no apologies or any tears. Just a promise to put the toaster back together tomorrow after he went to the store for the parts he needed and that was the end of it.

He didn't storm away. He didn't raise his voice or say you were mean or unfair or too beautiful for him to withstand. He didn't get angry about closeness being used the wrong way, in a way that was unfair to him. In a way that could hurt him, like a weapon.

If he said you had the kind of beauty that could be used against him, didn't that mean he found you beautiful? Wouldn't that mean that Baekhyun found you attractive?

The words protested inside your mind. You shook your head.

That was impossible. Definitely. You’ve been so close to him for so long without even a hint of that sort of a feeling from him. Sure you were close to each other. Sure you cared for each other. It was a familiar sort of affection you shared. But attraction? Because he found you beautiful in a way that was unfair?

The puzzling was giving you a headache. There were some things that just did not exist in the same space in your mind and that was the existence of your roommate, Byun Baekhyun, and the possibility that he was attracted to you in any way.

You’d been inside your bedroom for hours now and you were no closer to answers than when you first came in here.

Baekhyun would be done with his episode. He would have watched it with Mia and discussed themes or scenes or dramatic moments with her. Did he talk to her on the phone or maybe though a headset as they streamed the episode together.

Did he like her voice and did she like his jokes?

Did he make her laugh? Of course he did. He made everyone laugh. Baekhyun was charming and hilarious. But could she make him laugh? Could she make him giggle and shake like he laughed with you?

It was late. That didn't really mean all that much to Baekhyun, as the man didn't really have any set bedtime and usually just fell asleep when the sun began to come up. It was a weekend night and you didn't have work in the morning and frankly your curiosity had grown too much for you to just stay in here and fall asleep without at least checking on how the streaming date went.

You knocked lightly on his door. You could hear music playing inside. Nothing too loud or crazy. The man seemed to be having a somewhat low key evening.

“Yeah,” his voice called lowly and you opened the door and peeked your head inside.

“How is our girlfriend doing?” Baekhyun was sitting on his butt on the floor in front of his bed with his head laid over his arms and his phone abandoned in the middle of the floor out of arm’s reach.

He let out a long low groan but did not lift his head up when you stepped inside.

“I don't even know. I don't know.” He sounded defeated already and this had only just started.

“Peanut, what happened?” You picked up the phone and unlocked the screen, searching through his apps to find the dating app so you could see if they had said anything to each other that might give you some clues about what went wrong.

“Nothing happened. I was too quiet. I couldn’t talk at all. I didn't say anything during the entire episode. Why is this so scary. Uggghhh...I feel unsafe. It’s gross.”

You stepped over him and climbed onto his bed, sitting up against the head of the bed as you scrolled through the chat logs.

It looked normal. Not unfriendly. A little terse and abrupt on his part. The man didn't know how to loosen up when he talked to girls and you wondered if maybe you needed more one on one lessons with him before he was really ready for this stuff.

When you leaned back against the headboard you felt the bed dip and he climbed onto the bed beside you and angled his body toward where you sat up against the pillows.

When you got to the end of the chat you could see that she was the last one to speak and she remarked that he felt a bit different from when they spoke at the beginning of the day. He didn't say anything in response to that.

Baekhyun moaned with his eyes closed and he turned his head into your waist. He was obviously reliving some perceived embarrassment he must have felt during the interaction with Mia and when he moved his arm around your waist you looked down to find yourself trapped under his arm that constricted as he pulled tightly, hiding the entirety of his face somewhere in the shirt you wore. He was warm. The weight of his arm around you felt nice.

“I felt so unsafe,” he repeated his complaint from earlier and his voice was obscured and muffled as he hid himself. He switched the tense though and you wondered if he no longer felt unsafe now that you had come in.

You typed out a quick response to Mia. You didn't think it was right to just leave her hanging without an explanation for his strange silence during and after the show.

“I’m going to tell her that you were so quiet because you were nervous. I’ll also thank her for watching the episode tonight.”

You heard and felt a hum and the tightness of his arm around your waist relaxed a little as his arm went slack. He did not move though. He still hugged you. He was still warm and it took only a moment for your nose to pick up the pleasant smell of his clean bed sheets fresh from the dryer. You both had a schedule for washing things like towels and bed sheets. Yours had been cleaned today as well, but something about the smell of his bed felt better than yours had. Perhaps it had been all that difficult puzzling that had tainted yours.

Mia responded right away to your message. She was flattered by his nervousness. You could tell with the way she reassured that he really didn't have to be nervous around her. That she was an easy going kinda girl. Low maintenance she said. You scoffed at the thought of a computer geek being low maintenance. As if you didn't know how difficult to obtain fancy GPUs were and how expensive high powered CPUs, high capacity SATA drives, and their required cooling systems were. You looked around Baekhyun’s set up and figured it had to run somewhere in the multiples of tens of thousands of dollars; just in this room alone.

Low maintenance. Please, she was just as high maintenance as any other regular girl just with a different catalogue of parts.

You switched to the emoji keyboard and keyed off some random happy faces and closed her chat window with more force than was necessary; suddenly and unexpectedly irked when she responded with similar emojis and the notification popped up on the screen. You swiped it away quickly to be rid of it.

“She sounded nice though, even if I couldn’t talk. She sounded nice. Do you think she will even want to talk to me again? I think she likes you more than me.”

“She will like you. If she doesn’t she’s an idiot. A girl would have to be an imbecile, Peanut, to not fall for you.”

He lifted his face then, just enough for the corners of his eye to peek out and you looked down at the side of his face as he looked at you for a moment, absorbing the encouraging words you spoke to him. His leg began to shake somewhere on the end of the bed. You could feel the rhythmic motions. He often did this when he was tired.

You had been scrolling through matches on his phone, building on an idea that popped into your head.

The man needed some practice to build up his confidence. Maybe, just maybe you could find another girl. Someone who he could talk to, chat with, be friendly with, that maybe wasn’t just so wonderfully perfect for him. Someone just to break the ice with.

You stopped on a girl. Her dress was short and the neckline was low. She really left very little up to the imagination with this outfit. Outside of the revealing clothes, it was clear that she was a beautiful woman. She was sexy and very confident in herself despite the glaringly obvious grammatical typo in her bio.

You spun the phone around to show him.

“She looks nice,” you said. Baekhyun blinked at the phone and pulled his face back a little to see the image clearly.

“—-follow you’re dreams — you are — Never too old to follow you are dreams.” Baekhyun read out the sentence with the typo out loud and you laughed.

“Come on, she’s pretty,” you said softly, “right?” You probed gently and he chuckled once to himself and closed his eyes up with a sigh.

“Yeah, she’s pretty,” he said after a while and you felt yourself stiffen just a little bit with his admission. Of course she was. Anyone could see it. He’d be lying if he didn't admit it.

“Okay but like, just pretty or do you also think she’s beautiful?”

He hummed some non response and you focused your attention back on the phone in your hands. After scrolling through a few more profiles you found another woman whose beauty shone brightly right through the screen at you.

“And her? Is she pretty or is she beautiful?”

Baekhyun’s eyes opened again but just barely. He looked half asleep and you wondered if the reason his arm was still around you was because he was so sleepy he didn't realize he was still hugging you like this on his bed.

“Pretty,” he mumbled and pushed his face into your waist again. This time the shaking in his leg began to settle and you could hear a slow steadiness in his breathing.

“Should I message her? Maybe we can practice talking to her so you’re not so nervous talking to girls?”

“Sure Bug,” he said quietly, “you can do anything you want.”

He was falling asleep now. You could feel the change. It didn't matter. You’d let him rest a bit while you opened up a chat window and began talking to Candy.

She responded quickly and had a completely different feeling from Mia. Maybe this was good. Candy was easy to talk to but she had nearly nothing in common with Baekhyun. She casually asked what a computer programmer did and when you went into specifics you had trouble finding synonyms for words that didn’t just make it all more complicated. You finally settled on a simple explanation of what kinds of computer software Baekhyun had developed and left it at that.

After a while Baekhyun shifted in his sleep and uncovered his face. His lips were parted and from the upside down angle you could see the dark splash of his pretty eyelashes that landed over his soft cheeks. He looked lovely and peaceful. All the worries and fears of the day were gone and he was sleeping so calmly. You watched his sleeping face for a while, growing warm inside with the strange contentedness you felt.

You could see some light movement behind his eyes and you wondered if he was dreaming about anything.

Candy had asked for a picture. She was asking something superficial like what sort of car Baekhyun drove and you slipped into his picture gallery for the folder with the shots you took for him when he first bought his car. You found a nice one with him smiling behind the driver’s seat, bright red seatbelt across his chest and the logo of his fancy ride on the steering wheel.

‘Wooo, baby boy an Audi? you must be loaded. When are you gonna come pick me up in that?’

You laughed at her obvious reaction. Candy was exactly as you expected her to be. Baekhyun would be able to laugh and chat with her easily without too much pressure of impressing a complicated woman like Mia was. Candy was an open book. The stakes were lower with Candy.

Your giggle made him stir and you looked down to see his eyes open a tiny bit before he closed them again.

“It’s going well with Candy,” you whispered and he inhaled a breath and nodded his head as he closed his eyes again.

“Mmm, the pretty one?” he asked in a sleepy voice and you hummed your confirmation. Something buzzed inside of you; just a bit of nerve. Call it gumption.

“Baek,” you called quietly and his lips parted with his breathing but his eyes stayed closed this time. He did not respond. He didn't give any indication at all that he heard you call him.

“Baek, what about me?” Your voice was tiny when you asked it. You felt more warmth in this bed suddenly. You felt it in your chest and it seeped up to warm up your face too.

He hadn’t responded at all to your question. It had been pretty unclear though. He might not have heard it, or might not have understood it. Or his sleep may have just been too deep to register your words.

“Am I pretty or am I beautiful?” You said it so quietly there was little chance of him actually hearing it. He was asleep and you were just here, trapped in his embrace on his bed as he slept and you puzzled over the words he had told you during an upset. The words that you had pried from him when he was vulnerable and emotional. The words that you shouldn’t be over analyzing like this. Those words felt too risky to be giving this much thought to.

Here you were again, using your sneaking methods to try and trick him into something when you knew it wouldn't work, when you knew there was nothing really there and you were reading too far into things.

His steady breathing continued. His eyes remained closed and his arm still gripped around your tightly, holding you still, holding you close to him as he slept.

So you gave up. You’d moved back to the phone to respond to Candy; something silly and lighthearted, something easy just like she was, when you heard him speak.

“You are so fucking beautiful,” he said so far under his breath the statement sounded more like air than actual vocalization of any kind and your fingers stopped their rapid typing in the middle of your sentence.

Your eyes looked down. Your entire body was frozen. Half of you expected to find his eyes open and a wide teasing smile on his lips, begging for you to take the bait and believe his words just for the chance of laughing at your shocked face and making fun of you for being stupid enough to believe them.

He was asleep. His eyelids did not pull open when you looked down at him and his breathing remained as steady as ever.

Baekhyun was asleep.

That damn puzzling — your jaw was sore from clenching your teeth down and your lips were dry and chapped from biting them.  

You had dropped the phone and it disappeared somewhere amid the bedcovers.

Baekhyun’s sleep was deeper now. He must have been very tired to be falling asleep so recklessly like this. You shifted downward and made some attempt to find the phone without waking him up and your small movement made him inhale a deep breath through his nose and he was moving now. You felt him shifting, moving his sleepy body up higher in search for some comfort; for something to lay on that was a bit more comfortable than flat on the middle of the bed like that.

You used the movement to reach for the blanket and pull it over his body so he could be warm at least and when he finally settled he shared the same pillow as you. His forehead rested against your shoulder and he was once again, fast asleep.

His arm though— you found yourself still very much trapped in nearly the same embrace as before, just shifted. A forearm landed over your chest and you felt a new heaviness of his bent leg land over your thigh.

You could wake him.

You could push him off and let him roll the other way so you could make an escape back to the peace of your own bedroom.

You would. You would do that soon.

Your current state of thoughts was simply too overloaded to follow through on any game plan. If you could only have a few more minutes of his warm steady breathing, you would move away from this. You would do it.

It wasn’t that you had never considered it. It was that you had gone through many lengths to come to this place. You were safe and secure here.

It was that you had nowhere else to go when it was over.

This place was your home.

Peanut was part of that home.

Things were nice right now; the way they were at home.

But…

As they sometimes do, and against your own will, your thoughts wandered.

You wondered as they wandered — wondered about him.

From the deepest parts of your mind; down where you’d shoved them roughly many times before, those wondering thoughts danced and swayed lightly to the soft music playing in this room.

Those secret thoughts about the sweetness in his eyes. Secrets about the fondness you felt for the little tips of him; the tip of his nose, the tips of his fingers, the pink tips of his ears. Thoughts you refused to encourage.

Baekhyun was asleep and you were thinking.

With the thinking came the shame and your skin was hot to the touch. The last thing you wanted was to ruin your home. With the thinking came the denial. You could not encourage anything. You could not afford to become complacent. You did not need these thoughts to become so brazen. You did not need them taking root. The last thing you needed was them making an appearance again.

The sounds he made while dreaming pulled your closed eyelids back open. You turned your face toward the sound. It was soft, the small groan from the back of his throat. But his face changed then; eyebrows screwed together and his lungs constricted as he let out a softer sound, like a whine. It was a complaint. His face showed signs of pain. The dream must have been unpleasant.

You lifted a hand then, shifted within his embrace you raised your palm and laid it carefully over the side of his face.

The shift happened with the warm contact and his features evened out and that pained look was gone.  

You smiled then. So sleepy but satisfied that you could help when he needed it.

You would move after he got a little more sleep. After he’d had a little more comfort from you, you would move.

You weren’t the first to move. And it seemed by the change in light that shone through the windows that your visit had lasted much longer than you had intended.

It was the untangle that woke you up. A conscious and deliberate lifting of limbs; the careful grip of a hand lifting your arm by the wrist and setting it gently down on a flat mattress.

You opened your eyes when he pulled his own leg out from between your thighs. The temperature change was most jarring. You had felt so warm before.

Baekhyun was sitting up in his bed. His hair was standing up in places all over his head and he was moving slowly and carefully, in an attempt to disengage himself from the tangle of this woman he had just woken up with.

The sleep was still very thick in your head. It hadn’t been a full night’s sleep had it? You felt like you had just closed your eyes a minute ago and yet the sunshine was so bright outside already.

“Sorry,” Baekhyun whispered when he realized you were now awake and looking at him, “guess I got too comfortable...must have fallen asleep.”

His voice was thick with sleep and with embarrassment too, you could hear it everywhere, with the quick words he spoke to you and the pink that covered the back of his neck and flooded his cheeks too.

This situation...this was an embarrassment. Of course it was.

This was something that should not have happened. Not with two adults of similar age who shared so many liberties with each other; spending time in each other’s arms at night, well…

You felt awkward all over. What if—what if you’d done something in your sleep? What if you said something?

And he already wasn’t meeting your eyes as he climbed out of the bed and awkwardly made his way into his bathroom.

You could hear the sound of the running water faucet and the door closed with the smallest click like he went out of his way to close it as softly and quietly as possible to avoid disturbing you any further.

You could feel the heat burning on the skin of your cheeks and you used his absence to get up and get out of his bedroom before he came out and found you still, still tangled in his bed sheets like you’d been tangled in his legs and in his arms all night.

You had to ignore this. You had to forget it ever happened, and anyway, you were best friends with the guy...right? Wasn't this thing bound to happen in the course of a friendship? What if you went on a holiday with him and the hotel only had one bed? These things really did happen, you read about it on twitter once. Would you be that asshole best friend who let him sleep on the floor just because he was a man? No! You could build a little pillow wall between your bodies and sleep as still and motionless as possible, like a corpse.

This feeling would go away. The red hot embarrassment would wash down the drain of your shower. The sticky warmth left behind by his skin would go with it.

You’d made it as far as to undress and turn on the hot water when an awful memory dawned on you.

Baekhyun still had your shampoo.

You didn't have any other shampoo in this bathroom that you could use. You pulled open cupboards and drawers, searching for anything; tiny hotel sized travel bottles, a nearly empty bottle under the sink for a rainy day, even maybe something in the trash can that still had a few drops. Nothing.

You eyed the hand soap on your sink and pictured stepping out of the shower a frizzy, tangled mess.

A soft knock vibrated against your bathroom door.

“Bug, your shampoo.” Baekhyun’s voice called out, muffled by the sounds of the running water and the door itself, “it’s almost empty, but there’s a little left. Sorry, I’ll run to the store and get more.”

Your ear was pressed against the door so you could make out everything he said; so you could listen carefully to the tone and delivery of his words to see if he was still embarrassed about last night or if he’d brush it off easily like he did most things that seemed to bother him.

There were another two soft knocks, “B-Bug?”

“Yeah, Peanut, thank you. Can you just...put it by the door. I’m already undressed. I’ll grab it in a bit.”

He did not respond right away and you stayed with your ear against the door waiting for some sound. Some indication that he had left. The click of your door, anything.

“I left it by the door,” you heard his far away voice shout and then the click of your door.

When your shower was done and you were dressed in your favorite weekend outfit, the high waisted comfy shorts with pockets and a cute top that made you feel somewhat pretty even on a casual day and you emerged from your bedroom feeling ready to face whatever weird moods or wacky situations accosted you today.

You found him singing a song to himself in the kitchen as he made something that smelled delicious for breakfast. The radio was on a pop station that played hits from all the past decades and the upbeat rhythm of the song that played was a definite favorite that had him dancing at the stove.

It was a groovy little love song, quite old now that you thought about it and you felt the beat hit hard in your chest with each pop of his shoulders and hips. The joy you could feel in this song hit you just like that beat hit; heavy and prominent, and you smiled wide to welcome this morning mood it brought with it.

When you stepped into the kitchen to grab a mug to make yourself some coffee you couldn’t help but sing along to the song, you loved the song as much as he did and when he noticed you enter the room you could hear him singing the main parts; expertly, even though the singer was a woman, his voice could always reach the high notes as well as the low ones. She was the kind of epic singer with one of a kind of talent that was world dominating. Baekhyun was singing along, doing the same kinds of ad-libs and vocal runs that she did and he did it while holding the spatula up to his face like a microphone.

