#i could easily get up to grab a chocolate bar but i think hovering over the large high gap between my bed and my desk is a lot more poggers

[ruvviks]

guess who's hungry again when already comfy and cozy in bed

[junghelioseok]

heart-on.

↳ your one-night stand definitely isn’t relationship material, but maybe—just maybe—your manager’s son is.

◇ hoseok x reader ◇ smut | strangers to lovers!au ◇ 10.1k [1/1]

❛❛ my boss is always telling me how perfect her son would be for me and she promises he’s coming to the next holiday party and don’t worry he’s heard all about me too and ALSO there’s this dude i slept with once a couple of months ago and sometimes he still sends me dick pics when i ask him to at 3 in the morning cause seriously dude’s got a good dick ❜❜

notes: welcome to the first installment of the serendipity series! we’re starting with hoseok, because, well, have you met me? 🤣 be warned, however, that this isn’t anywhere near as edited as i’d like so i’ll probably give it another read/edit tomorrow but for now!!! here it is!!!

⇢ series masterlist. | inspired by this post.

warnings: dirty talk bc hoseok’s got a bit of a mouth on him, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, kids!), sexting. dick pics, obvi. brief mention of a dead pet goldfish :(

You’re refilling your mug when you hear it. Voices filter out from the kitchen, floating past the coffee station where you’re pouring yourself another drink and hanging in the open air of the hallway that leads back to the rest of the office. They’re familiar voices, too—voices that belong to the resident gossips of your workplace. Lottie’s pitchy, nasal tone melds with Hyejin’s higher one, their conversation interrupted every so often by an exaggerated exclamation or gasp from Sandra, the third and final member of their trio.

“Haven’t you heard? Carolyn’s divorce was finalized over the weekend, the poor thing.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine how she’s feeling. I mean, getting back into dating at her age? Goodness!”

“And now she’ll be all alone at the holiday party, too. How sad is that?”

“It’s tragic. Poor thing.”

Rolling your eyes, you grab a packet of sugar and tear it open, upending it over your mug and watching the crystalline granules fall into the dark liquid within. You know for a fact that Sandra and her husband can’t even stand to be in the same room for an extended period of time, considering how they’d spent most of last year’s holiday party talking to entirely different groups of people. You’d sat two tables away from them during dinner, and they hadn’t even made eye contact once. And as for Lottie and Hyejin, well, you’re certain that their relationships aren’t much better. All three of them are miserable people as far as you’re concerned, and you make a mental note to check in on Carolyn—a sweet woman in her thirties who always keeps chocolate bars in her purse—on your way back to your desk.

“Sheesh. Vultures, the lot of them. Don’t you think?”

You whirl at the sound of your manager’s voice. Kyunghee Jung is a dark-haired woman in her late fifties, and she laughs when she sees your startled expression, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Easy! You’ll spill your coffee if you’re not careful.”

“I’ll probably have a heart attack first,” you reply, pressing a hand to your chest. “What was your job before this? Some kind of intelligence operative? Are you a super spy?”

Kyunghee laughs again and joins you at the counter. “Nothing even remotely as exciting as that,” she answers, plopping her mug down beside yours. It’s decorated with what looks like every color of the rainbow, a massive smiling sunflower taking up the majority of the surface, and the only remnant of the ceramic’s original color is on the very edge of the handle where there’s a lopsided little patch of white. The piece is clearly handmade, and a stark contrast to the simple mint green cup that houses your coffee. Looking at it, it’s impossible not to smile.

“I love that,” you remark, inclining your head at her mug. “Was it a present from one of your kids?”

“Hoseok,” she confirms, running a fingertip along the imperfect handle fondly. “I’ve told you about him before—he’s right around your age.”

You chuckle. “Right, I remember. That’s why he’s the perfect match for me, right?”

“Come now, there’s more to it than that,” Kyunghee defends, waving a hand. “But yes, to answer your question. He gave it to me as a birthday present when he was eight.”

“Well, you never told me he was an artist,” you tease. “Does he have an Etsy? Can I buy one of these off him? Does he do custom orders, maybe?”

Normally, your manager is more than happy to play along with your jokes, but today Kyunghee fixes you with an uncharacteristically serious look. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?” she asks. “He’s coming to the holiday party, after all. I figured you could finally meet.”

You blink. Kyunghee has been making offhand remarks about how well you would get on with her son, Hoseok, for over a year now, but you’ve never even come close to broaching the topic of meeting him. You don’t even know anything about the man beyond the fact that his name is Hoseok and that he works somewhere downtown. He also favors tall socks and yellow suspenders if the framed photograph on Kyunghee’s desk is any indication—or at least, he certainly did when he was still in diapers. Whether he still does, is anyone’s guess.

“Wow, I had no idea he was even interested in coming,” you manage when you’ve recovered from your surprise. “Did you bribe him?”

If Kyunghee notices that your voice is a few pitches higher than usual, she doesn’t remark on it. “Oh, you know. I just told him that this would be his last chance to score free booze on the company’s dime.” She laughs. “Three more months and it’s going to be all beaches and sunshine for me. I might even become a cruise person in my retirement.”

You gasp and slap a hand to your heart. “Kyunghee! Think of the environmental impact!”

“I said I might!” she retorts immediately. “Sheesh. Even in my old age, it’s hard to conveniently forget how shitty and unsustainable those damn boats are.”

You pick up your mug and raise it in a salute. “Well, the oceans thank you.”

“My husband doesn’t,” she answers with a sigh. “He’s been dying to book one of those trips that stop all along the Mediterrannean coastline, and I can’t exactly blame him.”

“That is tempting,” you admit. “You’ll have to send photos, if you do end up going.”

“You’ll be sick of me and my photos before the first day is even up,” she promises. Then she pauses, her eyes darting toward the kitchen where silence has fallen in the last few minutes. “Speaking of being sick—you think the vultures are still hovering around in there? I haven’t had lunch yet, and I need the microwave.”

Obligingly, you edge a little closer to the kitchen doorway and poke your head around the frame, scanning for Lottie and her sidekicks. “Coast is clear. Enjoy your lunch, Kyunghee.”

She nods and raises her mug at you, returning your salute. “I always do.”

///

As soon as the work day ends, you fall into your usual routine. Your commute home is easily walkable on nicer days, and though the winter weather is brisker than you’d like, you decide to walk for the sake of stopping at the convenience store on the corner of the block.

Once you arrive back at your apartment, you change into your comfiest sweats and a loose tee. You turn on some music while you throw together some dinner, and settle onto the couch half an hour later with a full plate and Netflix. Television is a welcome distraction from the events of the workday, and you manage to get through three full episodes of your current show before your pesky brain decides to revisit the events of today, replaying the conversations that you’d both had and overheard.

There’s no denying that you’ve been single for quite some time now, and for the most part, it’s been by choice. Ever since graduating from university, you’ve chosen to focus more on your career, and it’s paid off both in terms of the important position you hold in your company and your above average salary. And yet, you can’t help but think back to the gossip you’d overheard earlier—about the supposed tragedy of being single and attending the upcoming holiday party alone. Your mind wanders to Kyunghee’s son, Hoseok, and how he’ll be in attendance this year. You wonder what he’s like, and whether he really is perfect for you, as Kyunghee seems to be so fond of mentioning.

And then your mind goes to Jay.

You met Jay two months ago, on a well-deserved night out after a hellish workweek. The bar was crowded, and the music coming from the neon dancefloor in the back was just loud enough to drown out your inhibitions. That, combined with the alcohol swimming through your system, made you bold. You sashayed your way across the dancefloor, dodging inebriated bodies and swaying limbs as you fixed your attention on the head of pale lavender hair and deliciously broad shoulders that awaits you just behind the bar counter. The bartender is nothing short of gorgeous, and you’ve thrown all caution to the wind. Sure, several other women are eyeing him like he’s their next meal—several men are, too—but you need another drink. And while he prepares it, you plan to flirt.

A lot.

The bar counter is sticky with spilled liquor, but you don’t pay that any mind as you lean across it, the wood digging into the narrow strip of exposed skin left by your cropped top. “Hi!” you call, and the bartender looks up from where he’s just finished pouring a round of shots for a group of raucous young men.

“Hi yourself,” he says, his pillowy lips stretching into an easy smile. “What can I get you?”

You pretend not to notice the way his eyes flicker down to the dip of your cleavage and instead put on the sultriest smile you are capable of mustering. “Vodka soda,” you tell him, injecting a bit of purr into your voice. “A bit of lemon too, if you have it.”

“Trust me, I have it,” he assures, his smile growing as he reaches for a clean glass and a clear bottle. “Name’s Jin, by the way. I’m here all night, if you need anything e—”

A loud clatter and the sound of breaking glass interrupts the rest of his sentence, and all eyes at the bar go to the source of the disturbance. Conversations stutter to a halt, and even the thumping bass of the music seems to dull. Jin darts to the other end of the bar, where you can see that one of several barstools has fallen to the ground. There’s a man on the ground as well, surrounded by shattered glass and spilled dark liquor, and your eyes widen when you realize that you know him.

And arguably, a little too well.

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. People are starting to lose interest in the spectacle, turning back to their own conversations and continuing on as if nothing had happened at all. The man is beginning to clamber to his feet, and a few people lend a helping hand as Jin begins barking out orders for everyone to step back so he can sweep up the broken glass. You seize upon the opportunity, latching on to the nearest arm and pulling them close so you can hide behind them. Vaguely, you’re aware of them sputtering in surprise, but you only have eyes for the man who had fallen off his stool, watching him carefully as he brushes himself off and tries to play it cool despite the sizable patch of whiskey soaking his white shirt.

“Hey, uh…” Your human shield is speaking. “Are you okay? You’re squeezing me pretty tight.”

That draws you out of your daze. Abashed, you loosen your grip on his arm and look up into his face, your throat going dry when you realize how handsome he is. His black hair is parted over his forehead, a stray strand falling into warm brown eyes set above a straight nose and an inviting mouth. There’s a freckle above his top lip, just shy of the center, and your inebriated brain wonders just what it would be like to kiss it.

“I, um—” You clear your throat and try again. “Sorry about that. I just didn’t want him to see me.”

Your newfound companion raises an eyebrow and glances over his shoulder at the drunk man, who is now being ushered out of the bar by his buddies. “You know that guy?”

You nod, cringing. “Yeah, his name’s Trent. I… may or may not have dated him for a few months last year.”

The man laughs out loud. “You dated a Trent?”

“What, like you’ve never made a questionable life choice?” you challenge. “Besides, you shouldn’t judge someone based on the sins of their parents. It’s not his fault they gave him a terrible name.”

“Sure, but it is on him for going along with it,” he replies with a shrug. “I would’ve changed my name as soon as I could if my parents had named me Trent. But hey, that’s just one man’s opinion.”

You laugh. “Okay then, Not-Trent.” Relinquishing your grip on his arm, you let your fingers graze his hand before pulling away entirely. “What do you say we continue this conversation over a drink?”

The man, whose name is decidedly not Trent, catches your fingers in his and gives them a gentle squeeze. “Happily.”

One drink turns into two, and then three. By the end of the hour, you are feeling pleasantly warm, the alcohol spreading through your veins like molasses and turning your surroundings into a hazy blur. The music has grown even louder, pounding against your eardrums, and you grab onto Not-Trent’s wrist as he sets his now-empty glass back down onto the counter.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” you ask, raising your voice to be heard over the thumping bassline. “I can’t even hear myself think.”

“The parking lot’s out back,” he suggests. “Why don’t we get some air?”

You nod and stand up on wobbly legs, cursing your decision to wear heels when you stumble into your companion. He steadies you with a gentle but firm hand, and you don’t miss the way his touch lingers on your lower back, his palm warm through the material of your blouse.

Together, the two of you pick your way through the throng of swaying bodies on the dancefloor. The bassline thuds in your ears, dark and hypnotic, and you can feel the reverberations thrumming across the slats of your ribs and echoing in the cavern of your chest like a second heartbeat.

It’s almost a relief, then, when you step out into the cool night air. Your ears continue to ring for a few seconds, but it soon fades and leaves behind only the muted hum of traffic from the street and the faint sound of music from inside. At your side, Not-Trent releases a long breath and leans against the brick wall of the building, and you turn to take in the steep slopes of his side profile as he tilts his head up toward the velvety night sky.

He’s handsome. Dressed in ripped jeans and black leather, he’s a sight to behold, and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been craving a bit of intimacy for quite some time now. The alcohol swimming through your system makes you bolder than you normally would be, and you reach out to lay a hand on his arm. He turns toward you with a silent question glimmering in his irises, but you simply step closer, until you’re pinning him against the wall with your body and you’re breathing the same air.

“Hey,” you say, your voice an airy whisper. His eyes are near obsidian in the dimness of the parking lot, illuminated only by the orange glow of the streetlamps on either end, and your gaze flickers down to his mouth before roving to the freckle that sits upon his top lip. “Kiss me?”

Your companion’s eyes widen. His lips part, but no words come out, and you’re about to repeat your question when he finally finds his voice again.

“That’s really… that’s not a good idea.” Awkwardly, he clears his throat, but the hoarseness of his voice and the harsh bob of his Adam’s apple give away his true desires. “Look, you’ve been drinking. We both have, and—”

You cut him off, pushing up to your tiptoes and planting a messy kiss to the soft dip just beneath his bottom lip. “Don’t care,” you mumble against his skin. “I want you.”

Your companion laughs weakly. His hands find their way to your waist and pause there, as if he can’t decide whether to push you away or pull you closer. “You don’t even know me,” he murmurs.

“I don’t have to know you,” you reply. Your fingers drag down his chest, trailing along the delicate silver necklace that rests against the black of his shirt. From the chain hangs a round pendant, the surface engraved with the letter J. Slowly, you trace it with a fingertip, the metal shining even in the dim light, and satisfaction blooms in your heart when your companion’s throat bobs again. “I want you,” you breathe, soft but insistent. “Isn’t that enough?”

“I—” He clears his throat and tries again, and you wonder if he realizes that his hands have slid down to your hips, or that there’s a growing hardness against your lower stomach that’s becoming increasingly harder to ignore. “Look, I’m flattered—really, I am. And you’re… I mean, fuck, you’re gorgeous. But I don’t think we should do anything when you’re clearly not in the right frame of mind to be making this kind of decision, and—”

“And, nothing.” You wind your arms around his neck, pressing close and grinding subtly against the bulge in his pants. You smirk when he releases a low hiss from between his teeth, and hide it by laying a trail of kisses along the stretch of bare skin exposed by the dip of his collar. “Stop being such a gentleman,” you whisper. Your fingers trail down his chest, past the silver of his pendant and down to the faded denim of his jeans, teasing at the cool metal of his belt buckle. “I want this. But if you’re not interested, I can always go back in there and—”

The rest of your sentence dies in your throat. Your companion has tugged you flush against him in one smooth motion, and your gasp is cut off by the firm press of his mouth against yours. Immediately, you melt into the kiss, and a moan tears from your lips when he spins you around and pins you against the brick wall of the building.

“You’re a spoiled little thing, huh?” His breath fans hot against your cheeks, and you shiver when you meet his eyes and see the dark promise reflected there. “Used to getting what you want, huh, princess?”

Your breath hitches at the endearment—something your companion doesn’t miss. “Oh, you like that?” He chuckles hoarsely, and when he speaks again it’s in a rasp that sends heat straight to your core. “What else do you like, hmm? You want me to be rough with you, princess? Or should I be gentle and treat you like a queen?”

You reach up, raking your fingers through his hair and skimming across the soft strands of his undercut before finding purchase at his nape. “You talk too much,” you whisper.

And then you’re crushing your mouth back against his, whining when he immediately takes back control of the kiss. His grip slides downward, his fingertips digging into the skin just above the curve of your ass, and you squeak when he grabs the back of your thigh and hooks your leg around his waist.

“You feel that?” he rasps into your ear, nipping at the delicate shell and chortling when you keen. Your skirt has ridden up dangerously high on your spread thighs, and you let out a soft whimper when he grinds harshly against your center. The lace of your panties and the denim of his jeans are the last barricades between you, and you wonder, vaguely, whether your companion has a bit of an exhibitionist streak when he slides one of your sleeves down your shoulder and begins kissing a trail down to the swell of your cleavage. “You feel how hard you’ve gotten me?”

You lean down, kissing the soft spot where his jaw meets his ear before letting your teeth graze against his skin. “Why don’t you do something about it then?”