As you walked by he dipped his head and looked into your face and his eyes caught ahold of yours. You knew what was coming. You could hear it coming in the song, the chorus. The part you had to sing. These were the rules. He leaned hard and brought the spatula up to your lips just in time for your part to come on. You did not disappoint. You gave it your all closing your eyes up tight and throwing your head back, singing from the very center of you, this part you always sang during this song. The part that was made for you; he knew it and you knew it.

His smile was genuine and breathtaking and he grabbed your hand with his spatula-less hand and pulled you into him, the beat taking over whatever bit of nervousness he might have had before. This was different. This was dancing. This was singing to simply the best song for a Saturday morning and it was moving and laughing with your best friend and you let him spin you in a small circle, careful to keep your coffee mug lifted so it didn’t hit anything during the spin.

His sense of rhythm was perfect. His hips moved as if they were made for this. You had no choice but to follow. An occasional hand on your hip told you where to go. The song was reaching its peak and you knew it was a short one. The best ones always were. It was going to begin winding down now. It was always such a sweet and short lived moment of happiness that you always appreciated immensely.

As a final move, he gave you a little spin and released you to go on your way toward the coffee maker you so desperately wanted to get to when you first entered this kitchen.

He finished the eggs with the last notes of the song.

As you both sat down to eat, his eyes met yours and yours met his and you dug into the eggs and bacon he’d prepared. You offered him a perfectly buttered toast slice and he took it, nodding his head as he bit into the crisp corner.

“So Bug,” he spoke up between bites of eggs, chewing and swallowing thoughtfully, “about this...Candy.”

You swallowed the hot coffee in your mouth and clasped your hands together, suddenly remembering how asleep he had been when you had hit it off with Candy, his practice girl.

He listened to your explanation. Your theory that the stakes were simply too high with Mia and he needed someone to talk to that was a bit more of a relaxed task for him. You called it easy mode so he might get the game reference. He ate and listened to you talk and occasionally his eyebrows would lift or screw together with whatever sorts of thoughts he was thinking inside his head. You could tell by his body language that he didn't exactly want to start something with Candy and you had to emphasize that it was really just for practice, talking to her. It was to help build his confidence.

“She’s already in, Peanut. She thinks you’re super cool, she thinks you’re rich and thinks you have a very good job and plus, you make lots of money and she seems super into that.”

He was not speaking yet, despite how much you had talked and you were beginning to get worried that he didn’t see the benefit of practicing his conversation skills a little bit.

“It’s not even real, Baek, you just have to make some things up with her. Just to get over that anxiety about talking to women. Just until you are more comfortable.”

When he finally did speak, it was as you feared.

“It just feels kinda gross, Bug. She’s a real person too, even if she is obviously a gold digger. It just seems wrong. I’ve been...thinking lately. What if this is...wrong of us?”

“What if I just have to tough it out with Mia and get the fuck over it and just,” he thrust his hands forward over the food on the table for emphasis, “just — blehhhh — talk, just fucking talk to her.”

You lifted a fork with eggs toward your lips but your stomach protested. You suddenly didn't want any more food. The coffee you were drinking had suddenly gone too cold for your liking and you pushed the plate and mug away from you with your fingertips.

You were bothered.

Why did he choose right now to suddenly grow a conscience about this? Did he forget that Mia was chatting with both of you and not just him?

“I...I just — I want to try with Mia. I know I can get over it and talk to her. And I don't want to talk to Candy. The person Candy thinks I am, well...that’s just false. I can’t be the person she’s expecting me to be.”

He had obviously read through the entire conversation with Candy last night and found the tales you told simply too stretched out for him to try and live up to.

“But that’s what people do when they start dating. They stretch the truth, make themselves sound just a little bit better, make themselves taller, or make themselves look richer. They all do this.” You simply could not understand why he didn’t get this. Why he didn’t just play by the rules that everyone followed to get through the door so he could stand a chance here.

“Well I don't. I don't want someone to fall for a fake version of me. I want someone to like me now. This me. Byun Baekhyun. The Peanut with anxiety who lives with Bug who almost killed him over a cheese stick, but who makes really great toast.”

He was smiling now, joking about the funny memories. You pulled your lips into a forced smile and lifted the coffee for another drink so you didn't have to smile any more.

He was watching your face. You were sure he sensed it. Something had bothered you to the point of giving up on your breakfast and every pass your eyes made over his face led to the same thing. He was watching you.

“Why are you upset?”

You shook your head lightly. Willing the obvious signs to leave your face. You didn't even know why. You didn't have a name for this. So you just shrugged in response to him.

“Because I don't want to practice on Candy? Did you actually like her for me?”

You really made your best attempt. You inhaled deep and closed your eyes and you shook your head.

Candy did not matter and you knew it. There was something ugly inside of you maybe. Something that did not want Baekhyun to get along with perfect Mia. Something that was fighting against the idea of him being happy and healthy and free of this unhealthy attachment you had to him. Free and happy away from you.

“Then why?”

Enough. You were being unfair to him. You had promised him that you would help him. You had gotten him this far and you’d be the worst kind of asshole if you didn't see him through to the end; if you didn't follow through with your promise to find him someone who would love him like he deserved to be loved, exactly as he was now. The amazingly wonderful Byun Baekhyun.

“It’s nothing like that,” you smiled softly. It felt like a sad smile, but at least it was genuine. “I just worry when you get so anxious. You know you fell right asleep last night. As soon as I came in, you passed right out.”

Your words skillfully slipped out of your lips and you successfully changed the subject. You felt like a coward, but you simply did not have words for what was happening to you.

“I didn’t...say anything did I? Before I fell asleep?”

This question was quiet. His fingertips grazed over his lips as he asked it, nearly muffling the words he shyly asked you at the breakfast table, the morning after.

You are so fucking beautiful.

You are so fucking beautiful.

You lifted your coffee cup to drink the tepid liquid inside and dropped your eyes from his shaking ones. The answer to his question sat on the back of your tongue even after you swallowed away the liquid.

You swallowed again and it refused to budge and yet you sat in silence, unable to utter a single word in reply to his quiet question.

Your silence went on for too long and he looked up into your face. An instant smile lifted at the corner of your lips and you forced it up into your eyes.

“You just slept, Peanut. We—” you had to exhale the breath that you had been holding for too long in your lungs, “we just slept.”

 Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4 , Part 5

Tag list: @j-pping  @blahblahblah-boo  @his-mochi-cheeks  @amyeonzing@littleflowercrown13  @baekinmylife  @insta1010  @nana-banana  @f4ncyvelvet@bbhbeth  @totallynerdstuff  @byunbabybaek @maijinki @bbyunz@theclawofaraven

[nsfsprince]

Let Me Escape In Your Arms

-title from 'Be Together' by Major Lazer

-NSFS Fic! Minors DNI!-

Pairing: Anxceit (soft dom!Virgil, sub!Janus)

Word count: 2653

Fic warnings(Let me know if I missed anything!): Fae!Virgil, Human!Janus, Trans!Janus. Mixed terms used to describe Janus's genetalia(I.e. cunt and little cock, primarily), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, fingering, oral sex, p in v penetrative sex, orgasm denial, and uhh... Marathon sex?(sorta kinda? More like Virgil fucks Janus in a fairy circle for hours and Janus is completely on board w/ it)

Extra lore notes: This fic is actually using the concept from (This Fic Idea) I had a while ago, and while i have yet to write a full story fic for it, i ended up writing this smut fic first. Theres more info about them on that short idea blurb that i recommend you read first just so things make a little more sense? Both to understand their backstory and to understand why Janus is human but is described as having scales.

Niether are elaborated on as this is mostly just a p*rn no plot fic. like they get right into it from the first sentence, you've been warned. xD

~~~~~~~~~~

One of the first times they had ever gotten intimate before, Virgil had sat his perfect little human in his lap, back to his chest, and fingered Jan's cunt slowly till he came apart. He worked his fingers skillfully till Janus was coming over and over again, squirming and keening in overstimulation but never tapping out.

 Janus had immediately become sort of addicted to the feeling, being practically pulled apart at the seams with all the pleasure he could possibly take and more. Virgil seemed to adore taking his time in gently pulling Janus's mind apart with pleasure, piece by loving piece.

His deep raspy voice had cooed over how wet Janus was, how cute it was that his slick had soaked their laps and coated Virgil's fingers, how good Janus was doing by taking his fingers so well.

Janus had remained squirmy for days afterward, as even the memory of Virgil's fingers pressing deep into his cunt while keeping his legs spread wide got him hot and bothered.

Virgil was content to let him squirm; Eager, even, to whisper naughty things in Janus's ears to make him even more hot and bothered. Just to see how long it would take for Janus to break and finally ask for another night of pleasure.

Janus lasted a whole week before Virgil caught him trying to finger himself, wet and frustrated beyond belief that he couldn't quite reach the same spots Virgil had to drive himself wild. Feeling generous at seeing his love frustrated to tears, he ends up dragging Janus back into his lap and beginning the slow process of pulling Janus apart once more.

The tears of relief after Jan's first orgasm are utterly worth skipping over any real punishment for having been caught trying to orgasm without permission. Virgil figures instead that the next few slow-building and torturously drawn out orgasms that leave overstimulated tears in Janus's eyes is punishment enough.

~~~~~~~~~~

Not long after, they grew curious enough to explore penetrative sex.

It starts out as a makeout session that progressively gets hotter and hansier than normal, Virgil unable to help his subconscious need to hold and caress his scaled love. He has one hand gently pinning Jan's hips as he slots himself between Janus' legs, his other hand gently cradling his loves head as they trade heated kisses.

Janus's soft gasps turn into sharp whines and tiny moans as Virgil bears his weight down on the other, his shorter legs locking around the fae's hips instinctually as they slowly grind against one another. 

Virgil groans at the feeling, his pitch dropping so unnaturally deep that Janus feels it in his own chest. The kiss breaks only for Virgil to lick his way back into Janus's mouth, purring lowly with the way that Janus moans into the kiss.

He finally breaks the kiss to trail sharp kisses downward to cover his love's neck and shoulders with hickeys and bite marks, and his eyes go dark at the way Janus outright squirms and moans.

"Please, oh fuck, Virge, Vee, please? Need you, ah!-" with their mental link from Virgil's claim on Janus, Virgil understands roughly what Janus actually wants and is more than happy to give it to him. He's quick to lay the other back onto his cloak, tugging at his loves clothes with care as not to rip the fabric in his eagerness.

Once Janus is stripped bare from the chest down, Virgil doesn't hesitate to press his head between Janus's thighs to suck on Janus's clit. Immediately, Janus's eyes roll a bit at the feeling, moaning and squirming uselessly against the hands gripping his thighs to keep them open.

Virgil's eyes remain open yet lidded as he watches Janus's reactions, his wide pupils darkening his eyes even further at Janus's rambling pleas of "please," and "more!"

One hand's long lithe fingers reach down to stoke between Jan's folds, slicking them up before slowly pressing the first into the other's slick twitching cunt.

Janus moans at the feeling, his eyes skittering downward before whimpering loudly when he locks his gaze with the dark heated one of his supernatural lover staring right back at him as the fae continues to lap and suck at his little cock. 

It takes a few moments before Virgil starts pumping his finger in time with his mouth, leisurely stoking the others walls in an effort to make Janus slowly lose his mind to pleasure.

The second finger is more noticeable than the first, but Virgil is quick to distract with the hard relentless way that he sucks at Jan's cock. Jan's hips quiver and buck against Virgil's ceaseless onslaught, gasping and moaning as two fingers turn to three.

"Please, Virge, ah! Need you! Want you inside of me, please?" Janus begs, his legs falling open as his eyes roll at a particularly deep press from the three long fingers stretching open his cunt.

Virgil's eyes get impossibly darker with arousal, using his free hand to easily hold up Janus's hips as he changes angles a bit. Janus barely has time to be confused before Virgil's tongue starts prodding at his cunt where his fingers disappear into, hooking past the rim and tonguing his way inside, much to Jan's surprise. This wasn't exactly what he'd meant, but it feels heavenly all the same, especially with the immediate way that Virgil seems to enjoy it.

Virgil is practically darkeyed with bliss, getting direct feedback from how good he's making Janus feel and absolutely adoring using his mouth to please his lover. He can't even seem to help the way his eyes flutter closed, continuing to stretch and fuck open his love with his fingers so his tongue can fuck itself deeper at every pass and taste his love intimately. 

Janus is losing his mind, rapidly approaching his orgasm with the way that Virgil is touching him, gasping and moaning a warning. All Virgil does is remove his fingers, pressing his tongue deep to fill the space and using his slick fingers to stroke Janus's cock.

It doesn't take more than a few seconds more for Janus to come, gasping and whining at the way Virgil groans into his cunt. 

Infact, Virgil doesn't even seem to care to stop, licking and sucking on Janus's slick as he pleasures Janus through his orgasm and right into overstimulation. Janus trembles, eyes shut as he focuses on the hot overstimulated feeling of Virgil's tongue in his twitching cunt, keening at the way Virgil occasionally sucks on the rim of his entrance.

When his shaking hands finally listen to his frazzled mind, Jan manages to gently tug at Virgil's hair, panting at the way Virgil is easily working him up again. Virgil barely breaks away with a slightly petulant hum, making a slick noise as he stops long enough to listen, though he looks utterly blissed out to have Janus' slick dripping down his chin.

"Virge, Please, fuck. Made me feel so good, want you inside, want your cock, want you to fuck me with it, please?" Janus pants, trying to be a little clearer this time but not regretting the first misunderstanding even a little bit, especially since it seemed to be something Virge had been enjoying thoroughly.

Virgil growled lowly and sat up, licking his lips as his eyes flickered headily over the wrecked way his lover looked, absentmindedly pleased to be able to see just how skilled he had been at pleasuring his love.

His dark eyes gazed reverently at his beautiful human, his clean hand reaching up to cradle his love's scaled cheek to check in. Janus just nuzzled against Virgil's hand, a soft muttering of 'Green' further soothing Virgil's anxieties. 

Slowly he reached down to free himself of his pants, stroking his half hard cock to full attention with little trouble as he gazed down at his wrecked love, the blissful taste of slick still fresh on his tongue.

He watched as Janus's attention narrowed down to his large cock, whimpering flusteredly as Virgil reached out and stroked between Jan's folds to gather enough slick to lube up his cock. Once he was assured he was slick enough, he slotted himself back fully between Janus' legs, groaning as his cock prodded at Janus' cunt.

He reached out and pressed his love's knees to their chest, keeping a firm but gentle grip on Jan's thighs as he lined up and slowly pressed inside.

He kept his gaze firmly on Janus's expression, watching and feeling alertly for any discomfort from his love as he slowly and carefully sank to the hilt. Janus's eyes had fluttered shut, his jaw slack and eyebrows furrowed in an overwhelmed but not pained or uncomfortable manner.

Once fully resting inside, Virgil made to pause for Janus, giving the other time to adjust to his size and waiting for the okay to move.

For a long moment Janus stayed still and quiet, his eyes scrunching a bit before fluttering open slightly with a soft whine that fizzled into a moan. Virgil was almost worried until Jan started shifting his hips slightly, only to suddenly be clenching hard around the other's cock, apparently so worked up that he ended up orgasming just from finally having his lover's cock inside him.

"My sweet serpent, Do I really feel that good inside you, hm? I hadn't even started moving yet.~" Virgil teased softly, leaning down to nuzzle his love's cheek, cooing lovingly at the embarrassed expression.

He could feel his love try to clench around him in retaliation, only for Jan to moan when his cunt throbbed in overstimulation. He cooed again, reaching down to stroke his love's sensitive chest scales in a comforting motion, pressing reassuring kisses to the others' flushed face. 

When asking if he should continue, he received a flustered yes, and that was really all he needed to actually start fucking his human lover.

He was slow at first, easing himself in and out of his trembling love to really make sure he wouldn't hurt him. Given that Janus's cunt was already dripping with slick again, his cock had no trouble easing in and out of his love's entrance, every thrust feeling smoother than the last.

He'd been waiting for ages to feel this, the way Janus flutters around his cock, the deep hot and tight heat of someone yet to be claimed before. It made a deep part of Virgil's fae instincts flare happily, getting to claim Janus as his and only his, completely and utterly. No one else could have Janus if Virgil's instincts had any say in the matter. 

(They usually didn't, to be fair. Janus was still his own person and capable of making his own decisions, even if he was Virgil's by the rules of the fairfolk. Virgil would never trap Janus if he didn't want to be confined. So it was perhaps the best case-scenario that Janus was actually intent on being Virgil's and only Virgils.)

At this point Janus was gasping and moaning, hands threaded tightly into Virgil's cloak as the other picked up the pace a little. He couldn't help it, fucking Janus felt good. 

Janus was taking his cock with ease, even as Virgil changed his angle a bit and ended up constantly ramming over Janus' g-spot with every thrust which just made Janus moan even louder. It was heavenly, the way that his lover's tight cunt clenched around Virgil's cock at every pass, the way that he just barely fit all the way inside and the fact that that was driving Janus's mind crazy.

Still, Virgil had to be careful as he was trying not to overdo it, knowing he didn't exactly have a refractory period like Janus did. Through their connection he could feel Janus getting close again, and he had an idea.

"You may not cum yet, Janus." He purred lowly, reaching within his grasp of control over Janus, as Janus was his, and made a command the human's body would be forced to follow.

Janus keened, his mind naturally losing some coherency from his lover's command as it always does when being Told by Virgil, shaking as the pleasure instead just kept building, and building, and building.

He couldn't think about anything except the large cock repeatedly stretching him open and the fact that he wasn't physically capable of falling over the edge until Virgil told him he could. 

Virgil kept him that way for hours, blissed out on pure unparalelled pleasure as Virgil kept relentlessly fucking his cunt, the command keeping his mortal body indefinitely on the cusp of orgasm. 

(Janus had agreed to a session like this long before this scene anyway, knowing his answer to spending countless hours being absolutely railed by Virgil in a fairy circle was always going to be a yes. Virgil had just wanted his spoken affirmation first.)