He hisses out a sharp breath, his hands tightening their hold on your hips. “You’ve got quite the mouth on you, huh? I can’t wait to make you eat your words.”

Any retort you may have had is interrupted by a sudden swell of music and the sound of a slamming door. Whirling to face the source of the noise, you immediately spot a familiar head of lavender hair atop broad shoulders encapsulated in the black uniform of the bar. Jin hasn’t noticed the two of you yet, his attention fixated on his cell phone screen, but he looks up when you let out a little squeak of surprise and shove your companion’s chest in an attempt to create some distance between you.

“Hey.” Jin raises a hand in greeting, a knowing smirk curling his lips. “This phone call shouldn’t be too long, so please. Don’t stop the party on my behalf.”

Heat floods to your cheeks. There isn’t much use protesting against his insinuation, considering the rather compromising position you’re in. Much to your relief, though, your companion simply huffs out a chuckle and waves Jin off. “Thanks, man, but we’ll get out of your hair.” Lowering his voice, he turns back to you. “Coming, princess?”

You nod. He offers you his hand, and you take it gratefully, adjusting your skirt so that it drapes properly over your hips and thighs again.

“Have a good night!” Jin calls after you, amusement lacing every word. You can’t work up the nerve to respond, and luckily, you don’t have to. Your companion leads you around the corner of the building, where several rows of cars are parked beneath an orange streetlamp. On this side, the exterior brick wall is painted with a mural, and you admire the colorful galaxies and nebulae swirling amidst silvery white stars and the word serendipity spray-painted in pale blue.

The last car in the row is parked just beneath the letter Y, and it’s here that your companion stops. The sleek black vehicle has an almost vintage feel to it, and you glance up when you hear the jingle of metal.

“I’m guessing this is yours?”

He nods, pulling a set of keys from the pocket of his leather jacket and inserting one into the lock. “Yeah. You like it?”

“It’s beautiful,” you tell him, tracing the edge of the passenger window “Makes my car look like a total piece of shit by comparison.”

Your companion chuckles, pulling open the driver’s side door, and you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the window as he presses a button to unlock the rest of the doors. Your hair’s a bit of a mess and your mascara has smudged beneath your right eye, and you hurriedly swipe at it as your companion turns his attention back to you.

“So,” he says. “Now what? I can give you a ride home, if you want.”

Deliberately, you let your gaze drop down to his crotch, where his bulge—albeit waning—is still visible. “Seriously? I thought you were going to… what was it again? Make me eat my words?”

And just like that, it’s as if a switch has flipped. His eyes darken to obsidian, his lips settling into a stern line, and you barely have time to draw in a breath before he’s caging you against the side of his car and molding his mouth to yours. Your lips part beneath the onslaught, and he wastes no time in dipping inside to explore, licking into you until you’re both breathless.

“Inside,” he breathes once you’ve broken apart, and you instantly obey. You wrench the door open and all but tumble into the backseat, and he isn’t far behind as he slots himself between your spread thighs. Your hands fly to his shoulders where you help him shuck off his leather jacket, tossing it carelessly to the front where it lands in a heap on the dashboard before focusing your attention on the hem of his black t-shirt. Your companion obliges you as you push it upward to expose his toned abdomen, grabbing it by the collar and pulling it off the rest of the way when your reach falls a little short in the cramped interior of the backseat.

“Your turn,” he whispers when you try to reach for his belt, his hands settling around your wrists. “It’s only fair, princess.”

Pouting, you let your hands fall limp in his grasp, and he chuckles as he leans down to pacify you with a kiss. Deft fingers find the hem of your blouse, pushing it up until you can twist out of the material. You throw it aside with no regard for where it lands on the ground, and lay back as your companion drinks you in, his dark gaze raking across the lacy black lingerie that decorates your curves and skims you like a second skin. “Fuck,” he breathes, his voice hoarse with a combination of amazement and disbelief. “You’re stunning.”

You smile, trailing a fingertip from the dip of his collarbone down to the silver necklace that sits prettily against his bare chest. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you tell him, tracing the letter engraved into his pendant. “Jay.”

Your companion—newly dubbed Jay—smiles back. “You’re something else, princess,” he murmurs, before leaning down to kiss you again. He explores your mouth thoroughly—languidly—before moving down to nip at your neck, and already, you can feel the beginnings of marks beginning to form, blossoming across your skin as irrefutable proof of your tryst.

It isn’t long before Jay frees you from your bra, watching with carnal fascination as your breasts spill out of the lacy material. You whine when he reaches out to cup one, his palm hot against your bare skin, and he smirks crookedly when a pinch to your nipple makes your back arch off the leather of the seat. “So pretty,” he rasps. “I can’t wait to see how you look stretched around my cock.”

“Stop waiting, then,” you tell him, trying again for his belt buckle. This time, he lets you fumble it open, leaning back to watch you work with hooded eyes and a lazy little smile. Emboldened, you push aside the denim of his jeans and free his cock from the confines of his underwear. He’s hard and hot and heavy in your palm, and your tongue darts out instinctively at the sight of the pearlescent precum beading the tip.

“Jay,” you murmur, thumbing across the head of his erection and smirking when he hisses in pleasure. “Fuck me.”

Jay seems to consider your demand, mischief flitting across his features before he manages to school his expression into something more neutral. “Where are your manners, princess?” he asks, pushing your hand away and giving himself a few long, slow strokes. “Say please, if you want it so bad.”

For a moment, you consider refusing. Jay seems to be the type of man who enjoys a good game, but between the state of his cock and the earlier interruption, you’re pretty sure he’s nearing his limit. And even if he isn’t, you are. And so, you shelve your pride for the time being, and trail a hand down the length of your bared body as you bat your lashes up at him. “Fuck me, Jay,” you repeat. “Please. Want your cock so bad.”

His answering smile is equal parts amusement and satisfaction, and altogether sinful. “That’s my girl,” he rasps, before shoving your panties aside. Lining the head of his cock up, he enters you in one smooth thrust, and you moan as your walls stretch to accommodate his girth. You’re more than wet enough to take him in his entirety, your eyes fluttering shut when he bottoms out, and he groans hoarsely as he takes a second to relish the feeling of your walls gripping him so tightly.

“Fuck. You’re so wet, princess.” Jay dips a thumb into your slick, spreading it across your clit and rubbing a few experimental circles around the sensitive nub. He groans when you clench around him, his hips stuttering, and you squeeze around him again just to hear him grit out another curse. “Shit. I’m not going to last long at this rate.”

“Don’t care,” you murmur, rocking against him and sighing when the motion sends him a little deeper into your core. “Just fuck me, Jay. Please.”

Jay leans in, a dark lock of hair falling across his forehead as he plants an indulgent kiss on your waiting mouth. “Anything for you, princess,” he breathes. Slowly, he pulls back until only the tip of his cock remains inside you. Then he’s slamming forward, and you can’t even find it in yourself to care about the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin or the way the car rocks. Jay’s thumbing across your clit in tight circles that he times perfectly with the rock of his hips, and you wonder whether the rapidly building pleasure in your belly is due to your dry spell or if he’s just that good. You can feel every inch of him as he fills you up repeatedly, his brows furrowed in concentration and his dark hair flopping as he drives deeper in search of the spot that will have you seeing stars.

You know he’s found it when the pleasure in your belly spikes, your back arching off the backseat. Your skin is sticky against the dark leather and you’re certain the sweat gathering at your temples has destroyed the last of your makeup, but Jay alleviates your concerns with a particularly well-timed thrust and a harsh nip to the soft spot at your clavicle. You keen out something unintelligible, and his lips stretch into a smirk against your skin.

“That’s it,” he encourages. “Cum for me, princess.”

That’s all it takes for the mounting pressure to snap. Your body collapses into a searing orgasm, the pleasure flaring out like a supernova and spreading through your veins like wildfire. “F-fuck, Jay—” you gasp, your fingers scrabbling at his back for purchase and no doubt leaving scratches in their wake. “Fuck, you feel so—”

The remainder of your words trail off into garbled nonsense, and Jay huffs out a strained chuckle as he begins chasing after his own orgasm, rutting against you in a way that both prolongs your pleasure and sustains his own. “Shit,” he groans, his eyes fluttering shut. “Fuck, that’s it. Look at you—taking my cock so well. So pretty and perfect and—”

Whatever he was going to say dissolves into a groan as he gives a few more erratic thrusts before his release overwhelms him. Creamy warmth floods through you, and you rub his back tiredly as his head drops onto your shoulder, his breath flaring hot against your skin as he rides out his orgasm.