At some point Janus was flipped onto his hands and knees, not that he stayed in that position for very long. His arms were quick to give out, leaving Virgil to hold up his hips and drape over his back to keep going. Not that Virgil minded, oh no, he was in bliss watching his love press his chest to the ground and hips up into his thrusts, fisting at the now ruined cloak they'd been fucking over in near-mindless pleasure.

Occasionally Virgil would slow into deep heady thrusts, pressing as deeply as he could to practically breed the back of his cunt to make Janus mewl, other times he would speed up his thrusts and thumb roughly at Jan's little cock till the poor thing was screaming with pleasure. 

One minute melded into the next, one hour feeling like three and three hours feeling like one. 

Not that Janus was even currently capable of being aware of time, oh no. Virgil's commanding hold over Janus created a heady mind fog like nothing else Jan's ever experienced, making him utterly pliant to Virgil's wishes and following commands. 

Better yet, Virgil makes one single more command soon after the first to really drive home the 'pleasured to incoherently' goal:

"When I cum inside you, Janus, it will feel like liquid pleasure. As long as my cum is inside of you, you will feel pure pleasure from it."

Combined with the relentless accumulative and constant pleasure of being on orgasms edge for literally hours on end, there's little to no room for any thought that's not centered around the hard cock pounding his cunt, the cum that fills him, and the deep warm voice praising him for taking it all so well. 

When hours have passed, and Virgil has completely sated his need to pleasure his love to incoherency, when he's filled Janus's cunt over and over with so much cum that his love's poor twitching cunt and thighs are dripping with it and pooling onto the floor under him, does Virgil finally, finally give the command to "Cum for me, Janus."

And he gets to watch Janus's eyes roll and his body jolt as his orgasm finally crashes down around him. It lasts at least a few minutes, Janus silently screaming with pleasure as his body rides out the hours long orgasm denial.

 Pulse after dizzying pulse disorients him, as if every orgasm he would have had had lined up to be individually processed(probably Virgil's magical doing, if he's being honest), one after the other with no end in sight for the longest time. 

His cunt milks Virgil's cock for all he's got left, pulling one last peak from Virgil that makes Janus jolt and finally break the silence with a strangled mewl.

More cum leaks from Janus's twitching cunt as Virgil finally pulls out, taking a long moment to gaze at the mess he's made of his thoroughly wrecked lover. 

Yes, they'd absolutely have to do this again sometime, and hopefully soon.

----

Bc u wanted to be tagged: @creative-lampd-liberties

[kakashiswilloffire]

Orange Sherbet

ao3 link

tw: suicide attempt, overdose, painkillers, mentions of self harm

words: 3.5k

He was a drain on Gai.

His students didn’t need him—they’d surpass him soon enough.

There were still villagers who called him Friend-Killer Kakashi.

He still saw faces every time he laid down to sleep.

He felt Rin’s blood splash onto his chest every time he used the Chidori.

He couldn’t help Itachi.

He couldn’t help anyone.

Sometimes he understood what must’ve gone through his father’s head.

Sometimes, the corner store doesn’t have orange sherbet.

Kakashi is suicidal and we hope Gai can help.

If there was orange sherbet at the convenience store on the way home, he’d stay alive. They always had pints of ice creams and other frozen treats—it was something he had promised to treat himself to when he felt this way. They had made him write down all these promises during his last few mental health sessions with various Yamanakas, listing three people he could talk to when he felt lonely, three distractions he could use to keep himself sane for a few minutes longer, three reasons to stay alive. When he felt like he couldn’t stand to live another day, he had to summon Pakkun, read Icha Icha, and eat something special and different. Pakkun was still recovering from their last rough battle together. He had read each volume of Icha Icha so many times they risked falling apart upon his next touch. So orange sherbet it was.

He’d never cared much for sweets, of course. But there was something nostalgic about orange sherbet, it wasn’t quite as punch-in-the-face sugary as ice cream, but still gave a slight buzz and coated his tongue. In the back of his mind, he remembered his father—or was it Minato?—buying a pint for each of them and snagging two disposable spoons so they could enjoy them as they walked back from the training grounds. Or was it three pints with Rin and Obito after difficult missions? Something Gai or Tenzou insisted on buying for his birthday one year? Everything blurred in his mind, unable to clearly break each memory apart to see it again.

He pushed open the door, hearing the dull chime of bells as it swung forward to let him into the packed corner shop. He made his way to the freezer without taking in any of the other colors, sights, or smells around him. He remembered his goal. One pint of orange sherbet. Buy one, eat it, and try life again tomorrow.

The freezer door was coated in a light fog, but he was in no hurry to see through it. It was just him and the shopkeep cashing out an older civilian woman. He skimmed his eyes across the rows, looking for the familiar orange carton.

Where was it?

He tried again, looking more carefully at each row, all the way across, then moving down to the next systematically. His heart rate jumped roughly 15 more beats per minute.

They always have it.

He opened the door, searching furiously with his eyes now that there was no frost in his way. He knelt to the ground, checking the bottom rows thoroughly.

It has to be here.

He glanced at the shopkeep, bagging the woman’s groceries as she talked animatedly about something he didn’t care enough to make out. He slid his headband up a couple of inches, barely exposing the crimson eye hidden beneath. With as much chakra as he dared use given his current state, he searched the frozen rack again.

Every flavor of ice cream he could think of, and a least a dozen more he would never consider. And toward the bottom, there was lime, lemon, and raspberry,

No orange sherbet.

He wasn’t sure how long he remained squatted down with the freezer door open, focused on the empty slot where it should be. The shopkeep, now with no other customers, cleared his throat loudly and gestured for Kakashi to shut the door. He blinked twice, then rose, hearing the door seal as he returned to his feet.

“Anything I can help you with?”

Kakashi blinked, again. There was all this noise roaring in his head, and he felt flushed. After a beat too long, he understood what had been asked and shook his head.

“No, ah… Thank you.”

He nodded and quickly ducked out of the store.

That was it. He had to write down three reasons. Reason one was currently out of commission because of him. Reason two had been violently abused so that he had something to do with his hands when he was so full of fire and anxiety that if he wasn’t holding something he’d— well, whatever came easiest or first. Digging his nails into his arms, forming tiny red divots. Scratching until the skin was raw and angry. Slamming fists into his thighs. Step one was always untying his kunai pouch and letting it fall. He’d learned that early on.

Reason number three to stay alive, and the agreement he’d made with himself today, was the convenience of dropping by the store for a small treat. Without that, he wasn’t sure how to proceed.

Walking back to his apartment, he thought about the previous weeks. Those promises had all begun the same way, but ended in a different direction. The format was simple: if blank, then I won’t kill myself today. He used to use a similar format: I can’t kill myself until blank. The problem with that was dreaming far enough ahead to find a goal worth the pain, effort, and time, and also, what to do when the goal was met. You can’t kill yourself until you make chunin. You can’t kill yourself until you complete an A rank mission. You can’t kill yourself until you make jonin. You can’t kill yourself until… what? Until I come back from a mission with no casualties? Until I can become close to someone without them dying in front of me? It spiraled too quickly to come back from.

The simpler way to go about it was short-term goals. Can’t kill yourself till after dinner. Then you’ve gotta brush your teeth. Then read a chapter of a book, or two. Then you’re tired, and you can sleep until the alarm wakes you far earlier than the sun would, and you live until you feel like you can’t again. But even that had its downfalls—if you can’t be bothered to brush your teeth tonight, you’ve gotta find something to keep going.

It had been Gai who suggested rephrasing the prompt to its latest version. On a day I challenge you, Rival, you can’t end the passion of youth! The challenges had been almost daily for a couple of months after that, until Gai had left for an extended mission and Kakashi had been thoroughly encouraged to stay a similar amount of time in the Yamanaka’s care. He’d begrudgingly admitted later that both of those developments had helped, and it had been a few years since his last bout with depression like this.

But it had been like this for a few months now, and the clouds fuzzing over his mind didn’t seem to be letting up. So he revisited some old advice. If it doesn’t rain on the way home, he’d stay alive. The sky remained cloudless. If Naruto pulled something stupid during training, he’d stay alive. It only took fifteen minutes before Sakura started yelling at him. If there was orange sherbet in the corner store—But there wasn’t.

Somehow, he made it inside his apartment, not quite recalling the rest of the walk through the dull ache behind his eyes. He slipped his unzipped vest off his shoulders, not noticing it hit the floor. Routine dictated that next was the kunai pouch, then the bandages, then—

He was sitting on the floor and wasn’t sure how he got there. Sitting was a generous term, he supposed, as his legs were fully outstretched and he was propped on one forearm with his head against the wall. His eyes slowly screwed tight as the dull ache sharpened briefly, then the static between his ears picked up in volume. He shook his head, trying to clear it, and gradually got back to his feet, stumbling into the living room.

He slumped across the couch, staring at the ceiling. He remembered the routine, drilling itself into his head. His vest was off, he needed to remove the kunai pouch, then the bandages, then the shoes, and put all of that away before removing the rest of his clothing to take a shower. After that was dinner, then two hours of free time to fill with whatever he was capable of, then bed. Lately the free time had been compromised of staring at the pile of clean laundry on the chair opposite him that had needed to be put away since Wednesday. He knew the routine. He decided to get a jump start on free time anyway.

He began counting all of the socks he could see sticking out of the collection of clothes. Organization and listing had always helped situate his mind and get him back on track. After ten or so minutes, he was finally able to unstrap the kunai pouch, tossing it across the room, taking care to not pay attention where it landed. There had been a week where Kakashi didn’t even carry the bag because Gai had taken it and every sharp object he could find in the apartment under the pretense of helping him hone his taijutsu by not relying on weapons. He had been content to let Gai keep the explanation at that. That might be something to revisit soon.

No. Gai had already done more than enough for him.

Kakashi found himself standing in his small bathroom. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed since he’d been in the living room, but he was now free of his bandages and shoes. He shrugged, reaching behind his head to untie his headband. Somehow, it had gotten knotted worse than usual and a section of his hair was caught in it. He yanked viciously at it, breathing in through gritted teeth at the sting then feeling himself relax ever so slightly. Forgoing undoing the knot, he slid it along the trapped segment of hair until the headband came free. That made it on to the counter. That never saw the floor, unlike every other part of his wardrobe had

.Next to the headband on the counter was a scattered collection of varying sizes of orange plastic bottles with thick white caps. The clinical labels all had his name, and the names of various antidepressants and antianxiety medications, as well as several painkillers and muscle relaxants and some antibiotic from the mission a couple years back where everyone returned miserably ill. Most of the bottles were empty, and he had held on to them meaning to get them refilled. He always had good intentions, but there was so many things to do in a day, and he ran out of energy usually three or four items into his list.

The one thing he could always count of having around, though, was some kind of pain relief.

Missions were hard, somehow harder now than ever with him as a jonin leader. He still had teammates, but they relied fully on him to take the brunt of every attack and to protect them at all costs. He couldn’t blame them, of course. They were children. He wanted nothing more than for them to be children and not suffer the same losses he had.

Still, he was sure to return from every mission above a D rank with at least a few nasty bruises. And any time Gai could rope him into a training session, he knew he’d come home needing ice packs and the heating pad and whatever else he could get to be able to train with his team the next morning.

And that was how he found himself glaring into the mirror, the bottle of white tablets shaking in his fist.

He was certainly in pain, that couldn’t be argued.

But how many to take?

No orange sherbet.

He shook his head vigorously again, walking back into the living room and falling onto the couch. He focused on a mark on the ceiling, breathing faster than he understood why while his vision started swimming.

There wasn’t orange sherbet.

He was a drain on Gai.

His students didn’t need him—they’d surpass him soon enough.

There were still villagers who called him Friend-Killer Kakashi,

He still saw faces every time he laid down to sleep.

He felt Rin’s blood splash onto his chest every time he used the Chidori,

Sometimes he understood what must’ve gone through his father’s head.

He couldn’t help Itachi

He couldn’t help anyone,

Sometimes, the corner store doesn’t have orange sherbet.

Sometimes, the little orange bottle that rattles doesn’t rattle any more.

He was in the kitchen, water dripping off his face and hands as he panted over the sink. How did he get here? He swallowed hard, his mouth somehow still dry, and turned the water off. The prescription bottle was laying on the floor. Then so was he. Against the cold tile, he was able to relax just a bit again.

It’d be over soon. He wouldn’t hurt anyone else ever again.

His thoughts became harder to string along, but that didn’t bother him. The thoughts he could connect didn’t sting as much as they usually did. It might be nice to put away that laundry, actually.

Every muscle was heavy. There was so much weight on him, and he couldn’t move. How much time had passed? He thought his heart was starting to race, and wondered if he was having second thoughts. But he couldn’t feel the ground beneath him any longer. He struggled for hours, days, to move his index finger to trace the hem of his shirt over and over. Could he feel it? Was he moving?

He rolled to his side, slowly bringing his knees up to prepare to stand. But his body didn’t move. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed. He couldn’t? His… It was his body. But? Was he? Could move? …Him?

Several centuries had passed before he heard the key in the door, and the door had already been sealed shut before he understood what the noise was.

“Ka-KASHI! In celebration of your return home from your latest mission, I made sure to grab a treat. Do you remember when you left the ANBU and we went to the corner store together? What a celebration to end all celebrations that day was! I was sure to grab the finest, most youthful of every snack—orange sherbet!”

***

Gai held the thin plastic bag up triumphantly, two pints rolling against each other. Normally he would have also grabbed spoons, but assuming Kakashi would be home, he was sure he could find two spoons somewhere in the apartment, even if he had to wash every dish himself.

It hadn’t gone unnoticed to him that Kakashi was on a downswing lately, but he’d always been the counter to balance his own exuberance, and he had complete confidence that they would move past this, too.

He nudged the flak vest that was crumpled on the ground at his feet. Kakashi must’ve been itching to take it off to have removed it the second he got inside. But why wouldn’t he have hung it up, or placed it at least near the hamper? This wasn’t part of the routine. Had he been badly injured on this last mission?

That must be it. He would have come home, shed his clothing, and jumped in the shower to clean his wounds and begin loosening his muscles. Much to Gai’s dismay, Kakashi seemed to be magnetically repelled from hospitals, preferring to treat his wounds himself as long as he could walk. So he must have some sort of torso injury, maybe bruised ribs or a minor stab wound, and he was surely tending to it quietly deeper inside the apartment.

The laundry he had helped Kakashi wash last week was still in the soft, cushioned chair in the dim living room. That wasn’t too surprising, he knew that was the first thing Kakashi would let fall by the wayside if something wasn’t going to get done. As long as the clothes were clean, he could wear them, even if they hadn’t been neatly hung, and that was something Gai could live with.

What he did not appreciate the sight of, however, was the kunai pouch halfway under the end table near the entry way. With such an inconvenient location, Kakashi surely must have made an effort to lose the bag and the knives it contained. He felt his heart swell with pride that Kakashi had the forethought to disregard the bag, but his heart deflated just as quickly with the knowledge that Kakashi felt it necessary to do so.

As he continued into the apartment, he called out his rival’s name once or twice. He must be home. The barrier seals hadn’t been placed over the front door, which means he either was here, or kidnapped from here, and the building still existed, so he must not have been kidnapped. So where was he?

Conscious of the rapidly melting sherbet in his hand, he turned down the hallway to the kitchen to leave the bad in the freezer while he helped Kakashi, presumably in the bedroom, bandage his wounds.

As he rounded the corner, flipping on the lights as he went, he heard a small groan. Nothing at eye level. Cautiously stepping forward, his foot sent a small orange plastic bottle skittering across the tiles.

Gai was barely aware of the sherbet hitting the ground.

Kakashi looked terrible. It was not particularly strange to find him lying on the ground, but there was absolutely no color in his face. Both of his eyes were lazily opened, and neither focused on Gai’s as he kneeled down to check his vitals. His breathing was shallow and his heart rate garbage.

“What did you DO?”

Gai yanked Kakashi up into a sitting position, grabbing for the prescription bottle. Depending on what it said, maybe this wasn’t as bad as it seemed. Maybe he’d been poisoned. Maybe even food poisoning. But the signs of an opiate overdose matched the label printed in cruelly clinical terms and he crushed the plastic in his fist. Kakashi needed to get to a hospital, and he needed to get there immediately.

He gathered his rival in his arms, not noticing his weight nearly as much as he noticed how limp he was, making no effort to not be ragdolled around. As he stood up, he took stock again of Kakashi’s breathing—shallower than a moment ago. After a second’s hesitation, he reached for the edge of his mask and yanked it down under his chin, hoping the direct access of air to his lips and nose might help. His lips had some color in them still, and he looked away, trying to respect the privacy of the man who he would kill as soon as he was saved.

***

Some time in the next twenty-four hours, Kakashi’s eyes opened. When they did, blinded by the light and surrounded by medical whites, he was shocked to find himself actually in heaven. What brought him back to earth was Gai, unceremoniously slapping his shoulder.

“What, my dear, dear rival, were you thinking?” he said, thankfully not as loudly as he could have.

Kakashi was at a loss. There were dozens, hundreds of thoughts racing through his head, but they all seemed password-protected and he didn’t have administrative access. He could barely open his mouth, covered by a thin towel, let alone form an explanation that would have made any sense to Gai.

Instead, he surprised himself by feeling the towel suddenly go cold and cling to his skin.

Gai panicked for a moment at the sight of Kakashi’s tears, then took a deep breath and slid forward to the edge of his chair. He brushed a warm, calloused thumb across his rival’s face.

“I know you’re in pain. I do. I don’t understand it, but I believe that you’re in pain and we’re going to help you get better.” He took a shuddering breath, noting that it was thicker with emotion than he had anticipated. “I don’t know what the future is going to hold for us, but the passion of our youth, and especially of your youth, Kakashi, is not close to over. So, whatever it takes, whatever the Yamanakas advise and whatever you need, we’ll make it happen. I love you, and you’re not going anywhere.”

Kakashi’s eyes widened, and Gai became aware that he had opened his Sharingan at some point to record this moment in his memory. He swallowed, feeling his throat begin to ache.

“I love you.”

Kakashi’s tears began falling in a steady stream, and Gai remained exactly where he was, brushing soft, silver hair off of his rival’s forehead. After a moment, he leaned further forward and pressed his forehead against the space he had just cleared.

In a small, scratchy voice he had not heard from the man laying before him ever in the past, he heard a whisper that nearly broke his heart.

“I love you too.”

[eyayah-oya]

To Hold You Close Again

Clone Ship Week | Day 5 | Reunion | @cloneshipweek

Fives/Echo

Rating: G

Warnings: none

Ao3 link

           Fives wasn’t sure what to think when Healer Knight Eerin (as she demanded she be called instead of General since he refused to call her Bant) told him that he was needed in the hangar by mid-morning. When he’d asked about it, Knight Eerin just shrugged her shoulders and blinked her big, luminous eyes at him.

           “It’s the will of the Force,” she’d said, much to Fives’s annoyance.

           “Karking Force osik,” he grumbled as he made his way through the mess and clutter of the hangar.  Far too many ships needed repairs after the toll the war had taken on the Temple’s fleet.  He swore extra loud when he stubbed his toe on a stray metal part, only stuttering to a halt when he noticed the youngling (Initiate??  Small child.) standing nearby, staring at him with wide eyes. He apologized and shuffled awkwardly over to the landing pad.  Maybe this was where he was supposed to go?

           Fives was still on light duty, otherwise he would gladly be out there helping his brothers clean up after the war.  But he’d taken a blaster bolt to his chest and actually died on the warehouse floor before General Skywalker had done something with the Force and restarted his heart.  He’d been taken to the Halls of Healing and placed in a healing trance for two weeks in the same room as Tup.  But Tup had been discharged two days ago, free from the fear of the Kaminoans trying to dissect him, leaving Fives alone in his recuperation.  Fives had only been released from constant bed-rest last week, and he was not going to push his luck with the Jedi Healers by pushing himself past his limits.

           Still, Fives had absolutely no idea why Knight Eerin had decided to send him on a wild-wampa chase in the hangar of all places.  Maybe some brothers wanted to talk to him?  Or a group of padawans or younglings?  Or maybe he needed to brief a commander from the far fronts of the war on the chips and help them implement a schedule to remove all of them from his troopers’ heads.

           A ship swooped down dangerously and landed on the pad it was directed to.  If Fives wasn’t absolutely positive that General Skywalker wasn’t off playing house with Senator Amidala all day, he’d say that the ship was some hunk of junk the General had found and decided to fly to the Temple.  When a team of Healers practically flew past him towards the incoming ship, only then did Fives wander over to observe.  He was curious who had returned and what kind of injuries would require the presence of half the Temple’s Healers.

           Knight Eerin waved at him as she readied a stretcher. Her smile was tight with worry, but no less genuine towards Fives.  She was nice like that.  (And she told the best stories about Generals Kenobi, Vos, Unduli, Fisto, and a few other Jedi.)

           Making sure to stay out of the way, Fives leaned against the wall as the ramp lowered.  Rex, Jesse, and another vod Fives didn’t know (at least, he assumed they were vod’e since they wore clone armor) rushed out with Commander Cody laid out on a stretcher between them.  Rex talked quietly with Master Che, likely explaining what injured Cody to the point that he’d need to stay in the Jedi Temple to heal.

           Fives pushed off from the wall and walked towards the group, ready to ask how he could help.  He was nearly to Rex, when Kix started walking down the ramp, his arm around a vod who had three missing limbs and far too much metal attached to their body. Fives froze mid-stride, eyes wide and unbelieving as he stared at the vod.

           It had been nearly a year since he’d last seen Echo, but he knew his riduur’s body better than his own.  The old scar slashed across their ribs was from Kamino when Cutup fell off his pod and took Echo down with him.  The blaster wound on their hip bone was from their first mission with the 501st on Felucia.  More than the scars, however, Fives recognized Echo’s eyes, a warm brown that always seemed to be glinting with joy or love or mischief.

           “Echo?”

           The name tore from Fives’s lips like a prayer to the Force. It was barely loud enough for Fives to hear, let alone anyone else in the loud hangar, but something must have alerted the vod, because their head jerked up to look directly at Fives.

           “Wha—Echo!  What are you—oh,” Kix stuttered when Echo pushed away from him to hobble down the ramp towards Fives.

           Oh Ka’ra, it really was them.  Fives stumbled forward until he stood at the bottom of the ramp, staring as his riduur stumbled awkwardly towards him.  As desperately as Fives wanted to tackle Echo in a hug right there, the pale skin, sunken stomach, prostheses, and other bits of metal stopped him.  Instead, he waited for Echo to come to him.

           “Fives!” Echo sobbed and threw themself at Fives, who gladly caught them and pulled them close.

Every thought and worry about Echo’s condition flew out of Fives’s mind and was replaced by the euphoria of being able to actually hold them in his arms again. He’d never expected to see his riduur, his sweet cyare, again in this life, but they were alive!  Echo was alive!

           “Echo!” Fives sobbed, pressing his face tight against his riduur’s shoulder.  “I thought you were gone!  I thought you died!  How are you here?”

           Echo only gave a shuddering cry against Fives’s shoulder. Their legs crumpled beneath them, and Fives carefully lowered them to the floor, terrified that he’d somehow hurt his riduur more by moving too fast or gripping too hard.  It was only once he was seated on the cold hangar floor with Echo in his lap, did Five realize that he was crying too.

           “Echo—Echo—Echo—Echo!” He chanted his cyare’s name, unable to fully express everything he was feeling.  Fives was horrified to realize that he’d left his riduur—his living riduur—on Lola Sayu to the mercy of the Separatists. They’d been captured, Fives had no doubt, and forced to endure unimaginable horrors.  And he hadn’t even thought to look for Echo.  He just assumed they were dead.  But Echo was alive!  Fives actually got to hold his riduur in his arms again, could feel the way their chest expanded with every breath and the beat of their heart.  Echo was alive and Fives didn’t have to live without them again.

           He was thoroughly content enough to just sit on the floor of the hangar and never let Echo go, but Echo had different plans.  They pulled back just enough to slot their lips together in a wet, desperate kiss.  Their tears mingled, and Fives could taste the salt with every shift of his lips against theirs.  His nose was running—it always did when he cried—and Echo’s metal implants were digging into some very uncomfortable bits, which was sure to leave some interesting bruises.  Echo’s skin was cold to the touch, and he could feel every bone in their body instead of the gorgeous expanse of muscle they used to have.  Fives was struggling to breath steadily, still not entirely healed from his run-in with the Coruscant Guard and he kept having to break away to breathe deeply.

           He wouldn’t change a single thing about it.

           It was the perfect kiss.  It said “hello” and “I missed you” and “I love you, never leave me again”.  Every desperate press of their lips and hitched sob told tales of heartache and aching loneliness they’d both suffered while apart.  Every caress and tight squeeze spoke volumes of how they needed each other, how happy they were to see each other again.

           Eventually, the kisses shifted from open-mouthed, desperation to soft brushes of their lips.  Fives held Echo close, their foreheads pressing together and their noses brushing with ever minute shift of their bodies.

           “I’m so sorry,” Fives whispered.  “I should have gone back for you.  I should have looked for you.”

           Echo shook their head.  “No, it’s not your fault.  You couldn’t have known I was still alive.  I didn’t even think I was still alive when they took me.  You are not allowed to blame yourself for what happened to me, just like I can’t blame myself for not being there to protect you.”

           Fives laughed quietly and desperately, though there wasn’t anything funny about what Echo said.  The pure relief, the horrors of the last year of the war, his own close brush with death all bubbled out of him in the only way it could since he’d already sobbed most of his tears onto Echo’s shoulder.  It took far too long for him to compose himself, helped by Echo’s soothing promises and words of comfort.  They carded their fingers through his hair while their other limb pulled Fives closer. The laughter turned to hitching dry sobs, and then tiny whimpers.

           With a sniff, Fives drew back and looked Echo in the eye, holding their hand and prosthetic gently.

           “I love you,” Fives said with the same kind of unshakeable certainty he’d had the very first time he’d admitted his feelings for Echo. “I love you so much, Eyayah.  Don’t leave me ever again.  You’re not allowed to leave me ever again.”

           Echo chuckled wetly and leaned against Fives’s shoulder again.  They looked exhausted and pained.  They also looked content for the first time since they’d been pulled out of the cryogenic chamber.  Echo pressed a kiss to Fives’s collarbone and vowed, “I’m not planning on it. Darasuum.”

           “Darasuum,” Fives echoed.

           A throat cleared, and Fives jerked his head up to see Rex standing in front of them, smiling fondly down at the two (Two! Not one!) Dominos.  “We need to take Echo to the Halls of Healing, and Knight Eerin says you need to get back to your bed, too.  Master Che also wanted me to inform you that Echo will be put in your room, since you “won’t realize he has karking limits now and will injure himself by being an idiot and trying to sneak into the other one’s room”.  That’s a direct quote, if you’re wondering.”

           Fives laughed.  “Sounds about right,” he readily admitted.  Rex and Kix helped Fives and Echo climb to their feet and walk over to a hoverchair that would take Echo to the Halls of Healing.  Fives refused to let go of his riduur’s hand for one second (which might have made things a little more difficult for Kix since Echo only had one hand ((What the hell happened to Echo?)) and half an arm).

           Before Kix could start herding them off to get checked over, Rex pulled both Fives and Echo into a soft keldabe each.  “I’m really happy for you both,” he murmured, clapped them both on their shoulders, and then went back to talk to those strange vod’e.

           Master Che and Knight Eerin figured that Echo would need several surgeries to remove all the apparatuses in their body, as well as new prostheses.  It would be a long recovery, but Fives didn’t mind in the slightest.  He would support Echo in every way he could, through rough physical therapy, countless surgeries, and awful PTSD.  He would gladly help them with it all with a simple joy that Echo was alive.

           Over the coming months, the Separatists officially surrendered and the treaties all signed, the clones were given their rights, and they now had a planet they could colonize themselves.  As amazing as each of those things were, none of them filled Fives with the exquisite joy of being able to hold his riduur again. They’d get to live a happy life together and that was all that truly mattered.

[watermelonlipstick]

Dreams, Chapter 16

If you haven’t read this series before, you might want to start on Chapter 1, or check out the Dreams Masterlist! Here’s the series description:

When Dean dies for good leaving Sam and his girlfriend (the reader) behind, they must figure out how to carry on without him. Alone, reeling, and unsure what to do next, trying to honor Dean’s memory and follow their hearts gets even more complicated when their nightmares become dreams that feel a little too real.

Title: Dreams, Chapter 16

Pairing: (past) Dean Winchester x Reader, (eventual) Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 1754

Summary: Some of Sam’s efforts to ‘nest’ in their new life together reveal new possibilities.

Warnings: angst, FLUFF, swearing, s l o w  b u r n

           Water laps at the weather-beaten wood of the dock underneath you slowly and the rhythm feels like hypnosis with the sun beating down a blanket. You sense Dean at your side without opening your eyes.

           “So…was he any good?”

           You can’t help but laugh, hearing the echo go out over the small lake, and get up to your elbows. It’s bright enough that you have to squint over at Dean where he lays next to a couple fishing poles and a cooler, t shirt hitched up to show a sliver of his stomach with his arms behind his head. His smile is devilish, made even more smug with eyes closed against the sun so his lashes cast an inch-long shadow on the dusting of freckles across his cheeks. “You can’t ask that!” you giggle.

           His lips flatten into a knowing line. “So that’s a no?”

           “Jesus Christ, of course it’s not a n—you know what, I’m not talking to you about this,” you smile, laying back down.

           “Ooh, so it’s a yes,” he teases as he turns on his side to face you. “Go Sammy. That mean you two are, like, going steady now?”

           You let your head loll over to him and roll your eyes. “Are you done?”

           “Not yet. Is he going to let you wear his letterman jacket? Take you to junior prom?”

           “I’m giving you ten more seconds.”

           Dean laughs, free and easy. “Fine, okay, I’m done. Wait—did he wrap it?”

           “DEAN!” you yell, covering your face in embarrassment.

           “Okay, alright, okay.” He’s still chuckling when you open your eyes to look over at him and reaches over to slip a piece of hair behind your ear. “You, ah, you seem happy.”

           You search his eyes for any hidden anger and find only the softness of calm affection with a pinch of solemnity. Where his hand lingers in your hair you turn into it, pressing your lips to Dean’s palm. “I am.”

           Dean smiles, straight teeth a perfect row of pearls so white you think for a second they might ‘ding’ with sparkle like a cartoon, and he looks relaxed enough as he puts his hands back behind his head that it calls up images of a kitten falling asleep in a sunny spot like this even as he keeps his eyes on you. “Took you guys long enough.”

           “And you’re still okay with this?”

           “Yeah, hell yeah. That’s the best I could ever ask for, you two happy. So, what do you say? Want to see if we can catch some fish?”

           Spring was a blessing; clean greenness breaking through the grey and white purifying the air and breathing new life into you, Sam, and the community you’d come to be a part of. The cabin was that much nicer with the new hours of sunlight pouring through the windows and all the upgrades you had put into it, to the point that you began to feel truly comfortable there. You even invited the Kaisers over for dinner a few times, feeling more like equal partners in your burgeoning friendship with them.

           You started to feel stable enough to get things; picked up a bookshelf at the combination flea/farmer’s market that happened in the K-12 school’s field every Saturday morning and got higher quality spatulas to cook with, the kinds of nonessential stuff you never would’ve bought before knowing you were going to stay in one place long enough to get good use out of them. Sam, in turn, kept building: changing the locks to sturdier ones and erecting a shed big enough to hold a lawn mower.

           You’d been cooking on an early Sunday afternoon when Sam came home and crossed the cabin in a few strides, giving you a kiss on the cheek before setting a thick paper bag down on the kitchen counter. “Smells great, what’re you making?”

           “Ratatouille!” you buzzed, placing a slice of eggplant carefully into its slot. “I’ve never had it, but I’ve always thought it looks so pretty. Hopefully it’s good. Where were you?”

           “Hardware store. I thought maybe I could build a greenhouse; see if we could grow anything. Might be enough to work against the cold.”

           You raised your eyebrows in appreciative surprise. “Look at you! What’re you thinking? Poppies? Platinum OG? Purple Haze?”

           Setting a box of screws down, Sam rolled his eyes through a smile. “My plan was more along the lines of tomatoes or something, but I’ll, uh, take those suggestions under advisement.” You had a sudden urge to twist a gentle finger into the dimple that stayed on his cheek as he unloaded the rest of his supplies but didn’t want to embarrass him, instead sweeping some garlic skins into your hand to throw into the small bucket Sam kept under the sink to collect scraps for the compost pile. When the bag was empty he refolded it and took off his jacket, passing by you to put it on its hook by the door. “Want any help?” he asked, sounding about as breezy as you’d ever heard him.

           “It just has to bake for about an hour. Does a late lunch work with your construction schedule?”

           Sam leaned over to slip a hand around your waist and kissed the top of your head before grabbing an armful of stuff to take outside. “Definitely. Just yell when you’re ready for me.”

           You giggled and waggled your eyebrows suggestively. “I’m always ready for you.”

           He tried his best not to blush but bit his lip in spite of himself, looking up at you with a bashful twinkle in his eye. “I walked into that one, didn’t I?”

           In response you held up a spare slice of zucchini that Sam readily accepted, opening his mouth like an obedient puppy and chewing as he went out the back door.

           You loved watching Sam work on his greenhouse in the weeks that followed, getting so excited about the tiny shoots sprouting up from the soil that he sometimes woke up early to check on them before starting his day. After a few weeks he woke you up one morning with a cup of coffee, bare-chested under slightly sleep-tangled hair and the hems of his flannel pants sloppily half inside his boots. “I wanna show you something,” he said, throat still gravelly. You accepted the mug and got out of bed, following him drowsily and jamming your feet inside your shoes at the door, too tired to worry about the laces.

           He led you into the greenhouse with its clear plastic walls and pointed down at a petite bud on top of a green stalk. It had the telltale waviness of a basil leaf, and when you bent down to look closer at it the plant already smelled herbaceous. “It’s so cute!” you hummed. Sam practically glowed with satisfaction, an unbridled smile the perfect accessory to the broad span of his chest where it was backlit by the fuzzy light through the greenhouse walls. You straightened and rubbed his back in congratulations, staring down at the plant together with your coffees like parents on Christmas morning. Tucked in the corner of the greenhouse behind the basil, a scattering of bitty white flowers caught your eye against the burnt umber soil.

           “Wait, you already have stuff flowering in here? What’s that?” you asked, tiptoeing around the wooden stakes in the soil to get closer.

           “Oh—I, uh—” he stammered behind you.

           At arm’s length the flowers looked vaguely familiar and you stopped short. “Is that—?” You turned back to Sam, who seemed not to be able to come up with anything to say, his face the kind of blank surprise that indicated he didn’t know whether you were about to be upset. “Really? Where’d you even…how did you get some?”

           He tucked his hair behind his ears to stall for even a half second. “I—well, I found a guy who got me—got us—some.”

           “You still have an African dream root hookup?”

           Sam’s lips pressed into a well-practiced silent ‘I guess?’ and he reached back to ruffle the hair at the nape of his neck, the movement stretching his side distractingly enough that if you hadn’t been so startled by the discovery of a plot of dream root literally in your own backyard you might’ve forgotten what you were talking about altogether.

           You raised your eyebrows expectantly, waiting for him to explain.

           “I made some calls, found someone in Milwaukee who got his hands on some and he mailed it here. I didn’t want to, uh, tell you in case I couldn’t get it to grow.”

           All kinds of possibilities and frustrations raced through your head. “So you’ve had this for weeks? That’s why you built the greenhouse?” Sam didn’t answer fast enough. “Never mind, I don’t care,” you found yourself saying, and surprisingly, actually meaning. You took a deep breath to stop the words from jumbling together. “Do you think it’ll work?” you breathed, knowing he would understand the real question: would we be able to see Dean together?

           “Only one way to find out.”

           For whatever reason you’d gotten freshly showered, made up, and dressed before brewing the tea with Sam on your next day off of work. It felt like there should be some level of pomp and circumstance about it, this giant undertaking that might be able to change your whole life again, even knowing that your prep wouldn’t translate into a dream. You were giddy with anxiety and almost wished you could reasonably put it off, the idea of this new possibility being yet another dead end making you nauseous.