It takes several long seconds for the pleasure to recede. Your legs are still shaky when Jay pulls away, straightening up and tucking himself back into his jeans. There’s an empty ache in your core now that you are no longer stuffed full of his cock, and already, you are missing the feeling. Still, you push that aside as you sit up, adjusting your panties and wincing at the wetness that soaks the material and sticks to your skin.

“So,” Jay says after a moment’s silence, and you glance over at him when he huffs out a short chuckle. “That was fun.”

“Not bad at all,” you agree weakly, an irrepressible smile tugging at your lips.

Jay grins. It’s a bright, infectious grin—and it’s one that you’ve already grown rather fond of in the short period of time you’ve known him. It’s a grin that showcases his perfect teeth and crinkles his eyes into crescents, and one that all but forces you to grin back.

“Here, give me your phone,” he says, and you watch as he punches in his number once you hand it over. “Just in case you ever wanna do this again,” he tells you, handing it back. “Don’t be a stranger, princess.”

You glance down at his contact information, saved under the moniker you’d given him and affixed with a short string of emojis. “I won’t,” you tell him, chuckling. “In fact, I just might take you up on the offer.”

-

The screen of your laptop has long since gone dark, and you stretch your arms overhead before waking it again. Rolling your shoulders, you navigate back to the main Netflix menu, hovering over the resume button and watching the trailer loop in the background.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t think about Jay often. You’ve texted each other quite often since that night in his car—usually when you’re bored and alone and have had a few too many glasses of wine in the evenings. You’ve found yourself tapping on his name instinctively during those odd, ambiguous hours—when late night and early morning meld together and you’re aching for a bit of relief.

And as if he knows you’re thinking about him, your phone buzzes against the coffee table, the screen lighting up with a familiar name.

[11:22pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: thinkin about u, pretty girl 😘

It’s followed by an image, and your heart rate picks up, thudding loudly against your ribs as you open it.

Fuck.

Your memories of Jay’s face—made all the more hazy by the alcohol and the amount of time elapsed since your first and only meeting—truly don’t do him justice. Though the photograph cuts off just above his nose, you can still admire the sharp angle of his jaw and the fullness of his puckered lips. His skin is golden against the white of his t-shirt, and you lick your lips before thumbing across your screen to respond.

[11:23pm] You: yeah? what else are you thinking about, hmm?

His response is instantaneous.

[11:23pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: thinking about that pretty little pussy of yours

[11:23pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: how good it looked in that pic u sent me tuesday 👅

You barely even notice the way your hand begins trailing down your body, pushing aside the elastic waistband of your sweats. It’s as if you’re on autopilot, as your fingers find their way to the damp spot growing on your panties.

Yeah? you write back with your free hand, already teasing at your clothed folds with the other. Tell me more.

///

It’s an uncharacteristically warm Friday morning when you find yourself in the elevator with Jimin, a good friend of yours who works on one of the lower levels of your office building. “Morning,” he says as he steps in, a large iced coffee in hand despite the fact that it’s still very much the middle of winter. Then he squints, leaning a little closer. “Oh my god. You got laid!”

“Oh my god, not so loud!” you hiss, whacking him on the shoulder and jabbing the button to close the elevator doors. “And no, not exactly. I’ve just been texting Jay.”

“Texting, sure.” Jimin mimes air quotes around the word and rolls his eyes. “You’re sexting him, and we all know it. How many pictures of his dick do you have saved on your phone now?”

“Oh my—” You sigh, trailing off. “Can we not talk about this right now?”

“Right, of course.” Jimin takes a sip of his coffee and pretends to check his watch. “When would you like to talk about it then? Do you need to check your calendar? Can I book an appointment for later this afternoon?”

You stick your tongue out at him. “Shut up.”

Jimin just grins, his lips puckered around his straw. “So, how’s Jay? Have you asked for his real name yet?”

You shrug. “What’s the point? It’s not like we’re friends or anything. We’ve literally only met the one time.”

“Yeah, but that’s just because you’re a coward,” Jimin points out. “What’s stopping you from meeting up with him again? You have his number. You have at least one photo of his dick. Ask him out already!”

“It’s not that easy, though,” you sigh. The elevator doors open to let a few more people in, and you move to the side and lower your voice so that only Jimin can hear. “Jay—he’s not exactly boyfriend material. I mean, we fucked in his car the first night we met.”

“So?” Jimin frowns and takes another sip of his iced coffee. “You talk about things besides sex, don’t you? You definitely told him about your goldfish dying, at least. I mean, you told him before you even told me!”

“Yes I did, and he was appropriately sympathetic about Mustache’s passing, unlike some people,” you sniff. “Get over it already, won’t you?”

“Never,” Jimin replies, ignoring your pointed jab. “I’m sure you only told him because you knew you could get a sympathy sext out of it. How many dick pics did you get out of that night, anyway?”

“You’re gross,” you tell him, punching him in the arm. “Not to mention that’s exactly why Jay’s not boyfriend material. He’s perfectly happy with—whatever it is we’re doing. I can’t just ruin that by asking him to get dinner.” You frown, gnawing on your bottom lip. “I don’t want to make this into something that it’s not.”

Jimin hesitates. “Fine, okay. I guess I can understand that.”

“Yeah.”

There’s a pause, as the elevator makes a few more stops. You watch the numbers crawl higher, and know that you’ll soon have to part ways with your friend..

“Hey.” You nudge Jimin with your shoulder, just as the elevator doors close and you begin the ascent to his floor. “Wanna know something interesting?”

Jimin looks up from his phone, where he’s scrolling through Twitter. “Always.”

“My boss’ son is coming to the party tomorrow.”

Jimin’s eyebrows disappear into his ashy blond hair at your revelation. “Kyunghee’s son? Hoseok, or whatever?”

You chuckle. “The one and only. She’s found about a million ways to bring him up in conversation this past week. She thinks we’re a match made in heaven.”

“Wow.” Jimin releases a long breath. “I wonder what he’s like, then.”

You shrug, adjusting the strap of your work tote over your shoulder. “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

///

The morning of the party, you wake up to an empty refrigerator. Half stale cereal and the last dregs of milk from the carton become your breakfast, and you munch on that as you mull over the contents of your closet. You’re still in your pajamas, but you pull out your comfiest jeans and a sweater to change into after you finish eating. Then you turn to your collection of dresses, rifling through them and mentally debating the merits of each material and color.

You could go in one of two directions tonight. On the one hand, this is still a work party, and as such your attire should probably maintain a certain level of decorum. But on the other, you’re meeting Hoseok Jung for the first time tonight. You aren’t necessarily looking to start anything with the man, of course, but you do want to look good. With that in mind, you eventually settle on a deep red number that you pull out of the very back of your closet, made of a silky material that skims your curves and accentuates your best assets. Laying it on the bed, you begin your hunt for a pair of matching shoes. Twenty minutes of searching and another five of agonizing later, you step into the bathroom, intent on showering and getting on with the rest of your day.

Upon exiting the bathroom, you decide that tackling the state of your refrigerator takes top priority over your other weekend errands. Sitting down at the dining table, you take stock of what you have in your pantry, planning out your meals for the upcoming week and making a list of what you need to purchase in order to make them a reality. It’s just after one in the afternoon when you exit your apartment with a completed grocery list and your purse stuffed full of reusable canvas bags. The store is a short walk from where you live, and you decide to put in your earbuds as your feet navigate the familiar route. The temperature is surprisingly mild for winter, and the sun shines bright from its perch in the cloudless blue sky. It’s perfect weather for a walk, and the fresh air clears your mind and eases your heart.

At the grocery store, you forego the stack of baskets and instead grab a shopping cart. Weaving your way up and down the aisles, you check items off the list on your phone one by one. Eventually, you find yourself in the cereal section, grabbing a box of granola before turning to where your favorite cereal normally sits. It isn’t there, and you turn in a full circle, confused, until your gaze finally lands on the familiar box on the top shelf.

Great.

Sighing, you push up to your tiptoes, stretching your arm as far as it can reach. Your fingertips graze the shelf, but you can’t quite get a grip on the box itself. Glancing down, you scan the bottommost shelf and wonder if you can step on it to give yourself a boost.

“Need a hand?”

The voice comes from behind you, and a vague sense of familiarity sparks in your brain. Slowly, you turn around, and your entire body freezes when your gaze slides up to the speaker’s face.

“Jay.” The syllable escapes you in a near whisper. “H-hi.”

“Hey.”

Jay stands before you, looking like sin incarnate in a faded denim jacket, black sweatpants slung low on his hips, and not much else. At his throat, his silver necklace sparkles, the silver J pendant glinting beneath the fluorescent lights of the store, and you’re suddenly beyond grateful that you decided to put on a decent sweater before leaving.

“Here,” he says, stepping forward until he’s close enough that you can smell his cologne—sandalwood tinged with sweet citrus. “Let me help you with that.”

The sudden proximity has your breath hitching in your throat. Your heart thuds erratically against your ribs as he reaches around you, the denim flaps of his jacket gaping in a way that exposes even more of his bare chest. By the time he pulls back with your cereal box in hand, you feel almost faint, belatedly realizing that you’d been holding your breath.

“You wanted this, right?” Jay asks, and you aren’t sure if you’re imagining the innuendo underlying his words or the teasing inflection of the syllables.

“Y-yeah, that’s the one,” you manage, fighting to quell the uneven tempo of your heartbeat as you accept the box. “Thanks.”

“Happy to help,” he replies. Then he leans in, close enough that you can feel his warm breath fanning your cheek as he murmurs his next sentence into your ear. “Anything for you, princess. You know that.”

Heat floods across your cheeks. Your heart skips two full beats before taking off into a sprint, and it’s impossible to ignore the way your core begins to thrum, as if anticipating a repeat of that night you first met all those weeks ago. Almost instinctively, your eyes dart up to the ceiling where the security cameras are, and Jay follows the trajectory of your gaze with a low chuckle and a soft brush of your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“Sorry, princess. As much as I’d love to get my hands on you, I’m kind of on a time crunch today.”

You can’t stop the wave of disappointment that washes over you, even if you’re in the exact same boat. “Rain check, then?”

“Rain check,” he agrees. Slowly, you reach up to touch the engraved silver pendant resting against his chest, rubbing it between your fingertips before tracing the curve of the J, and he catches your wandering fingers between his and presses a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“You know how to reach me,” he murmurs with a mischievous wink. His gaze lingers even after he’s released your hand, and you clear your throat awkwardly before turning to deposit your cereal box into your shopping cart.

The two of you go your separate ways then, exchanging goodbyes. You finish the rest of your grocery shopping in a daze, idly going through the motions at checkout and letting muscle memory guide you back home. Your arms are aching by the time you step past the threshold of your apartment, and you heave your shopping bags up onto the kitchen counter with a relieved sigh before returning to the entryway to toe off your shoes. You throw together a sandwich as you unpack your groceries, taking a big bite as you walk back to your bedroom to look at the dress you’ve picked out. Pacing over to the closet, you double-check your shoe choice. Briefly, you debate whether or not to wear flats instead of heels.

There are still a few hours left before you have to start getting ready, so you take the last of your sandwich back to the kitchen and whip up a smoothie to go with it. You scroll through your phone as you eat, browsing through the latest news headlines and scrolling through your social media accounts. Just before six o’clock, as the sun starts setting beyond the horizon and casting long shadows across your living room, you start getting changed. You snap a photo in the mirror once you’re dressed, pulling up Jimin’s name in your phone and sending it to him.

[6:13pm] You: last chance to come tonight

Your phone buzzes with a response almost immediately.

[6:14pm] Jimin: nah. i’d hate to step on hoseok’s toes.

You laugh. Not so fast, you text back. We don’t even know anything about the guy yet. What if he’s boring? Or sexist?

[6:15pm] Jimin: if u think kyunghee raised a sexist you’re seriously deranged

[6:16pm] Jimin: now stop taking selfies and get your ass out the door! you’re gonna be late!!!!

///

Each year, the holiday party tends to be a little over the top, and this year is no exception. The company has bought out the entirety of a restaurant for the evening, and you glance around in amazement at the twinkling lights and lush evergreen boughs decorating the walls and strung up along the ceiling. An assortment of sparkling ornaments hangs from the massive tree in the far corner, interspersed between silver tinsel and more lights. Grabbing a champagne flute off a passing server’s tray, you head farther into the restaurant, skirting around tables draped in creamy linen and greeting your colleagues and friends.

“Is she alone?”

“Figures.”

The voices come from the direction of the open bar, and somehow, you just know that they’re talking about you. Lottie, Hyejin, and Sandra are clustered in the corner with glasses of wine in hand, casting glances around the restaurant and gossiping about anything and everything with a pulse. You’re sorely tempted to grab the nearest pitcher of water off a table and pour it over their heads, but you suppress the urge and instead head over with a saccharine smile. “So lovely to see you, {Name},” Lottie says as you approach.

“I love your dress,” Sandra adds. “Very slimming.”

“Thanks,” you reply, putting on your brightest, fakest smile. “Yours is great too. How are you and your husband enjoying the party so far?”

Sandra’s face sours, and you hide your smirk in your champagne flute. Maybe it’s petty to bring up her rocky relationship, but you’ve been subject to snide comments from Sandra and her friends for years now and it’s become increasingly hard for you to bite your tongue. A few tables away, you spot Sandra’s husband, Rodney, take an enormous gulp of his whiskey and wince as it burns down his throat.

“We’re all having a wonderful time, aren’t we, ladies?” Lottie cuts in when Sandra takes too long to answer. “Hyejin’s date is over there with Rodney, and my boyfriend is fetching himself a drink. You remember Dev, don’t you?”

You nod, even though it’s a lie. “Sure. Say hi to him for me.”

Lottie’s lips curve up into a smile, her head tilting to the side, and you’re suddenly reminded of a snake rearing its head back for the kill. “So, what about you? Have you brought someone tonight, or—?”

“Hi ladies!” Kyunghee materializes at your side, her lips painted a festive red shade to match her dress. She’s wearing the disingenuous smile that she reserves for the resident gossips of your office, and you try not to let your relief show on your face when Lottie’s attention refocuses on your manager.

“So good to see you, Kyunghee,” she simpers. “Have you been here long?”

“Not as long as you,” your manager replies, nodding at the near-empty wineglass in her hand. “I see we’re already making a dent in the wine supply, and you’re falling behind, {Name}. Why don’t we go remedy that, hmm?”

She doesn’t give you a chance to respond, grabbing your arm and leading you away. Kyunghee is surprisingly spry for a woman her age, and you follow after her with some difficulty as she marches through the throngs of conversing people, all the way to the line at the open bar.

“I’d like you to meet someone,” she says, gesturing at the man standing at the end of the line with his back to you. “{Name}, this is my son, Hoseok.”

The man turns around at the sound of his name, a warm, affable smile stretched across his face. “Hi, I’m H—” he begins, but he’s cut off by your sharp intake of breath. His eyes go wide, his smile fading as his mouth falls open, and you’re certain you’re wearing an even more dumbfounded expression. “It’s you,” he says, his voice hoarse.

“Wh-what… how…” You trail off, speechless. The words flounder and die in your throat as your brain struggles to process this development, and you practically feel the way the gears in your head churn to a stuttering halt.

Because this man standing before you, the one that Kyunghee has just introduced as her son, is none other than Jay. He looks completely and utterly devastating in a navy waistcoat and matching slacks, a green tie shaped like a Christmas tree knotted loosely around the white collar of his shirt. His dark hair is parted, his undercut exposed, and you can’t tear your gaze away from the loose strand that has fallen across his forehead.

“H-hi.”

Jay—Hoseok—swallows. “Hi.”

Kyunghee glances between the two of you, her brows furrowing. “I take it you two already know each other?”

Hoseok’s ears begin taking on a scarlet tinge, the color spreading to his cheeks as he struggles to find his vocabulary again. “I—yeah. Yeah, we’ve met.”

“Right. Do I even want to know how?” she asks dubiously, before shaking her head and huffing out a sigh. “No, forget I asked. I don’t want to know. I’ll just leave you two to… catch up.”

Waving goodbye, Kyunghee disappears back into the crowd of partygoers milling around. Hoseok turns back to you, sucking in a deep breath, and you fight the urge to stare down at your toes as his gaze roves across your face.