           “Your place or mine?” you asked, trying to put a little sheen of humor on your nerves.

           Sam chuckled but you could tell he was nervous too, rubbing his palms dry on the knees of his jeans over and over again. “You haven’t done it before, right?”

           You shook your head. “Is there a learning curve or something?”

           “Honestly it’s been long enough that I don’t really remember. Hold on—hold still.” He reached out and very gingerly swept a finger across your cheekbone, drawing back to show you an eyelash stuck to the whorl of its pad.

           You straightened where you sat on the edge of the bed. “That’s as good a sign as any. Cheers, I guess.” Sam dropped the tiny hair into his mug and touched the ceramic to yours, his eyes hopeful and reassuring as you took tandem sips.

           And then you were off.

-

Continue to Dreams, Chapter 17

Thanks again for reading! If you liked it, check out my Masterlist or send me a request!

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[kissinginkitchens]

You Bring Me Home—Chapter Seven: How Sweet It Is

a/n: Welcome back friends! Thank you again for tuning in for another chapter of YBMH. It has been so much fun to talk to you lovelies and hear your thoughts, so keep them coming! I have to give a very special thank you to the wonderful @duckyficrecs​ for all of the love and amazing commentary so far, I really appreciate you!! Happy reading! Much love, Mel <3

Pairing: Hawai’i!Harry x Original Character

Warnings: unrealistic standards of men (sorry) 

Word Count: 6.8k

catch up on parts one, two, three, four, five, and six

Alani’s eyes peel open and she squints at the clock on the bedside table that reads 8:53 a.m. The sun creeps in gently behind the thin curtains, casting the room in a soft, warm glow that pales in comparison to the light inside her chest. As she inhales deeply, the arm strapped across her midsection rises, but it doesn’t budge. Alani turns over carefully to face Harry still sound asleep with a light snore escaping from his parted lips. She fondly observes every detail of his serene features, from the tiny freckles atop his cheekbones to the curl of his eyelashes. As her finger glides along the slope of his nose and the indentation of his cupid’s bow, Harry stirs lightly and his arm tightens around her waist with a contented sigh. Alani drapes her leg over his hip and presses a feathery kiss to the middle of his brow that causes the edges of his sleepy mouth to twitch. 

“Good morning, sunshine,” she coos and Harry’s eyes flutter open slowly. 

“Mornin’ beautiful,” he replies with a deep rasp in his voice. 

She massages his scalp gently and he hums, planting a sweet kiss to the spot just over her heart. 

“Y’hungry?” Harry murmurs against her skin. 

Alani’s stomach growls in response and they both giggle. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,”

“Need a shower first,” she decides, sitting up. 

Harry groans at the loss of contact, but he manages to secure a hand around her wrist. “Ten more minutes,”

“Nice try,”

“Five?”

Alani grins before burrowing under the covers again with her cheek fit snugly against Harry’s chest. His knuckles skim over her arm as he fights the drowsiness weighing on his eyelids. 

“Did y’dream anything?” he mumbles. 

“I did,” she admits apprehensively. “But I don’t know if you’re gonna like it,”

“Why not?”

“Well, I sorta dreamt that I was married to James Marsden—the guy from The Notebook,”

Harry laughs gently. “Lucky bastard,”

“What about you?” Alani deflects, peering up at him with curious eyes. “Any dreams?”

“Not really. But I did wake up a few times in the middle of the night ‘cos you were hogging all the blankets,”

“I get cold!”

“Uh-huh.”

Alani presses her chilly toes against Harry’s shins and he grimaces, peeling himself out of the bed to escape her icy touch. With a self-satisfied chuckle, she swings her legs over the edge of the mattress and slips away to the ensuite bathroom, chin held high as Harry trails close behind. 

********

Harry digs out a faded t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants from his closet for Alani to borrow, and although it’s a small gesture, the sight of her in his own clothing fills his entire body with euphoria. He holds out a white t-shirt with the Volkswagen logo on it and a pair of grey sweatpants that she accepts gratefully. While she slips into his clothes, Harry puts on a pair of running shorts and a black hoodie with the image of Earth and the words “Spice World” on the front. Next, he digs through his drawers and produces a red bandana that is used to keep the damp hair out of his face, but Alani has already braided her wavy locks before he can find a similar garment for her. Harry extends a hand and Alani interlocks her fingers with his as they set out for breakfast. 

“Why don’t you go pick out some tunes?” He suggests when they reach the kitchen. “There’s a record player in the living room,”

Alani wiggles her brows and gives him a quick peck before venturing out ito the other room. Her eyes immediately land on a wall full of vinyls, and she excitedly browses them with delicate fingers. The Zombies, Bill Withers, and Sam Cooke are among the first in the collection, but her eyes widen when she spots a familiar blue cover. Joni, she gasps, pulling the record out of its sleeve. Alani quickly switches the player on and navigates the needle over the first track on the disk, turning the volume up and filling the room with the sound of a folk guitar. Harry’s ears perk up in the other room and the music brings a wide grin to his face. A few moments later, Alani reemerges in the kitchen, her hips swaying; she reaches out for Harry’s hands, which are occupied with the switches on the stovetop and a carton of eggs. He puts it down and gives Alani a twirl, which elicits a playful giggle that tugs on his heartstrings. His hands settle around her waist while her arms weave around his neck. They sway for a moment, hips flush with one another, before another soft kiss is exchanged. 

“Looks like I don’t need a ‘kiss the cook’ apron after all,” Harry jokes lightly, their noses still touching. 

Alani rolls her eyes with a scoff. “You haven’t made anything yet,”

“That’s because a certain dancing queen keeps distracting me,”

“Fine,” she starts to pull away but Harry immediately ropes her back in. 

“Not yet,” he smirks, lifting her with a quick spin. Alani shrieks and her arms tighten around his neck. 

“I see the lovebirds are up,” Mitch grumbles, the heel of his hand rubbing his tired eyes. 

The pair conceal their laughter and put a bit of space between each other, though Harry instantly misses Alani’s touch. 

“Morning, Mitch,” she says sweetly. 

The guitarist forces a smile on his face and reaches inside the fridge for a bottle of water. “Morning,” he returns, padding back to the hallway. “And keep it down, you crazy kids. Some of us are hungover and not in the lovesick way.”

Alani’s cheeks flush. “Sorry, mom.”

Harry snickers and he returns to the stove with a gentle shake of his head. 

They scarf their breakfasts down with legs woven together under the table and fingers interlaced. While their meals are identical, they take turns feeding off of each other’s plates and stealing sips of the other person’s drink. Harry feigns annoyance over the spilt orange juice on the t-shirt that he lent to Alani, though a part of him hopes it will leave a stain as a subtle reminder of this moment. It amazes the both of them just how quickly they had fallen into a shared rhythm, as if breakfast was a sacred ritual engraved into their muscle memory. But despite the natural ease that comes with each other’s presence, there is an impending sense of dread looming over Alani and Harry’s heads about the inevitable end to their domestic bliss. 

“I should probably get back soon,” she sighs, thinking of her younger sister waiting alone at the house. 

His stomach turns. “Do you have to?”

“Afraid so. Need to check on Pua and Freddie,”

Harry nods with a small sigh and collects both of their plates. “‘Kay,”

Alani follows him into the kitchen and her arms delicately wrap around his torso from behind when they reach the sink. “Are you upset?” she asks timidly. 

Harry’s heart cracks, racked with guilt over his petty behavior. It wasn’t her fault that she had to leave eventually, and it wasn’t right to take his disappointment out on her. He turns his back to their dishes and presses a light kiss to the tip of her nose. 

“No,” Harry assures her with a soft, dimpled smile. “Could never be upset with my sweet girl. Just gonna miss you.”

Alani’s chest stirs at his words and she slots her needy lips between his. Now that they had tasted a little less than twenty-four uninterrupted hours together, being apart for more than one moment seemed near impossible. Harry’s fingers slip inside the back of her shirt, and his nails gently graze the outline of her spine with a sly grin. 

“I don’t think I’ll have what she’s having,” Jeff teases, sifting through a bowl of fruit on the counter. Harry grits his teeth and makes a mental note to plot revenge on all of his friends later. 

“Good morning,” Alani offers shyly, pulling away from his warm touch. 

Jeff smiles and waves with a banana in hand. “Buenos días. Always good to see you, Alani.”

“You too,”

He whistles a cheerful tune and roams into the living room, leaving the pair alone again. 

“I think we better go before we get caught.” Alani jokes weakly.  

********

The Range Rover pulls up slowly in front of Alani’s house and Harry’s grip on her hand tightens as he puts the car into park. 

“Where’re your parents?” he wonders aloud, reaching in the backseat for a spare bag that Alani can use to carry her clothes in. 

“Mom had a big surgery this weekend, so she stayed at the hospital to keep an eye on her patient. Dad is in California on this chef’s weekend trip with, like, Guy Fieri or something. Just me and Pua until tomorrow night,”

Harry hums, watching her stuff her belongings into the bag. “You working?”

“Yeah, I close tonight,”

Damn, he swears to himself. There go his plans. “What’re you doing until then?”

Alani shrugs with her hand already on the door handle. “Chores, I guess. You?”

“Probably nothing,” Harry sighs. “Missing you.”

She grins and presses an affectionate peck to his cheek. “Ditto, sunshine. I’ll call you tonight, okay?”

“I won’t miss it.” The new pet name makes his stomach twist, but the butterflies quickly turn to stones when she slips out of the car. 

Alani begrudgingly treks down the stone pathway when she hears loud music coming from the car behind her. Turning quickly, she spots Harry peeking over the roof of the SUV with the song “Baby Don’t Go” by The Supremes blaring from his speakers. She shakes her head playfully and blows him a kiss before retreating back to her house; He catches it in his palm and presses his palm to his lips. The song is still playing softly when Alani closes the door and she momentarily considers throwing all caution to the wind by inviting him inside. 

“I’d ask how your night went, but I think half the block knows that answer now,” Pua smirks with arms crossed as she descends the stairs. 

Alani offers a sheepish smile and clutches Harry’s bag to her chest. “Morning,”

“Are those his clothes?” her sister questions. 

“Yeah,”

“Okay that’s really sweet, actually,”

Alani shuffles through the house to make sure that everything is still in one piece and Pua follows close behind, anxious for all of the details about her older sister’s date. “So I wanna hear everything, but you can spare me the making out parts,” she insists. 

“What? Harry didn’t give you the rundown already?” Alani pokes. “I’m assuming you’re the one who told him about Angelo’s,”

“It may have come up once—casually, of course,” Pua admits. 

Alani rolls her eyes playfully, but the confirmation that Harry had conspired with her sister melts her heart. “Well then, I guess I owe you some thanks for a perfect night,”

“It was all his idea,” Pua maintains with her hands raised in surrender. “But it was? I mean, really perfect?”

“Straight out of a movie,”

“He has that way about him, doesn’t he?”

Alani’s mouth curls gently. She couldn’t describe Harry’s allure better if she tried. “He really does,”

“I can’t believe it,” Pua muses with a starry look in her round eyes. “My sister is dating the Harry Styles. I can practically hear the millions of hearts shattering over the news,”

Out of all the thoughts running through Alani’s mind these days, the public’s response to her blossoming relationship with Harry was apparently last on that list. Fame hardly seemed to be the focal point of his life given how little he had to say on the subject, thus it was easy to forget that he was, in fact, a celebrity, especially when they were alone. But despite his reluctance to open up about stardom, it’s a conversation that Alani figures she should prepare for. 

“Speaking of,” she begins, making her way upstairs. “What are his fans like? You know, what should I expect?”

Pua considers it for a moment, searching for the right words. “Passionate I guess. Loyal,”

“And they’re all in love with him?”

“Can you blame them?”

Alani chuckles lightly and her chest swells as she reflects on her growing feelings for Harry. While she had initially wanted to believe that he was no different from any other guy, it was becoming increasingly difficult to stand by that judgement. His immense thoughtfulness was evident long before he had whisked her away for the evening of her dreams. Afterall, what famous person willingly agrees to help a stranger with their homework? And then there was Harry’s boyish charm and tenderness that no leading man in any romantic comedy seemed to rival in Alani’s opinion. Could never be upset with my sweet girl, his words echo. 

“No,” Alani exhales, her throat tightening with a sudden sense of longing. “I really can’t,”

Pua squeals and envelops her sister in a warm embrace. “God, I’m really so happy for you both. My favorite singer and my favorite sister,”

Alani hugs her sister tight and it temporarily quells the ache left by Harry’s absence. “Me too.”

“But if he hurts you, I will kill him.”

********

“Hey Harry, what do you think about Maui?” Jeff proposes, typing into his phone. “The resort’s got a private pool for every room,”

Harry blinks with a faint smile still on his lips. “For what?”

“Next weekend, maybe. Glenne and Jenny are thinking of meeting us there,”

The thought of going an entire weekend away from Alani makes Harry’s brows furrow. He was going on just five hours now and it was complete torture.

“Can’t,” he says quickly. “I’ve got—”

“You can bring Alani,” Jeff reassures him with a knowing smirk. “But you two gotta promise you’ll socialize,”

Harry blushes and his chest aches at the sound of her name. “I’ll ask,”

“Don’t make me say it,” Mitch threatens from the sound booth. Harry’s head tilts, challenging his friend to continue. The drummer clears his throat and coughs into his closed fist. “Whipped,” 

“You’re just jealous that your girlfriend couldn’t make the trip ‘cos  she’s too busy being a badass rockstar,” Harry shoots back coolly. 

“So we’re dropping the g-word, huh?” 

The singer casts his eyes down at the guitar in his lap and fiddles with the strings to occupy his hands. “Dunno,”

“He’s got it bad,” Tom teases, turning to Jeff Bhasker with a dramatic outstretched hand. “Alani, my dearest, how could I ever live without you?” 

“Oh, Harry.” Jeff raises his voice a pitch. 

Tom drops to his knee, clutching Jeff’s hand to his chest, and the group erupts into laughter. “Say you’ll be mine at once!”  

Harry relinquishes a shy smile and a dry laugh at his friends’ antics in an effort to be a good sport. “Very funny. Oscars for you both.”

 His idle fingers continue strumming the guitar gently as everyone else dissolves into their own conversations. The  phone balanced on his thigh pings, and though the notification has nothing to do with Alani, Harry decides to check in. 

Harry: How’s the weather?

He can’t think of anything particularly witty to say, but the mere action of sending her a message keeps him from dissolving into a puddle on the floor. 

Alani: Google is free, you know

Harry: Ouch. Trying to tell you that I miss you here :(

Alani giggles at Harry’s clingy show of affection. Truth be told, she also misses him deeply and resents the fact that she has to work instead of staying snuggled into his side all day. The smell of his shampoo lingers in her hair and it twists the knife deeper. She decides to snap a silly photo of herself, eyes crossed, and sends it off to him. 

Alani: Missing you too, my little pocket of sunshine ☀️

Harry’s heart nearly bursts from his chest when he opens the attachment, and his cheeks hurt from smiling so hard. He quickly saves the photo to his phone before setting it as his lock screen. 

Harry: My god you’re going to be the death of me

Alani: The feeling is mutual 

It takes less than five minutes of admiring the photo for Harry to decide that he can’t go any longer without the real thing. 

Harry: What time does your shift start?

Alani: 5 minutes 

Swiping his wallet and keys, Harry slips out of the studio without another word. 

********

Alani ties her hair up and adjusts her apron as she heads out into the busy restaurant. She quickly falls into a rhythm of taking orders, clearing tables, and filling drinks while the minutes in her eight hour shift tick by. Before she knows it, an hour has already passed and her mind is completely occupied with her guests, but a familiar voice sticks out among the buzz of it all. 

“Excuse me, miss?” Harry pipes up from the counter, a bouquet of sunflowers emerging from behind his back. “Think these are for you,”

Alani fights back a smile, but it’s no use. She accepts the flowers gratefully and raises them to her nose.

“Why, thank you. They’re beautiful,”

“They’ve got nothing on you,” he suggests, leaning in closer over the counter. His eyes dart to her lips in silent prayer, but Alani clears her throat and scans the busy scene around them. 

“Can I get you something?”  

Harry peruses the menu with a serious dent between his brows. “Hmm sure, I think I’ll have the Chef’s Salad—dressing on the side—a lemonade, and a kiss,”

Alani smirks, accepting the menu from his hand. “The kiss is extra,”

“Make it two, then,” he offers expectantly, but she shakes her head in disapproval. 

“Kissing the waitresses isn’t allowed,”

“Well what if I don’t wanna kiss a waitress?” Harry counters. “What if I wanna kiss my…” 

He intentionally trails off to read Alani’s reaction, but she suddenly feels flustered by the implications of his statement and turns on her heel to put in his order. “I’ll go get your lemonade.”

“Alaniii.” he complains, watching her back away. She shoots him a wink over her shoulder and darts into the kitchen to avoid his further protests. 

The afternoon rush gradually subsides after another hour of Alani racing around the restaurant. Eventually, as she heads back to the counter to refill two iced teas, Harry catches her attention again and holds up his own glass. “I think something was missing in my lemonade,”

She frowns. “What was it?”

“Some sugar,” he replies with a mischievous grin. “Have any to spare?”

Alani rolls her eyes playfully, but before she can quip back with something clever, one of her co-workers calls her to the kitchen. Harry slumps in his seat and picks at an olive on his plate. 

Two more hours go by and he silently watches Alani dart from table to table, hunched over a journal splayed in front of him. Alani’s eyes repeatedly linger in his direction as the night winds down and she knows without a shadow of doubt that more of his antics await, but she can’t resist wandering over to indulge his advances and her own curiosity. 

“Whatcha working on?” she questions with a quick glance at the page in front of him.

Harry beams, shutting the book and leaning against the counter on his elbows. “More pick-up lines,” 

“I admire your tenacity,” Alani chuckles lightly. “How long are you gonna stick around here?”

“How long you got left?”

“Three hours,”

“Then I’ll have another lemonade.” he says with a flash of his infectious smile. 

Alani swipes his nearly empty cup, but before she retreats to fill it again, her head lowers to his level and she plants a chaste kiss to his eager lips. “Didn’t wanna forget your sugar this time.”