“I can’t believe this,” he says, breaking the silence that’s fallen between you at last. “My mom’s been talking about you for months, but I never imagined that it’d be you.”

“You’re telling me,” you reply, finally having recovered your voice. “Kyunghee brings you up all the time, but I never thought… I mean, we didn’t even know each other’s names, and now…” You shrug. “Here we both are.”

“It’s a pretty crazy coincidence, huh?”

“Definitely.”

A beat passes, and then two. You’re fully aware that you’re staring, but you don’t dare blink, afraid that he’ll disappear if you close your eyes. Of all the things that you thought might happen tonight, this particular meeting wasn’t even close to making the list. Never would you have thought that the man you only knew as Jay would turn out to be Kyunghee’s son. Never would you have connected Jay to the photographed little boy in yellow suspenders on Kyunghee’s desk, or realized that they were one and the same.

From behind you, someone loudly clears their throat. Another voice calls for you to get a move on, already, and both you and Hoseok belatedly realize that you are still standing in line for the open bar. Hoseok’s eyes go wide again, and you nearly tread on his toes when you both try to move forward. “After you,” he says with a chuckle, gesturing for you to go in front of him, and that’s enough to break the tension. You step ahead of him with a laugh, catching up to the line, and Hoseok doesn’t stray far as he follows your lead.

“So, what are you drinking?” he asks, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Vodka soda with a twist?”

“Actually, I think I’m going to stick with wine tonight,” you reply, peering at the bottles lined up on the counter. “What about you?”

“Hmm. Jack and coke, I think. Nothing else is really calling my name right now.”

Grabbing your drinks, the two of you begin searching for a place to sit. You spot Kyunghee at a table near the front, and she smiles knowingly and offers you a thumbs-up when she catches your eye. Eventually, you settle on a table near the Christmas tree, the lights glimmering off the glasses and reflecting off your knife as you pick it up to butter a slice of crusty bread from the basket in the center. Hoseok follows your lead, grabbing a piece for himself, and the two of you munch in silence for a few seconds before Hoseok breaks it.

“You know, my mom says you’re the perfect girl for me” he says with a dry little chuckle. “Think she’s right?”

“I don’t know,” you answer. “It’s funny, though—Kyunghee’s been telling me the same thing. She sings your praises all the time.”

Hoseok laughs and scratches the back of his neck. “Oh, jeez, that’s kind of embarrassing. I’m glad she’s saying good things, at least.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” you tell him, grinning. “She’s only shown us one photo album from your childhood.”

His face crumples. “Was it the Disneyland one?”

You nod, fighting back laughter, and watch as Hoseok groans and lets his forehead meet the linen-covered tabletop with a dull thunk.

“I don’t like rollercoasters,” he mumbles into the tablecloth, his voice muffled by the material. “They make me queasy.”

“Even now?” you ask, and he nods.

“Yep.”

The clinking of a fork against a wineglass—amplified and broadcast through an array of invisible speakers built into the restaurant’s walls—interrupts any further conversation. You twist in your seat to watch your company’s leadership give their opening remarks, listening as they congratulate everyone for a great year and wish you a happy holiday season. The servers begin going out with plates of food, and you thank them as they set yours down. Hoseok does the same before raising his glass in your direction, clearing his throat and offering you a crooked little smile.

“Here’s to second meetings.”

“Third, if you count the store earlier,” you correct, and he chuckles and nods in agreement before clinking his drink against yours.

You spend the entirety of dinner chatting with Hoseok, getting to know him beyond the few facts Kyunghee has mentioned and what little you’ve gleaned from texting him the last two months. He tells you all about his dance studio, Hope World, where he teaches both contemporary dance and the occasional Pilates class. You find out that in addition to rollercoasters, he also dislikes sour foods and raisins, but he loves mint chocolate and sweet and sour pork. He also has a very low tolerance for alcohol—something he tells you as he tilts the rest of his drink into his mouth. “Should I be worried?” you ask as he sets his glass back down, and he chuckles and shakes his head, sending the loose tendril of hair flopping across his forehead.

Dessert is served, and subsequently eaten. The music is turned up, and people slowly begin finding their way to the open space that serves as an impromptu dancefloor. Hoseok rises to his feet and extends a hand toward you, and you only hesitate for the briefest of seconds before accepting it. He leads you out amongst the other swaying couples, his hand finding its way to the curve of your waist, and you rest your hand on his shoulder as he begins guiding you in a slow, simple waltz.

“So?” Hoseok’s voice is a low murmur, soft and gentle against the shell of your ear. “What’s the verdict?”

You blink. “The verdict?”

Even without looking, you can tell that he’s smiling. You can hear it in the lilt of his voice, and imagine it in the curve of his lips. “About me,” he clarifies, carefully pulling back so you can spin in a circle beneath his outstretched arm. “About us. My mom will never let me hear the end of it if she turns out to be right, but I still wanna know. So what are you thinking?”

“Are you asking if I think we’re perfect for each other?” you ask, giggling. “I don’t know if I believe in all that, to be quite honest. Destiny and soulmates—I mean, doesn’t it seem a little too good to be true?”

Hoseok hums. “Maybe. But considering all that’s happened to us in the last couple of months, don’t you think there’s a chance that it's all more than simple coincidence?”

“Maybe,” you concede. “Still, I don’t know if I can give you a verdict just yet. We haven’t even gone on a date.”

“We did do things a little backwards,” Hoseok admits, tugging you close and winding his arm around your waist. “Let me make it up to you, then. Are you free tomorrow?”

“What if I am?” you challenge.

“Then, I’d like to take you out for breakfast,” he replies without missing a beat.

The prospect of a proper meal with Hoseok Jung does something funny to your insides. Still, something makes you hesitate, and you avert your gaze as you search for your next words. “I wasn’t expecting to end tonight with a date,” you admit slowly. “I honestly didn’t even think you were interested in… well, anything beyond sex, to be honest.”

Hoseok’s face creases into a frown, and you look up again when he murmurs your name. “I understand why you would think that,” he says. “Really, I do. But honestly? I had every intention of texting you and asking you out properly. I was going to play it cool and wait a few days, which was stupid in retrospect. And then you texted me first.”

“I texted y—” You trail off. “Oh, god.”

“It seemed like you’d been drinking,” Hoseok says with a shrug, and you press a finger to his lips before he can say anything more. You remember the night in question, and you remember the bottle of wine you’d consumed. And you definitely remember the photographs you’d sent of yourself, and the ones Hoseok had been kind enough to send in return.

“Wait, so you were going to ask me out? And then I… I sexted you?”

Hoseok nods, and you groan and bury your face into his chest.

“I can’t believe this,” you mutter, and you feel laughter rumble through his chest before a hand comes up to stroke along your back.

“Believe me, I’m not complaining,” he assures you. “But I’d still really like to take you out, so what do you say?”

His gaze doesn’t leave yours for a second as he awaits your answer, and your heart skips a beat when you look up to see the earnestness in his eyes and the hesitant smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Breakfast sounds wonderful,” you whisper, and the smile that blossoms on your companion’s face is nothing short of radiant.

“Good,” he says. “Great. Breakfast tomorrow, then. Now, can I kiss you?”

You’re already pushing up to your tiptoes, your fingers fisting in the soft hair at his nape. “God, yes.”

///

“Hey, you made it!”

You beam. “Hi.”

You and Hoseok are about to commence your first date, having just sat down at a cozy little café for breakfast. Hoseok has pulled your chair out in true gentlemanly fashion, and you can’t help but smile over your menu at the few lingering snowflakes that have yet to melt into his dark hair.

“So, here we are,” you remark. “Our fourth meeting.”

Hoseok’s lips stretch into his signature grin, breathtakingly bright and infectious. “And hopefully many more.”

You grin at him. “Yeah? Too bad this is breakfast, because I’d drink to that.”

He leans forward, his grin widening. “Next time,” he says as his hand finds its way around yours, his fingers slotting comfortably into the spaces between your own. “We can do dinner, maybe. Or I can cook for you. But for now, I’m just happy that we’re finally doing this.”

You give his hand a soft squeeze. “Me too.”

“Just promise me one thing?”

The sudden seriousness of his tone has your brow furrowing in concern. “Sure, of course,” you reassure. “What is it?”