Families come and go and tables are cleared as the sun disappears into the horizon. By the last hour of Alani’s shift, the restaurant is practically dead save for Harry, who eventually migrated from his perch at the counter to a more comfortable booth in the corner. The sight of Alani rolling out her shoulders across the room steals his attention away from his scribbles, so he stands and makes his way over. When his warm fingertips meet her tense muscles, she immediately sinks into the touch. 

“That better?” Harry murmurs, feeling her gradually relax as he works the knots at the base of her neck and shoulders. 

“Yeah,” Alani hums. The relief is instant just like it always is when he’s around. After a moment, she reaches up to where his fingers are pressed against her skin and she spins so they’re standing chest to chest, hands clasped. 

“Hi,” she greets softly. 

“Hiya,”

“I can’t believe you stayed here all day,”

Harry shrugs nonchalantly. “It’s better than being at the house missing you. Besides, I got some work done, too, so I’d say it was a success overall,”

The edges of Alani’s mouth turn up and she pulls away slightly with their hands still attached. “Oh yeah? So are you finished with that book of pick-up lines, then?”

“Almost,” Harry laughs airily. “Think it might even be a New York Times Best Seller,”

“Maybe ditch the ‘have any spare sugar?’ one. It’s a bit saccharine, don’t you think?”

“Dunno, that one worked pretty well, if my lips remember correctly.” 

The corners of Alani’s mouth curl and she pulls away with their hands still attached. “Want some pie?”

“What kind?”

“Cherry,” she says, making her way over to the dessert bar. 

“The best kind,” Harry replies, taking his seat. 

Alani cuts out a generous portion and serves it to him. “I’m more of an apple pie girl,”

“A la mode?”

“Definitely,”

“You know,” Harry starts, cutting out a slice with his fork. “I used to work in a bakery,”

“Is that so?” she indulges him, taking a seat on the opposite side of the counter. 

 “Oh yeah. I’m a natural baker, it’s what they all used to say,”

“You’re gonna have to prove it one of these days,”

“Maybe I will,”

Alani rests her chin in her hand and watches Harry finish the rest of his pie, a content glimmer in his eyes. It’s ten minutes to closing time, so she wipes down the counter and starts the routine that she knows all too well. Harry sneaks off to the jukebox and sifts through the selections available, his tongue peeking through the corner of his lips when his eyes land on the perfect song. A gentle piano wafts through the restaurant followed by Diana Ross’ vocals singing a cover of “Bring it On Home to Me.” Alani hums the familiar tune and continues cleaning up before she feels an arm slink around her waist. She stops her work and turns around to face Harry who is singing the lyrics softly. 

“Bring it to me, bring your sweet lovin’, bring it on home to me,”

Alani turns slowly to face him and she watches his strawberry lips carefully, realizing that this is the first time she’s ever heard him sing in person. His voice is low and smooth with just the right amount of grit behind it. She savors the sound, wondering what he would sound like performing his own lyrics before her memory recalls the image of him stooped over his notebook, scribbling something secret. The pair begin to sway gently, Harry still singing as he pulls Alani closer. He slips one hand to hers and lifts it so they’re in the starting position of a waltz. She slips an arm around his neck and her head meets his shoulder, feeling the vibration of his voice against her temple. For the remainder of the song, everything ceases to exist but the two of them: two hearts beating against each other—beating for each other. Harry dips Alani gingerly as the melody begins to fade out and she cranes her neck just enough to grant him another tender kiss. Her lips feel like the first sip of water after a long journey through the desert, and he knows that he will never get enough as he pours every ounce of adoration and longing that he can possibly muster into the kiss. Slowly, he brings her back to standing with their lips still attached before pulling away to catch his breath. 

“I’ve never heard you sing.” Alani murmurs with her heart still racing. “Not like that,”

“I’ve never sung like that before,” he confesses, referring to the emotion behind the lyrics. “Guess I never really had a reason to.”

Alani’s breath hitches. Once again, she finds herself toeing the line between reality and fantasy. It often felt like he was too good to be true and this moment is no exception, but the delicate brush of his fingertips against her arm coaxes her back to the present—and very real— moment. Alani hugs him to her chest to feel the fierce beating of her heart and the drum of her own love song. 

********

“Did that sound weird?”

“Sounded fine to me,”

Harry chews on his lower lip, eyes pinched shut as he locates the correct pitch in his head. “No, it sounded weird. Let’s go again,”

“You got it,” Tom says over the sound system that floods into the recording booth. “Take two of Harry’s untitled thing, rolling,”

“That’s not what we’re calling it on the tape, is it?” 

“We are until you title it,”

Harry releases an amused breath. “Fair enough. Let’s just call it…” he hums and a faint smile creeps across his lips. “Let’s call it Clair de Lune for now.”

Tom scoffs. “Okay Debussy. Take two on Clair de Lune.”

“What does that mean?” Jeff asks, adjusting the levels on the soundboard. 

“It’s French for ‘moonlight,’” Mitch declares. “According to Google Translate.”

Alani peeks inside the back entrance of the dimly lit studio and immediately hears a faint chorus of laughter. She cautiously steps inside and follows the sound down a narrow corridor, treading lightly to go unnoticed. The familiar gaggle of voices grows louder as she reaches the end of the hall and up to the door of the sound booth left slightly ajar. Her head pops in first, index finger raised to her lips, and Jeff silently beckons her inside while Harry and Tom go back and forth over the sound system. 

“It’s fine—”

“—It’s not fine, it’s missing something.”

“So go again, but maybe try head voice instead of falsetto this time.”

Alani observes the scene with her back pressed firmly against the door to remain out of Harry’s sight. His presence at the café earlier in the week had been such a pleasant part of her day that she decided it was her turn to surprise him and show support for his work, which would undoubtedly be more interesting than watching her serve food for hours on end. The impromptu day off cost her a week of doing Pua’s laundry, but it was worth the chance of becoming a fly on the wall in the studio before eventually stealing Harry away for a few hours.

“I think I wanna do a harmony for this bit,” he says finally after a minute of playful bickering with Tom. “Can you send Mitchell in?”

The guitarist flashes two thumbs up through the window and stands, but he makes his way over to Alani, instead, and prompts her to go in his place with a conspiratorial wink. She slips inside the recording booth and Harry casually glances up from his notes, doing a double take and grinning wide when he realizes that it’s her. 

“Sweets,” he beams, hanging up his headphones to scoop her into a tight embrace. 

Alani’s feet hover a few inches from the floor and she giggles into the crook of his neck. “Hi, sunshine,”

“Whatcha doing here?”

“Just wanted to see you,” she admits, pulling away to relish in his dimples and bright eyes. “Well alright, maybe I also planned to kidnap you at some point, too, if that’s okay,”

Harry laughs and plants a kiss to her cheek. “Course it’s okay. Was just about to take a break and head your way, but you beat me to it,”

“Perfect,” Alani smirks. “So I’ll just wait for you to finish up here and then we can head out,”

The singer shakes his head before taking her hand and stepping over to the microphone.

“That’s a wrap for the day. Great work everyone,”

“You don’t have to do that,” she insists. “I can wait—”

“—Well I can’t. I’m dying to see where you’re whisking me off to.” Harry quips back, already escorting her out of the booth with a jaunty spring in his step. 

********

“You can open your eyes now,” Alani bids after putting Stevie into park. 

“Finally,” Harry huffs teasingly. “Missed your face,”

They share a lighthearted kiss before Alani nods to the passenger side window. “Aren’t you curious to know where I dragged you to?”

Harry’s head turns, a cheshire grin spreading across his lips as he catches a glimpse of the sign that reads ‘Akaka Falls State Park. “Hey! Déjà vu,”

“My reason for bringing you here is twofold,” Alani explains, reaching into the backseat for the supplies she had brought along. “I know you’ve been in kind of a writer's rut lately, so I figured some proximity to the falls might help. But I also thought that maybe you could flex your painting skills, too,”

A tote bag full of fresh paint, canvas, and brushes materializes onto the middle console between them and Harry’s eyes light up. He gleefully sifts through the materials before looking back at Alani with a tender expression. “Alani, this is amazing,”

“I want you to draw me like one of your french girls,” she jokes with batted lashes. “Sorry, I’ve been sitting on that one since yesterday,”

Harry’s eyes crinkle with unbridled laughter. “You’re the best,”

“You get me,”

“Well what are we waiting for?” he questions, stepping out of the car and into the fresh air. “We’ve got some masterpieces to create,”

Alani meets him at the hood, and her arm slings across his back as his rests around her shoulders. “Full disclosure: I’m terrible at arts and crafts. I think I was the only ten year old who flunked art class,”

“Nah, I don’t believe it,”

“It’s true!”

“But you’re good at everything,” Harry reasons. “Maybe you’re just one of those artists who weren’t appreciated in their own time.”

Alani scoffs, her gaze occupied with the way their steps fall into sync. “Sure, let’s go with that.”

They venture down the same route as their very first trip to the falls, though this time joined at the hip. The cerulean sky overhead and high summer sun provides the ideal subject for landscape paintings, and though dozens of tourists have also gathered to enjoy the perfect day, Alani and Harry are oblivious to everyone else. His cheeks flush with self-consciousness when she casually mentions the song that she had overheard him working on earlier, and he simply rubs the back of his neck and feigns ignorance when she asks what it’s about. It had always wracked his nerves to let other people hear his music before it was completely finished, but the fact that his current work-in-progress was heavily inspired by Alani only makes him that much more reluctant to share. While her curiosity begs to her to keep prying, she shrugs it off and refocuses on the lush scene before them as they reach Harry’s favorite lookout spot. 

“What’re you gonna paint?” he asks, tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration as he picks out his supplies. 

“I don’t know,” Alani ponders. “What about you?”

“Something good—hopefully,”

“Have you ever painted before?”

Harry’s eyes lift to the sky, as if searching the clouds for his answer. “Sure. Loved art class when I was in school. It’s a good way to de-stress,”

“Have any favorite artists?”

“Keith Haring’s pretty great, saw some of his stuff in New York City last time I was there,”

“Oh yeah, he’s incredible,” Alani agrees, mixing some paint on her platter. “Hey, have you ever been to the Louvre?”

Harry nods and the tip of his tongue peeks through the corner of his lip in concentration. “Yes actually, once,”

“Lucky. Paris is definitely on my bucket list,”

“Good to know,” her comment is stored in the back of Harry’s mind for future reference. “Hey sweets, you’ve got something on your face,”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah, riiiiight,” Harry leans in, silently dipping his pinky in a dollop of pink paint before pulling back and smearing it across the bridge of her nose. “There,”

“Hey!” she cries. 

Harry throws his head back and laughs. “I don’t know how you didn’t see that one coming,”

“You are such a child,”

“It’s fun, you should try it,”

Alani’s lower lip pouts. “Don’t wanna,”

“Sure you do,” Harry insists, holding out his plate of colors to her. “Go ahead,”

She releases a sharp breath and turns her back to him, strategically dipping her fingers in her own palette out of his sight.

“Sweets,” Harry coos. “Alani, hey, I’m sorry. That was a stupid—” 

Her fingertips meet the side of his face and slide down to his chin, leaving a trail of yellow, orange, and blue. “Oh, sorry. What were you about to say?”

Harry’s mouth hangs agape and he blinks slowly. “You know what, I’ll let that one slide,”

“No you won’t.”

“No I won’t.” 

Alani springs up from the bench and turns to bolt, but Harry’s arms snake around her waist and lift her in the air with one swift move. She shrieks, but she doesn’t fight his grasp and turns to face him instead, offering her puckered lips in surrender. Harry slots their mouths together with a satisfied smirk, but the spirited kiss quickly dissolves into laughter when their teeth collide.  

********

Alani flips her bedroom light on and ushers Harry inside. “Sorry about the mess,”

He steps inside and absorbs every detail, taking note of all the photos and trinkets on display. The walls are a shade of blush, which doesn’t surprise him, and the bed is tucked neatly in the corner under a skylight. String lights dangle along one wall above a desk piled high with books and magazines. A hanging plant in another corner catches his attention, but it’s quickly overshadowed by the presence of her own record player and collection of vinyls. A red, heart shaped rug in the middle of the room ties it all together, and Harry doesn’t think that it could possibly be more Alani. She plops onto the bed with her completed artwork and motions for him to do the same. When he makes himself comfortable, she turns the canvas over with a wiggle of her brows.

“What do you think?”

“I think it’s amazing,” Harry applauds, admiring the blobs of colorful shapes that somehow coalesce into a perfectly admirable—yet unidentifiable—piece of art. “What is it?”

“It’s you!”

“Me?”

“Mhmm,” she begins, sitting up straighter to explain. “I really tried to go for the Keith Haring thing, but I added a little bit of my own touch to it. And there’s me too, see? The pink one in the back. And that’s supposed to be a palm tree but it looks kinda like a dude with green hair,”

Harry’s heart soars. “You made us into a Keith Haring?”

“I know it’s not as cool as what he would’ve done, but—”

“—It’s perfect,” he asserts. “I love it,”

Alani beams and she sits back on her heels, setting the painting against her nightstand. “Your turn,”

“Alright, well,” Harry clears his throat. “I also tried to emulate your favorite artist, so hopefully you’ll like it,”

He turns the painting over and a light gasp escapes Alani’s lips. She immediately recognizes the waterfall—the same one from ‘Akaka Falls that they had visited together twice now. Alani had had the slightest inkling that Harry was being modest about his artistic abilities, but she hadn’t quite anticipated this level of skill. 

“Harry,” she starts, breathless. “I don’t even know what to say. This is incredible,”

“It’s no Georgia O'Keeffe, but I did my best,” he offers sheepishly. 

Alani shakes her head with a small laugh. “I kind of hate you for saying that. It’s gorgeous. Blows my stupid kiddie craft out of the water,”

“Hey,” Harry tuts. “I love your painting, it’s so creative,”

“Yeah, well, yours is infinitely better and I love everything about it,” Alani states matter-of-factly, admiring each brushstroke and use of color. “So would it be okay if I—I mean… can I keep it?”

“Course you can, made it for you,”

“You did?”

“Yeah,” Harry admits shyly. “It’s kinda like our spot, you know?”

A wide grin splits across Alani’s lips and she slinks her arms around his neck to bring him closer. “Yeah, I guess it is,”

“And the lookout where we saw that rainbow and had our first kiss,”

“Right,”

“Maybe even the café,”

“The whole island,” Alani hums. “And the sun, and the moon, and the stars,”

Harry smiles softly. “The sun and the moon, eh Mahealani?”

“Funny how life works out like that, isn’t it sunshine?”

next chapter

[lumoshyperion]

I just want to experience the affectionate tension of always being called by my surname by that one person until the moment one of our lives is in danger and they tenderly call me by my first name

I saw this post on @bluewanderings blog with the tag "#dark au drastoria....... much to think about" and decided to write a quick scene based on that for the dark au sequel. Astoria has been hurt while smuggling a Muggleborn family out of the country, and apparates away without thinking where she's going.

This takes place a while after Draco found out about her rebellious activities. She thought he would hand her over, but he never did, and has been helping her access restricted ingredients such as aconite for Wolfsbane potions.

This is just a short, out of context scene that slots nicely into the fic!! it's a gift, for wife, with love 😘💙

Astoria leaned against the wall, holding her arm to her chest and clutching her wand with a trembling hand. She knew she had lost a lot of blood and wouldn't be able to apparate again until the wound was looked at by a healer. But she had no idea where she was, or who she could turn to.

And there was someone approaching from the laneway on her left. So she held her breath and waited for them to pass. It was a tall wizard in emerald robes, with neat platinum blonde hair. Astoria bit her lip and shrunk into the shadows of her little alcove. It can't be him, she thought. I wish it were him.

The wizard stopped, their shoulders suddenly tense. Astoria raised her wand, ready to strike them down if needs be. But then they turned and scowled at the alcove and she almost laughed for joy and relief.

"Whoever is there, I'm really not in the mood," said Malfoy, an irritated edge to his voice as he brushed his robe aside and clutched the wand in his pocket. "Show yourself."

"Well, that's a shame," Astoria replied, shakily, as she stepped out of the alcove and into the dim light of the laneway. "I was rather hoping for that dance you promised me."

The moment he saw her, his eyes widened and his expression turned to one of alarm and horror. "Astoria," he gasped, stepping forward and catching her by her uninjured arm as she tried to move further into the laneway. "Are you alright? What happened to you?"

She looked down at his hand, before glancing back up at his face. He'd never called her by her first name before. Not even when they were children. "You know I can't tell you that," she said, with a small smile. Malfoy rolled his eyes, then wrapped his arm around her waist, guiding her out of the alcove and down the laneway. She glanced around at the buildings, trying to ignore how the warmth of him made her cheeks flush. "I tried to apparate home, but I missed. Where are we?"

"Diagon Alley. My shop is just around the corner."

Astoria frowned. It was a populated area, miles away from any of the safe houses or secluded forests that she usually retreated to when things were dire. Her last thought before she apparated was of safety. A fire to keep her warm and the company of someone she trusted, someone she cared about.

She glanced over at Malfoy, as he carefully guided her away from the crowds and down a side entrance to his shop with a look of determination on his face. Perhaps it wasn't a mistake after all and she was exactly where she needed to be.

Once they arrived at the shopfront, he led her up the stairs to his flat and sat her down by the window. She slowly peeled her coat off and folded it over the back of her chair, watching Malfoy blanch as he looked at the wound on her arm. “You’re not squeamish, are you?” She asked, genuinely. “Because I can look after it myself, I just need -”

"No," he said, before abruptly kneeling down and holding his wand over her arm. "Tergeo."

Astoria winced as the blood drained from her wound. Malfoy withdrew his wand and looked up at her with concern, but she shook her head and smiled. "Your bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired."

"I don't usually entertain rebels," he replied, before standing up and waving a hand towards the oak cabinet on the other side of the room. "I have some Dittany. Wait here."

She watched as he retrieved a small vial of brown liquid. When he knelt down again and opened it, the smell of copper and spices reminded her of their classes in the dungeons back at Hogwarts. But before she could say anything about it, she was distracted as he held her arm in his hand and applied the potion to her wound with a tenderness she'd never associated with him before. The skin immediately started to knit itself back together, and it felt like a thousand tiny bee stings, dancing across her arm.