He winces. “Please don’t tell my mom about all the dick pics.”

[farfromparker]

♛ Sovereign | t.h.

♛ Summary: Tom offers you something you never knew you wanted, himself.  ♛ Pairing: Tom Holland x Female Reader ♛ Warnings: explicit smut featuring sub!Tom ♛ Word Count: 6.8k ♛ Notes: It’s been three months but our lovely sub!Tom is back! I’m really excited to share this one with you guys, feels good to be writing again! As always, feedback is appreciated and encouraged!!

Special thanks to @worldoftom​ 💖

“I love you two, ya know that?” Harrison calls from your couch. 

You smile at your reflection in the mirror, applying a good cover of mascara. Putting on the finishing touches in preparation for a night of debauchery or an acting audition. It all depends on how Harrison’s meet up with an online match plays out. 

“Shouldn’t one of us stay back in case you need an emergency call to get out of it?” Tom asks, sprawled out on your bed. 

“Nuh uh,” you interject, popping out of your bathroom to look at Tom directly. “You are not leaving me alone with this. If he’s into this guy I am not going to be left alone at the bar while they hook up in the bathroom.”

“Hey!” Harrison calls out. 

“Am I wrong?” you call back. 

“Well — no, but if you could not be so blunt about it I’d appreciate that.”

Tom laughs. “Alright,” he sits up, “but know I’m only doing this for you, love.” 

You blow him a kiss before turning back into your bathroom to finish up the last little stitch of makeup. 

Another minute or two and one last adjustment of your top and you flick off the bathroom light. You walk back out into your bedroom and grab your purse off the bed. 

Tom stands up and smiles at you, “You look stunning.”

There’s a bit of heat that settles on your cheeks, “Thanks Tommy.”

He goes to move past you, brushing his hand along the small of your back. “You’re welcome, Miss,” he whispers, and your body goes stock still. You turn to look at him and he’s smirking, a devilish glint playing in his eyes. And your drunken conversation, nay confession, to him last week plays over in your mind. 

You groaned, falling back onto Tom’s sofa. 

“What’s up, love?” Tom asked, offering you another drink, your fifth of the night, as he settled down next to you.

“I miss sex Tommy,” you said, taking a long sip of your drink. 

Tom coughed quietly from his spot opposite you. “Oh? What about that lad last month? Uh Nick? Brad?”

You shook your head, dismissing the name of a recent, random hookup, “That was just sex. I miss… sex my way.” 

Tom licked his lips, shifting on the couch to turn towards you more, “Your way?”

You copied him, wetting your own lips. “I like to be in control.” And the alcohol coursing through your veins was enough force to keep you talking. “I like to dominate. I want a pretty boy on his knees for me, I want him begging and whining and whimpering for me. I wanna call him baby boy and puppy and pet and I want him to call me Miss. I want him to be mine.”

Tom watched you talk, hanging off every word, absolutely mesmerized. 

“I wanna tease him, I wanna edge him and play with him. I wanna choke him. I want him to beg for me to let him cum. And before I let him cum maybe I’ll ride his face first, or sit on his cock and then after I’ve cum I’ll finally let him cum, watch him make himself all messy for me. Cum all over his stomach, cock wet from me. and then maybe I’ll — maybe I’ll lick it up and push my tongue into his mouth. Make him taste his own mess.”

He licked his lips and adjusted himself, an action lost on you. You took another drink before glancing at him. His face was flushed. He swallowed harshly, grabbing his own drink to wet his dry mouth. 

“Wow,” he paused, trying to find the words. 

“Sorry,” you laughed, “that might have been more than you bargained for.” 

He chuckled, clearing his throat, “Nope. We just got that much closer is all. It’s fine, good. All good.” 

You’re left reeling a bit because he most definitely just called you Miss and most definitely remembers the situation in which you said you want to be called that. But he’s out in your living room now, leaving you to your own thoughts. 

Harrison calls out your name, “You ready?”

You shake your head, one big deep breath in and push Tom’s comment out of your mind. “Coming!”

♛*♛*♛

The bar is loud, there are people all around you. Bodies ebbing and flowing to the beat like the ocean against the sand. It’s hot but not uncomfortably so. You’re enjoying the liveliness, the noise, the commotion. You can’t hear yourself think in here and somehow through it all, it’s the quietest you’ve felt in a long time. 

Tom is close. You can feel his hand hovering along the small of your back to keep you near him. You take turns shouting into the other’s ear, trying as best you can to carry on a conversation over the music. 

Harrison is still within your sights, grinding and kissing and it’s safe to say your acting skills won’t be needed tonight. You smirk as you glance in their direction. Happy for him. 

And so that left you and Tom. Your best friend, your partner in crime, your confidant, your shoulder to lean on. Sweet Tom. Lovely Tom. Gorgeous Tom. Sexy Tom.

You shake your head as your brain catches up with the thoughts the contents of your glass are riling up inside your mind. You squeeze your eyes shut and try to focus again. Best friend Tom. Smart and silly with a heart as big as an ocean, just as deep as well. Beautiful Tom, his warm chocolate brown eyes, his broken nose, his messy eyebrow, his pink lips... 

His strong shoulders, firm stomach, gentle hands…

The same gorgeous man who called you Miss mere hours ago...

Stop. 

He’s pressed into you, breath in your ear, hand firmly placed on your hip now. Your skin feels hot. 

“Might need to catch a ride back to yours, love,” he says and there’s an uncontrollable shiver that runs up your spin. He pulls back to look you in your eyes, smirking and he tilts his head towards Harrison. Your eyes linger on his lips for a second, the alcohol making the delay longer than socially acceptable. He notices. You pull your eyes away and find Harrison again, lips locked, hands roaming and he’s definitely getting lucky tonight. 

Your free hand finds Tom’s stomach, hand sliding gently until it comes to rest in the dip of his waist. He turns into you easily. 

“Course Tommy, there’s always room at my place for you.”

There’s a flirty tone to your response. Maybe it’s a result of the alcohol, maybe it’s a result of the song playing over the speakers, a deep, rhythmic tone. Or maybe it’s a result of the way Tom had reacted when you touched him. His stomach muscles flexing, body turning towards you, fingers squeezing at the band of your jeans to pull you just that much closer. 

And that’s when you realize his hand is under your shirt, when did that happen?

His thumb bumps against the skin of your lower back, gently, rubbing soft circles and your vision is starting to blur, but it’s got nothing to do with the drink in your hand. 

You set that same drink down on the bar behind you, it’s not even the slightest bit important anymore. You look at him, staring into his eyes and asking a silent question. His gaze drops to your lips and that’s enough of an answer to take this forward. You reach for his hand and take his drink, placing it down next to yours. You reach your hand up for him and trace his jaw, ghosting along his smooth skin. He’s looking back into your eyes now. You hook your pointer finger under his jaw and let your thumb rub against his bottom lip. You glance down, watching as his mouth pops open slightly for you, the way his lip moves under your touch. You drag your thumb a little more roughly, pulling at his lip some and getting it wet from his spit. Then you bring your forefinger up to trace his top lip before letting it fall gently into the open space his lips have created. He opens wider as an invitation and you push your finger inside. You glance back up at him and his eyelids flutter, lips locking around your digit and as your thumb traces his cheek, he starts sucking. He uses his tongue tentatively, swirling around your finger and does his best to keep his teeth out of the way.

You smirk, eyes hooding as you focus on the feeling of his mouth. Your own tongue pokes out to lick along your bottom lip. 

Good boy. 

Someone knocks back against you suddenly, pushing you off balance. You pull your hand back to steady yourself against his chest and he automatically grabs at you as well, bringing you impossibly closer. 

He looks at you, “You alright?” he shouts over the music. 

Nodding, you simply respond, “Let’s go.” You reach down and grab his wrist, guiding him through the mess of people. He twists his hand so that his fingers lock with yours and you can feel his presence along your back as you wade through the crowd. 

You push the door open and the cool air hits you as you step out onto the street. The cold only spurs you on, reigniting that desire you had back inside. You pull your phone out quickly, desperate to get home. You find a ride relatively quickly and request it. 

There’s a small group of people outside the pub, smoking and bantering. They don’t pay you any mind. You stuff your phone into your back pocket and turn to Tom.

“What about Harrison?”

Tom shakes his head, “He’s a big boy, he’ll be fine.” The answer is firm. 