"Why do you do it?" Malfoy asked, suddenly and without looking up. "Surely you must know that you can't change anything."

Astoria's shoulders tensed, but he still didn't let go of her arm or look up at her. They'd had this conversation before, but it was always concealed in carefully worded questions and loaded glances. Even after their conversation on the bridge, there was still so much that she kept from him. Because, in spite of all that he had done for her, he was still a Malfoy.

He had a reputation to uphold. One that had been nearly ruined by his decision to put off his career at the Ministry for a while in order to pursue his passion in Potioneering. And if he handed her over to the Ministry, the rumour that he had gone "soft" would finally go away, and he would be elevated and lauded for his achievement.

And yet, he kept her secret. He brewed Wolfsbane for her, he kept a stock of restricted ingredients for her, and now he healed her wounds without pushing for answers on how she got them. And, beyond all of that, Astoria wanted to be honest with him. Because however much she tried to be strong and brave, she was tired of fighting on her own. She wanted the company that he offered. Whatever form it took and regardless of how much of a risk it was.

The tenderness with which he held her arm, and whispered her name in the laneway, was something she couldn't help but be drawn to - like a moth to a flame.

"Because I realised I couldn't just stand by and watch anymore," Astoria finally replied. "I know it isn't safe, and I know I can't change anything, and I'm better off just following along with everyone else, but... I couldn't do that anymore. I had to do something. Even if it only makes a difference to a few people."

She paused, looking down at her arm. The wound had healed over nicely, but Malfoy was still smoothing his thumb across her skin in slow, soothing circles. "I was smuggling a family out of the country," she confessed. "They didn't fight in the war. They lived a quiet life before all of this - in fact, their son never even got the chance to go to Hogwarts. Their only crime was being born to Muggle parents."

He suddenly let go of her arm and looked up at her for a long moment. Then he stood up and walked over to the oak cabinet, before returning to her side and holding out his hand. "There's something I want to show you," he said. There, in his palm, was a bronze key that shone in the firelight.

She looked up at him for a long time. Considering her options, wondering if she could trust him. Wishing that she could. And then she made a decision, stood up, and took his hand.

Before she could say anything, they were transported to a small clearing in the middle of a forest. The sudden journey threw her off balance, and she swayed a little, but looked around as he lay a steady hand on her waist.

"Sorry. I didn't want to risk being seen or heard leaving the flat," he said, watching her take in their surroundings. The forest was dense, stretching as far as the eye could see. And there was a sense of calm in the air that Astoria hadn't felt for a long time.

"You made a key into a portkey?" She asked, raising an eyebrow at him. "Really?"

He scoffed. "My father did, actually. He was never one for subtlety." Astoria withdrew at that, her guard suddenly up as she pulled away from his grasp and glanced around the clearing. But Malfoy raised his hand in reassurance and continued, "He built this place in secret. Only he knew about it, and it was passed onto me when he died. The key is a portkey, but only for those that we trust with the secret."

Astoria turned around and looked at him. "I don't understand."

Malfoy inclined his head towards the forest and she followed his gaze. When they had arrived, the clearing was empty. But it was like the house had always been there, somewhere in the corner of her eye, hidden by magic, until that moment. It was a large stone house with vines crawling up the walls and the chimney, as if the forest was trying to reclaim it. She glanced back at Malfoy, who said, "It's yours."

"What?"

He shrugged. "My father had it built just before the war. It was assurance that we would always have a place to go, should we ever need it," he explained. "He was a coward, but he always put us first."

Astoria looked back at the house and frowned. Most families had a plan in place, should the war be lost. Even her father had money put aside and a promise to take them far away, if things became too dire. All thoughts of a dowry were thrown aside when the war began. Family came first, after all.

"I thought you could use it for your - friends," Malfoy elaborated, as she looked away from the house and back at him. "They'd be safe here. You would be the new secret keeper." She opened her mouth to respond, but found that she didn't know what to say. He misinterpreted her and raised a hand in reassurance. "You can wipe my memory when we get back to the shop, if you like."

Astoria shook her head. "Whether you remember this place or not, you would still be held accountable if I were found out. I can't protect you."

Malfoy scoffed. "I don't need your protection, Greengrass." She sighed and crossed her arms, and he glanced down at the key, turning it over and over in his hands. "You're just as stubborn as you were in school, you know that?"

Astoria gave a short laugh, in spite of herself, and he looked back up at her. "I don't believe for a second that you remember that." He raised an eyebrow and she added, "You never took any notice of me, or anyone else."

"I did - I noticed you," he said, genuinely. "How could I not?"

Astoria looked back at the house, for a long moment. He followed her gaze, and they stared at the old stone in silence, until she glanced back at him and said, "Draco... Are you sure?"

Without speaking, he offered the key to her. His expression was resolute, so she closed the distance between them and took it from his hand. It was still warm from his touch, and was a comforting weight in the palm of her hand.

"Well," she said, glancing back up at him with a playful look. "Aren't you going to give me a tour?"

Draco offered his arm and smiled.

[marvel-and-mischief]

Forgive My Sins

I don’t know what this is but I thought of it when I should have been continuing to write my Maxwell fic 👀

Pairing: Nathan Bateman x GN!Reader Words: 2767 Warnings: alcohol, addiction, swearing, sobriety, sobriety being broken, angst, smut, heavy petting, descriptions of what alcohol does to the body (not detailed) Summary: Nathan has broken a promise he made to you

Masterlist

It wasn’t unusual for the compound to be peacefully quiet. If Nathan was working he would lock himself in the lab or his old bedroom and you would go about your business usually in the living area at the front of the building or in the large kitchen at the back of the building. 

So when you step out of the shower and get dressed and see no sign of your boyfriend, you’ve no reason to worry. It would be one of those days where if you were lucky you might see him at dinner later or if not you’ll be woken up when he slips into bed at an ungodly hour in the morning. 

It’s something you got used to when you were working for him, before you entered into a relationship, and it’s something that won’t change any time soon. You don’t mind, you never felt as though you were being pushed to the side or forgotten about. It was normal, and you made it work. You both did.

What was unusual was spotting Nathan in neither of the places you expect him to be. Sitting on the bench in the room off the side of the house that overlooks the river that passes by, lights off so the trees surrounding the box room kept the light out and created ominous shadows over Nathan’s form. His head was down, resting on his hands as his elbows dug into his knees. 

You’d seen many of Nathan’s darker emotions, angry verbal outbursts (never at you), frustrated smashing of objects onto the wooden patio outside but you’d never seen despair, which is what this looks like. You had never seen him cry like you thought he was doing now, but his face was hidden so you might be wrong. He had spoken to you about dark thoughts twice before, once when he was drunk (before you helped him get sober) where he professed his fear of loneliness, to which you patiently reminded him that as long as you were with him he would never be lonely again. And a second time a few months back when he had confessed to being scared of pushing you away for good. You didn’t quite understand where that had come from, he had never done anything to make you even think about calling it quits. Nathan isn’t a soft boyfriend, you wouldn’t even say he was loving though you know he loves you. But you don’t need someone to coddle you or tell you they love you every five minutes, that’s what makes him perfect for you. 

The soft red slippers on your feet allow you to silently pad towards the room without detection to observe Nathan more clearly. He’s in his sleep shorts and a long sleeved cotton t-shirt you’ve seen him wear a thousand times before. It’s slightly baggy on him which you like because it smooths his sharp edges, makes him look more boy-next-door. 

When he doesn’t notice you watching him, you carefully take hold of the rectangular door handle and proceed to slide the clear glass across. The sound makes a quiet whoosh that signals that someone is entering the room, yet Nathan doesn’t look up. Now you’re concerned. Nathan’s observant to the point of obsessive. He should have heard you outside the room but now with the door open, you expect him to at least acknowledge you. 

You remain patient, if he’s playing a game you would play along, if he’s truly upset over something you’ll get to the bottom of it in no time. 

You ever so slowly move around the perimeter of the room until you’re directly in front of Nathan, about four feet away from him, leaning back against the glass wall that shows white clouds hiding the sun behind them. You won’t be surprised if it rains soon. You had wanted to go for a hike up the trail later, with or without Nathan, but you suppose that wasn’t going to happen now. 

Nathan was a statue, still like a paused frame of a character in a movie, unmoving like all inanimate objects are. You had joked early on in your relationship that he wasn’t a man, he didn’t think like one or act like one, he was more like one of his AI’s he had later destroyed after the incident. But now you worry you were right after all. He’s acting as though malfunctioned, broken in some way. 

You make a move finally, after studying him and coming to the conclusion that he isn’t going to respond to you, coming to kneel in front of him, almost underneath him as you try to take a peak in the gaps between his fingers. 

Nathan told you once that he had been friendless in college, it didn’t surprise you but it did sadden you that this bright, brilliant, beautiful man was once a lonely, misunderstood boy, and that the first time someone had touched him unprompted it had made him so surprised, so wary of the other person, that he had instinctively shoved them off their seat to which no one would go near him for the rest of his years as a student. 

This reminds you of that memory, you don’t think Nathan would actually shove you away but you’re a little nervous to touch him and scare him into doing something out of pure instinct. 

“I’ve let you down,” Nathan’s voice comes through his fingers croaky and slow. Something’s wrong but you can’t put your finger on it. Has he been crying, is that why his voice sounds so strange? 

“Why do you say that?” You ask kindly, patiently as you slowly pry his fingers away from his face. He fights you though, tensing his fingers, pushing them into his face harder to prevent you from getting a good grip on them. Instead of forcing him you curl your fingers around his wrists and hold them there, letting your presence be felt, letting him know you’re there for him.

“I’ve… done something, fuck, you’re going to be so fucking disappointed,” Nathan mumbles, which he never does, he’s always clear with his words, he likes to be heard. 

You rack your brain to try to work out what failure is to Nathan Bateman. He had been working on a new AI system, a safer one, one without conscious, independent thought that had taken up his time for months. Not succeeding on something he had poured his heart into would be failure. But that wouldn’t disappoint you. You’d be sad for Nathan, but disappointment wouldn’t come into play. So it has to be something else.

“Have you cheated on me?” It wasn’t a serious question, Nathan’s a lot of things but you were absolutely certain if he wasn’t happy with your relationship he would be open and honest about it, he’d break your heart and break up your relationship before he became a cheater. 

You almost laugh when Nathan’s head shoots up, shock paints his features, clearly offended that you think he’d do that to you. But when you see the redness around his eyes and the slightly glazed look in them, the inability to focus on you precisely, your heart cracks at the sight of him. His piercing gaze that used to make you wither before him, shy and uncomfortable, that later sent hot shocks of desire through your body when you eventually got together, was now reduced to a weak, vacant stare. 

You try to disguise your emotions with a quick wink to show that you’re joking. Nathan lets out a sigh of relief, looks away from you, back to the ground that’s holding his attention more than you are. He’s still tense but he keeps his hands away from his face and interlocks them together in the middle of the two of you. 

You have your fears, you think you know what’s going on but you don’t think he’s going to admit it to you, too prideful in the presence of the person he made so many promises to. Those promises that he’s broken for whatever reason. So you have to get confirmation another way.

You place your hands on either side of his face, your thumbs grazing the apple of his cheeks, your palms covering his rough beard that you love so much, and tilt his head up. He knows what you’re going to do, you can see the pain in his eyes, begging you not to break the facade that there’s nothing to search for, nothing to confirm. 

You lean forward slowly, giving him enough time to break away or get up and leave the room. There’s a tiny part of you that wishes he would, so you can forget this even happened and go about your day, take that hike in the rain to clear your head. But he doesn’t do anything, he just waits.

You slot your mouths together and without prompting Nathan opens his mouth for you to taste inside. You linger longer than you need to, long after the sharp tang of alcohol reaches your tongue, long after you slip your tongue out of his mouth and continue to deliver a slow, lazy kiss that you hope reminds Nathan of how much you love him, adore him, appreciate him for opening himself up to you, for bearing his troubles to you and being so emotionally naked in this moment. 

You pull away, swallowing passed the dryness in your throat as you come to terms with his secret. 

It has been nearly two years since Nathan had promised to give up the bottle for you, for your relationship. He was drinking himself into an early grave, and you weren’t going to stick around just to bury him. You had felt cruel at the time, telling him it was you or the drink, but there had been one too many nights when you had had to drag his passed out body onto a soft surface and stay up with him to make sure he didn’t choke on his own sick. You were at the end of your usually very patient tether so you had given him the ultimatum he needed to hear. If he didn’t want to die lonely, he needed to put you above the drink. 

“Where is it?” You ask, subtly looking around the room to see if the bottle is nearby.

“In the trash.” Your heart skips a beat at the thought of an entire bottle of alcohol in his two years sober body. You see his eyes, the slight shake in his hands and it suddenly makes sense why he looks so terrible. At your look of terror Nathan takes a deep breath and places a hand on your upper arm when he speaks, his voice clearer now he was using it. “It was a five hundred mil bottle.”

You don’t let your sigh of relief be heard. You can work with that amount, he shouldn’t be too bad with some glasses of water in him and a long rest. Five hundred mil is a hell of a lot less than what he used to drink daily. 

You look at him, really look at him, you see his clenched jaw and the worry lines on his forehead, his lips downcast in sadness, disappointment. You leave a hand on his cheek, gently stroking at the soft skin just above where his beard starts. 

Nathan frowns at you, shaking his head slightly at your comforting actions. You raise an eyebrow, questioning what he’s thinking, what he’s feeling other than the obvious. 

“Why aren’t you angry?” Nathan finally asks, pushing your hand away from his face as though he doesn’t deserve your touch that encapsulates everything he thinks he doesn’t deserve; your empathy, your understanding, your kindness, your patience.

You ignore his action and instead place the same hand on top of his knee, resuming your action of stroking your thumb along the slightly cracked skin.

“It’s easily forgivable,” you speak your words carefully, concisely, like you would if you were giving an instruction. There’s a tone to your voice that says don’t argue with me and also trust me.

“You’re wrong,” Nathan insists in the tone that used to be patronising (you had to tell him to tone it down or you weren’t going to have debates with him until he spoke to you instead of at you).

“I’m not.” You are stubborn, that’s what initially attracted Nathan to you. You never back down from an argument (unless he spoke down to you) and you always fight your corner with an unrelenting feistiness that, Nathan wasn’t shy to admit, sometimes made him hard. If he hadn’t slipped up so spectacularly today maybe this would have been one of those moments. 

“You are.”

“Nathan,” you give him a pointed look that makes him stay silent, “it is my job as your partner to be understanding, to not overreact when you’ve slipped up but to hold your hand through it so you can come out the other side.” 

You keep your gaze fixed on his, urging him to listen to you. This isn’t about being right or wrong, this is about what you’re going to do moving forward to make sure this never happens again. 

And Nathan finally understands that when he sees your look of determination, your lack of actions up to this point, not shouting at him or hitting him like he expected, not telling him off or making him feel like the fucking loser he thinks he is for losing the battle he fought so hard to win. 

He reaches down and places his hands on either side of your neck, thumbs on your pulse points underneath your ears and holds you there as he takes you in. 

Nathan hates the lump in his throat, the wetness in his eyes, the tremble in his hands that he’s sure you can feel against your soft skin. 

A sob creeps up on him unexpectedly and out of instinct you rise to your knees, push your way between his legs and pull his head into your chest. It’s an awkward angle, he’s a bit too high up on the bench and your knees are starting to hurt but your comfort is unimportant compared to Nathan’s in this moment. 

He’s silent in his sobbing, you wouldn’t know he was crying if it weren’t for your shirt getting wet and his little sniffs now and then. You stay there like that for a while, humming softly with your head resting against his shaved head, rocking him ever so slightly side to side with your arms tight around his shoulders. 

You’re startled out of your calm state when Nathan pulls away and surges up to kiss you, passionately, heated, lips tangling, teeth clattering together until you find a rhythm that’s pleasurable for you both. He pulls you up and onto his lap, your legs straddling him in such a way that you are seated perfectly against his groin. 

Nathan’s hands move up under the back of your t-shirt to pull you flush against his chest, his nails scratching lightly against your skin and making you moan into his mouth.

You grind down against his cock then, momentarily forgetting what had happened, not even tasting the alcohol on his tongue anymore, your brain melting into a puddle of Nathan Nathan Nathan and more more more. 

It’s not until Nathan abruptly pushes you away, far enough that you have to grip onto his shoulders to prevent yourself from falling off his lap, that you realise something has happened. Or rather hasn’t happened.

Nathan lets out a frustrated growl that turns into a sorry cry of embarrassment. You look down to see he’s still soft. He’s so inebriated that he can’t get aroused. 

You scoot forward on his lap to get closer and when he grabs your waist to push you away again you fight his strength to wrap your arms around his shoulders. He gives up eventually, once you have him nestled against your softness, his head hooked into the crook of your neck as you whisper sweets nothings into his ear, keeping him grounded to you and nothing else. 

It isn’t the end of the world, and it definitely isn’t the end of yours and Nathan’s relationship. There will be so many more of these bad days to come but you believe in him and he believes in you. You’re an odd couple but you make it work, and you will continue to make it work, together. 

Permanent tag list: @autumnleaves1991-blog​ @phoenixhalliwell​ 

[tunedtostatic]

ain’t no safety coats, raft or river boats

Brian & Sana (plus a dash of Brian & Arkady and pre-Brian/Krejjh), 1.5k

This was supposed to be another triple drabble. It is not! Title is from “Can’t Be Too Careful” by Jennah Bell.

CW: Food, mention of minor injury, descriptions of deep bodies of water

~

Brian suppresses a sleepy morning yawn as he makes his way down the dim corridor of the starship Rumor. After two nights aboard, this path between the bathroom and the kitchen is still unfamiliar in a way that brings back memories of waking up in new apartments and the odd adjustment periods of still packed boxes and unfamiliar sinks and cabinets in new spaces that had abruptly become “home.”

Right. Just another new apartment. New bed. New shower. New, borrowed clothing—no boxes to unpack this time. New microwave. New cargo hold with thirty-five cases of bulk gourmet chocolate destined for the intergalactic black market. New bath mat.

In the kitchen, Captain Tripathi is at the stove, boiling a kettle.

New roommates.

“Morning, Brian.” Tripathi smiles at him, one of her dimples showing. “Tea?”

“I wouldn’t say no to a cup of tea?” Brian steps up to the counter next to her, opening the cabinet that he now knows holds the cereal. “Thanks, Captain.”

As Sana methodically unseals a package of vacuum-sealed bread, Brian realizes that this is the first time he’s been alone with her. Krejjh has been spending hours with her, learning the Rumor’s cockpit, and Brian’s first hour aboard included First Mate Arkady Patel walking him to the Rumor’s tiny medbay and carefully cleaning the cut on his cheek with a taciturnity that did not come across as unkind. But this is the first time Brian and Sana have been in a room together without the rest of their tiny new crew.

The toaster slot in the wall dings, and Brian watches Sana out of the corner of his eye as she spreads butter substitute on her toast. He’s known her for three days, two life-threatening calamities, and one crew dinner. He trusts her with his life. He doesn’t think he knows her better than he did the hour they met.

“Have you and Krejjh been settling into your cabins okay? I told them to let me know if they needed the temperature lower in there. As it is, one reg controls the whole ship, but I should be able to rig something up.”

“You can ask them when they wake up. But their energy levels seem pretty normal to me.” Brian smiles.

Sana smiles back, but as Brian pulls the milk out of the fridge, he has the feeling that she’s watching him, too.

He doesn’t think her question about Krejjh was, like, a test, with a right/wrong answer where she was seeing if he was…willing to speak for them, or something. He doesn’t really think it was any kind of deliberate probe, even to scope out something as general as how much he and Krejjh trust or know about each other. But he does feel like, every time they interact, Tripathi has been quietly getting the measure of him.

He doesn’t have the measure of her yet. He’s known other people who are both kind and tough. That isn’t a heavy lift. But there is another dimension to Sana’s kindness, something deep and quiet that undulates like an underground river.

“It has been nice to have some enthusiasm in the cockpit, I have to say.” There’s a twinkle in her eye, now. Right, Brian’s almost-joke about Krejjh’s energy levels. “It’s been a while since I’ve gotten to teach the Rumor’s quirks to someone new.”

As she reseals the butter substitute, she glances at him with a canny expression. “You know, she might not come out and say this, but I think Arkady is looking forward to have someone who might be doing, say, translation work at the kitchen table while she’s on one of her coding marathons, too.”

Brian smiles and nods, wondering if Sana, for all her perspicacity, has realized yet that her subtle skid-greasing in this realm isn’t necessary. You met some interesting folks in academia, even if most of them didn’t carry at least three guns at all times and have biceps the size of Brian’s undergrad coffee thermos, and you definitely met some interesting folks on Neuzo. Resultantly, some types of weirdness are easier for Brian to parse than others.

A few hours after a sweaty, out of breath Sana, Arkady, Krejjh and Brian had made it aboard the Rumor and into space, Sana was still flying and Arkady had vanished after her into the cockpit to help liaise with their contacts. Unfamiliar with the ship, Brian and Krejjh had stuck to the kitchen, talking quietly.

Arkady had appeared in the doorway with a faint scowl, looking Brian and Krejjh over for a second before going to the sink and silently filling two glasses with water. She’d walked to the table and set the glasses down, remaining standing.

“Important to stay hydrated.”

“Thanks, dude,” Brian said hesitantly.

Arkady grunted, staring impassively down at them for another few seconds. “We did a pot of pasta last night. Leftovers are in the fridge. It has rehydrated shellfish powder. Allergies?”

Brian shook his head.

“Microwave’s there.” Arkady pointed to the very obvious microwave. “Fridge.” The even more obvious fridge. “Cabinets. Help yourself to whatever, except the chamomile tea, that’s for Sana’s headaches.”

“Roger dodger,” Krejjh replied, in a cadence Brian could recognize as false cheer.

Arkady turned to look directly at Krejjh, and Brian tensed.

Arkady must have noticed that, because she turned and looked at him for a long second. Her eyes, he realized, reminded him of a deep mountain lake he had seen once on a visit to Earth. The water had been impossibly clear; you could see through it all the way down to the point where light no longer filtered through.

She reached for a chair and swiveled it in an easy motion, sinking down to straddle it backwards.

“I’m this ship’s security officer,” she said, as though this wasn’t functionally obvious from the five holstered guns, the two sheathed knives, the events that had introduced the two halves of the new crew to each other, or her thorough sweep for bugs when they finally made it to the Rumor. “That means that while you are part of this crew, you are under my protection.”

Brian had felt his shoulders relax, and Arkady had dropped her lakewater gaze, mumbled something about Sana assigning them cabins later, and spun the chair back around.

Then she’d bolted. Brian had smiled and squeezed Krejjh’s hand—trying to ignore the way this seemed to make his heart flip a little more every time—and gotten up to microwave the pasta.

The kettle starts to whistle, and Sana reaches a nonchalant hand to set it on a cool burner as deftly as if it was a teacup. Her arm musculature situation isn’t exactly shabby, either, which…yeah, working as a mechanic in the wartime shipyards would probably do that.

Then add ‘building a secret starship with your own two hands.’ Brian is still trying to wrap his head around that one. Becoming one of the only humans fluent in Standard Exo-Dwarnian after shiphopping to Neuzo for fieldwork, and then getting in the ill graces of the Dwarnian mafia and falling in l—becoming excellent friends with a deserting Dwarnian pilot probably wouldn’t be considered, like, that normal by most people? But Brian has never built anything larger or more secret than a poprocket that time in third grade, unless you count the less physical large-ness of his research, which was technically also a secret once the war broke out, and now that he’s thinking about it, if you gave each sentence of his thesis the weight of a rivet, it actually might be up there with the mass of a starship? Ha, he’s totally telling Krejjh that just to see the look on their face. No doubt they’ll have opinions on whether a chapter section is equivalent to one or two hull subsections.

“Mugs are in that cabinet,” Sana says easily, gesturing toward it.

“Got it, dude,” Brian replies, equally easily.

You don’t comfortably exist in a place like Neuzo, or for that matter a place like academia, if you expect everyone to present their whole self at all times. Besides, since Brian is now in effect depending on Tripathi’s astuteness for his own safety and Krejjh’s, it’s comforting to know that she knows how to keep an eye on layers of social interactions, even when that includes her interactions with him.

He hands off the mugs in a brush of cracked porcelain and calloused hands. The domesticity of working beside someone at a kitchen counter is unexpectedly comforting, too. He could almost be in the cramped galley kitchen of his last shared grad school apartment, or behind the bar with Alvie, getting ready for a shift.

He isn’t.

Sana drops the teabags into the mugs, pouring the steaming water carefully. “If you take sugar, I think it was last seen in the cabinet next to the fridge.”

Brian chuckles at her almost-joke about the dynamic chaos of her kitchen. The kitchen. Their kitchen. He’s going to be spending the next few days getting used to that. If Sana is an early riser, maybe he’ll spend the next few days getting used to mornings like this with her, too.

[anjuschiffer]

Coming In For A Diagnosis and Leaving With A Date

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @theatreandcomicfreak!!!! Sure, we’ve only known each other for a few months, but Mina! You’re so freaking amazing and I’m so glad to have met you!

So to celebrate, I wrote this for you! Enjoy it! And hope you have a wonderful day :D

------

He was here to help Damian on taking down a small-time criminal, so why were they having such a hard time taking him down?

“Damian, are you sure that-” Garfield started, only to get interrupted by his friend.

“I’m going to be fine. Go and rest. I’ll be sure to update you on-” Static filled their communication, Garfield already fearing the worst. 

“Damian.” No response. “Damian!” Garfield yelled out, quickly coming to a halt, bearing the slight burn he got from the roof asphalt. Who cares if he was bleeding from his arm. Who cares if he couldn’t retain his form for any longer than five minutes. He had to go back! Damian was in danger-

“Well, look what we have here. A lost kitten.” Garfield quickly whipped his head to see Catwoman. Or Selina as Damian called her. Despite Selina and Bruce being together for several years, the two still wouldn’t get together, much to Damian’s annoyance. If you asked Garfield, Damian probably wanted her to officially be part of the family already, not that Damian already considered her as such.

“Please don’t do that.” Garfield said, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. All the hairs on his body relaxed, but his heart still raced quickly against his chest. “Do you know what’s going on?” Garfield watched as Selina hummed, looking over to where Damian was last heard from.

“He’s going to be fine, kid. He can handle this. And if anything, he’s got Bat out there as well.” She assured, looking at the gash across his arm. “You, on the other hand, won’t if you don’t get that treated.”

“I’m fine.” Garfield protested, wincing when Selina placed pressure on his wound.

“I beg to differ.” Selina said, quickly taking out her phone, a corner of her lips curving as she typed something, pocketing it away once she was down. “See that apartment over there?”

“Yeah?” Garfield looked over to where she was pointing, an apartment building just a block over. If Garfield squinted just a tiny bit, he was able to see a few plants sitting by the window ledge. “What about that-”

“Go there and wait inside.” Selina instructed, ushering him to go. “Someone will be there shortly to help you treat that wound of yours.” Garfield turned to go, but remained seated where he was. “I’ll make sure to update you on Damian’s whereabouts.”

Seeing as Selina wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer, Garfield made his way to the open apartment, carefully stepping over the plants, finding himself stepping onto a sofa. He promptly took off his shoes, not wanting to dirty the poor furniture anymore than what he had already done.

As he chose to sit, he took note of how organized -and white- the room was, the cabinets meticulously neat and labeled, his eyes widening when he saw the names on some of the glass jars. 

Naloxone, bacitracin, lidocaine… where did this person even get the first and last one?

As he tried to distract himself, Garfield thought it would be a good idea to look at the white board hung above one of the work stations, ignoring the various mortars filled with who-knows-what. 

He began to panic when he saw Damian’s medical records there, quickly running towards it to grab it, quickly turning page after page, panicking when he saw that this person also knew that Damian was Robin. 

Lifting his gaze from the papers, his eyes landed on the wall files, his eyes landing on the name Wayne. 

He began to rummage through, finding the rest of the Batfam’s identities, also finding other rogues' names in the other compartments. 

His heart stopped when he came across his own file, his name staring back at him in pink ink. 

Just as he was about to look at how much this person knew about him, the sound of keys jingling broke his determination. 

He quickly began to put the files back, making sure to place them in their proper slots, quickly hopping back into the sofa as he heard footsteps approach the room along with muffled talking. 

As soon as he managed to sit down and attempt to look normal, the door slid open. 

“-should have said no. Maybe I really am a pushover.” The person muttered, Garfield feeling his breath hitch. She was pretty. Very pretty.

The girl looked at him, gaping at his appearance before throwing her bag to the side and rushing out the room. 

Garfield felt hurt, wondering what she had thought when she saw him, only for it to all go away when she came back, gloves on and a first aid kit in hand. 

He thought she already looked pretty with her hair down, but she looked just as stunning with her hair tied into a loose bun. 

“How long have you been like this?” She asked, snapping Garfield from his trance.

“Half an hour?” Garfield tried to provide, watching as she cut off his sleeve, quick to start cleaning the outer rims of his wounds. 

“I’m guessing you were like this for a while before Miss Ky-Ca-” she started to fumble. 

“I know Miss Kyle is Catwoman. Don’t gotta worry about the whole ‘secret-identity’ thing with me.” Garfield said, watching the girl visibly relax, the girl going back to focusing on clearing the dry blood with a pair of tweezers and cotton swabs.

The two remained quiet, Garfield watching as she kept cleaning his wound, wincing when she started to add the stitches to his wound.

“Sorry.”

“You’re just doing your job.” Garfield had to bite his tongue to stop from hissing from the pain. “Actually, is this your job?”

“Kind of.” She replied, adding one last stitch. “I have experience on patching up small injuries and I used to study medicine under a mentor, but that was a while ago...” the girl trailed, Garfield picking up on how her mood quickly shifted. 

“Wow, these are the neatest stitches I’ve ever gotten! You have to be a pretty amazing sewer if they’re this neat. I bet you’d also be a pretty good designer!” Garfield praised, noticing a faint blush dust her face as she placed some ointment over the stitches. 

“Matter of fact, I am a designer.” The girl said, a soft smile now on her lips. “Miss Kyle commissioned me to make her a dress for the upcoming charity here in Gotham. Although, I ended up getting roped in some things I shouldn’t have.” 

“Accidentally found out her identity?” He watched the girl nod. 

“Yup. Well...that's a part of it.” She said, taking out some bandage. “And along the way I found out about her family’s, as you saw the files over there.”

“I-I didn’t see any files.“ He said, averting his eyes from her, feeling her gaze on him. “Okay. I did.” He admitted. “But why do you even have all of those medical records?”

“Curious, aren’t you?” Marinette purred, something inside of Garfield stirring. “Don’t blame you. It’s not everyday you find someone like me.”

“You mean a pretty girl like you?” Garfield teased, watching her almost drop the pair of scissors in her hand. “Which reminds me, what’s your name?”

“Wh-what? No!” Marinette squeaked out, trying her hardest to not wrap the bandage too tight. “I meant someone who helps vigilantes and heroes while being a civilian.” Garfield hummed at that, watching as she finished patching him up. “And Marinette. My name’s Marinette.” Marinette said, checking over her work. “And seems like you’re good to go.”

“That’s it?” Garfield said in a panic, not wanting to leave just yet. “Wow, didn’t think it’d be this fast.”

“Like I said,” Marinette said, pulling out Garfield’s file and jotting something down. “I have my share of experience when it comes to these types of things.” 

“Well then,” Garfield got up, one minute himself and the next as a cat on her desk, nudging her hand for some scratches. “Thank you very much.” 

He watched as red dusted her face again, giving him a few scritches under his chin, giggling when he let out a few purrs.

“Remember to come back tomorrow morning for the follow up.” Marinette reminded, watching as Garfield pounced to the window ledge, morphing back into his normal form. “Need to make sure it heals properly.”

“Will do doc!” Garfield said, stepping out into the fire escape, only to find Damian there. “Holy shi-” He was fine!

“What are you doing here?” Damian asked with a growl.

“Umm...getting my injuries checked?” Garfield defended, showing Damian his wrapped arm. “What about you?”

“Same thing.” Damian said as he motioned to his bruised face, quickly jumping into the window. Garfield quickly followed suit.

“Damian! Just look at you! What in kwami’s name were you up to?” Marinette scolded when she saw Damian, quickly going through her cabinets, grabbing different jars. “Oh! Hi Gar! Thought we agreed to see each other tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?” Damian asked, narrowing his eyes at Garfield, causing him to gulp. Why was he acting like this?

“A follow up Dami, no need to get so overprotective, geez.” Marinette clarified, making Damian face her. “If anything, I should be the overprotective one. I am older than you.” Garfield could only watch as the two bickered.

“By two years.” Damian stated, hissing when she placed an ice pack over his bruise. 

“Meaning I don’t need little brother dearest to be following me 24/7.” Marinette said with a hint of annoyance, lifting Damian’s face to get a better look at the cut under his chin. “Small scratch. Nothing too major, unlike the one on your torso.”

“Wait, brother? You guys are related?” Garfield asked, this question going ignored as the two siblings kept arguing. 

“It’s just a scratch.” 

Marinette was related to Damian… his sister...

“A scratch!? You’re still bleeding from it!”

Meaning she is a Wayne...and she had quite the overprotective family, and a large one at that… just look at Damian!

“Nothing that I can’t heal on my own.”

Just what is he getting himself into?

“That’s it.” Marinette huffed, pulling out her phone. “I’m calling Grandpere.” Garfield let out a laugh when he saw Damian stiffen.

“Mari, don’t you dare-”

“Alf? Yes, it's me. Listen, Damian doesn’t want to get himself checked, insisting that his injury-stop that!” Marinette yelled at Damian, who tried to grab the phone away from her, only for Garfield to get a hold of it.

“Hey!” “Logan, hand it over to me.” The siblings said simultaneously, only for Garfield to ignore the two.

“Hey Alfred, it’s me, Garfield. Yes, a cut on his torso that’s not too deep. Yes, I will tell him to let Mari to look at it or else there will be consequences.” He looked over at a betrayed Damian and a grinning Marinette who mouthed a thank you. “Yes, I’m fine as well Alfred. Oh! And if Miss Kyle is there, please tell her I said thank you. Right. Bye.” With that, Garfield hanged up, handing Marinette her phone back.

“I won’t forget this betrayal Logan.” Damian said, pouting as he sat back down on the sofa, Marinette already having her tool out to clean his wound.

“You’re very welcome.” Garfield said, grinning as he watched Damian fuss over his patch up.

------

“Thank you for having my back Garfield.” Marinette said as he followed Damian out the window.

Marinette was able to tend to Damian’s injuries with such grace that it left Garfield mesmerized, wondering how he didn’t feel the two hours pass by.

“It was nothing.” Garfield said, averting his gaze from her, scratching the back of his head as heat rose to his cheeks. That’s when he felt a peck on his cheek, turning to see Marinette smile at him.

“A token of my gratitude.” She reasoned, fiddling with her fingers as she watched Garfiled hover a hand over the place she kissed him. “Sorry if I made you uncom-”

“No, no, no!” Garfield started, finally touching the spot with his fingers. “I didn’t mind it.” He melted when she beamed, only for Damian to ruin their moment.

“Hurry up! I don’t have all night!” Damian yelled, causing Garfield to groan.

“So about tomorrow-” Mari started, only for Gar to cut her off.

“Come in the morning for the check up. Got it.” Garfield recited, lifting his right hand. “Promise to be here at 8 sharp.”

“Well, I was thinking if you’d like to join me for breakfast after the check up.” Gar broke into a smile. “Would you?”

“Definitely!” Gar said, “Consider it a date then.” Without giving her a chance to reply, he went to join Damian, looking forward to his breakfast date with Marinette.

Marinette watched as Garfield jumped away, going back to the file she had for him. Picking up her pink pen, she drew a small heart next to his name.

She can’t wait for tomorrow’s date, even if it meant that her stupid brothers might try to stop it.