Your lips curl up into a smile and you step into his space. You can still feel the ghost of his mouth around your forefinger, his lips, his tongue, his teeth, the look in his eyes as you watched. You can still feel the tacky remnants of his saliva on your skin. 

You bring your hand up to cup his jaw. “I’d like to keep pushing, Tommy.”

His face goes a little slack, mouth parting slowly, eyes turning dark and stormy. He nods, seemingly a bit lost for words. 

You however, say exactly what comes to mind. “Good boy.”

And he whimpers at the praise. The sound sends an electric spark down your spine, igniting a fire deep in your belly. You drag your hand down around his throat, taking it slow so he has enough time to register your intent and tell you no. He doesn’t. You press your pointer finger and thumb along the column of his throat, high under his jaw and squeeze at his pulse points. You can feel the hammering inside his veins, a frantic drumming beat. He moans your name. 

Someone calls out to you and you startle, shaken out the haze of lust once more. Your hand falls away from Tom. Turning, you find your driver with an awkward expression on his face. 

You smile, a faint feeling of heat settling on your cheeks from being caught. You link your fingers with Tom’s and pull him into the back of the car, helping to navigate the driver back to your place. Tom fidgets next to you and it isn’t until your hand comes to rest high on the inside of his thigh that he finally settles. 

He clears his throat, leaning in closer to you so you can hear him clearly over the dull thrum of music playing through the car speakers. “You can do whatever you want to me.” 

You pull back so you can find his eyes in the dim neon glow from the front counsel of the car. He looks back at you, gaze as confident as the statement was. You study him, this beautiful man, your best friend, a man you absolutely love, willing to submit to you. Willing to give into you, to trust you with himself so fully. 

He licks his lips, a movement that brings your attention back to him, here, now. He chews on gently before adding the ending affirmation to his confession of submission, the words you needed to hear. “Whatever you want, Miss. I’m yours.”

Arousal surges through your veins as you stare into his eyes, consuming every inch of your body. Your hand on his thigh moves up to cup him through his jeans, you can feel the bulge, feel how hard he is already. His eyelids flutter closed as you touch him and you grin. 

“So hard already, baby boy?” 

“Fuck,” he breathes, hips flexing up into your palm. “So fucking hard.” He opens his eyes, staring back, “All for you.”

“Darling, we’ve barely begun,” you purr, leaning in to press your lips to his neck. You kiss along his throat gently, teasing little kitten licks and the soft press of your lips. 

He brings a hand up to rub at his eyes, head falling back into the headrest. “You’re gonna kill me,” he chuckles, “you know that? I could cum right now, honestly. And if you want to do to me — like what you said last weekend? I’m fucked.” 

Your mind runs wild with possibilities but you do your best to mask your excitement, biting your lip as the car comes to stop outside your place. A quick thanks to the driver and you’re pushing Tom out the door and up to your flat. 

You secure the lock behind you once inside and push him up against the door. The lighting in your apartment is a stark contrast from the neon hues of the club and the darkness of the car. There’s no hiding here. 

“You sure?” You ask, hands on his chest, you can feel his heartbeat.

He looks at you, unblinking, not even a hint of hesitation on his features. “I want this. I want you.” 

There’s a heavier meaning behind his last statement, something that’s been there between the two of you for a while. It makes your heart sing. 

You beam, letting the reality of this start to consume you, “Good. Me too… so much. But if there’s anything I do that you don’t like — that you don’t want to do, just tell me. I’ll stop, no questions.” 

“Yeah, got it. I’m not worried though, I trust you.” 

Your cheeks are starting to hurt from smiling so much so you kiss him instead, deeply. His lips are warm and soft and they glide against yours easily. His tongue moving and rubbing against yours. He still tastes like the beer he was drinking at the bar. It all feels like the start of something, so perfectly the beginning of a chapter that you’ve both been waiting for. 

When you pull back he’s blushing, shy and unable to meet your gaze. He clears his throat, moving forward from the door just an inch or two. You move with him, your hands falling from his chest to hang at your sides as you watch him. He looks up at you quickly before staring back at the floor and slowly he sinks down to his knees. He bows his head, and you take another step back, one that allows you to see him better. His hands fidget in his lap for a moment before he links them behind his back. 

He licks his lips, “Miss?”

Fuck.

You go forward towards him one more, threading your fingers into his hair so you can pull his head back and he’ll have no choice but to look at you. “So pretty,” you coo. “My pretty boy.” 

He whines, “Yeah, fuck. Yes I am. I’m yours.”

You lean down and press a kiss to his forehead, enjoying how he leans into your lips. “C’mon pretty boy, let's take this to the bedroom.”

He stumbles over himself trying to get up fast enough. You chuckle as you walk down your hallway, letting your hips sway in a bit more of an exaggerated fashion. 

You flick on the lamps by your bed and turn to find his eyes trained on you, waiting with bated breath for your guidance. Your hands miss the heat of his body so you beckon him over to you, letting your fingers find their way underneath his shirt to feel his skin, feel the goosebumps erupt across his stomach. You push his shirt up and off and he moves willingly, discarding it on the floor. His own fingers quickly join yours as you work on getting him out of his jeans as well.  You push them down his legs and as he kicks out of them, your lips find his. While the first kiss was tender and sweet and everything a first kiss should be, this one is the direct opposite. It’s needy and hungry and possessive. His mouth opens to you, tongue pressing against yours frantically as you push him back against the wall. Hands finding purchase along his hips, shoulders, neck, hair, arms, anywhere… everywhere. 

He’s groaning against you, a low rumble that makes your clit throb. His hand is on your jaw while the other is digging into your hip. You pull back unexpectedly with a loud smack of your lips against his. He tries to follow, a soft plea of no leaving his lips that you're sure wasn’t a noise he meant to make out loud. 

“Oh puppy,” you purr, a sneer cracking across your face as he whines. You study him, his normally warm eyes are blown wide, thin lips red and swollen, hair messy from your hands raking through it. You trail one finger along his stomach, below his navel, tilting it so it’s more of a drag of the nail than the fingertip, until you reach the band of his underwear. Teasingly slowly, you dip in under the elastic. “Why don’t you take these off and settle down against the headboard, yeah?” 

He swallows, “Yeah.”

You step back so you can watch, eyes traveling every inch of his body as he pushes the elastic down slowly, watching your reaction to him. 

You glance up at his face, “Go ahead Tommy, let me see you.”

He rolls them down his thighs gingerly, until his cock springs free. One final quick tug and they’re down around his ankles. He steps out of them, fingers rubbing at the skin on the outside of his thighs as he stands there in front of you, completely exposed. You bite your lip and take your time admiring him, it is your cock now after all. And it’s as pretty as the rest of him, perfectly thick, a good length, veiny, and he’s hard enough that his foreskin has rolled back. His tip is pink and wet and you can feel your own wetness begin to pool in your underwear. 

He’s nervous, standing there under the weight of your gaze, looking for your approval. “Just as fucking perfect as the rest of you.” And he blushes a deep red from his chest up his neck to the apple of his cheeks, a shy smile playing on his lips. “Now, on the bed, darling.”

“Yes, Miss.” 

He settles down in the middle of the mattress, resting against the metal headboard and watches as you dig out soft bondage rope from the bottom drawer of your dresser. His eyes go a little comically wide and you come to sit next to him on the bed. Grabbing one of his wrists softly, you place the rope in his hand so he can feel it. 

“We don’t have to. I got a little eager, but we can wait.”

His fingers curl around the rope curiously. “What — uh what did you want to do with it?”

“Tie each wrist individually toward the two corner posts of the headboard.”

He looks down at the rope again, fingers still rubbing along it before he glances to each corner post. He sets the rope down and spreads his arms, looking at you he asks, “Like this?” 

You nod, “Exactly like that.” 

He considers it for another moment, a small blush creeping up on his cheeks again, “I — I like that idea.” 

“And,” you continue, deft fingers unraveling the rope and tying it around his left wrist as an example, “I use quick release knots.” You finish the knot and let him examine it for a moment. “That way, if you need me to stop, all I have to do is pull.” And you do, one quick tug on the end and the whole knot comes undone. “And you’re out.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he agrees, all hesitancy gone, “tie me up. Tie me up Miss, please.”

You chuckle, “My eager little puppy.”

And so you do. Keeping his wrists secure but making sure the knots aren’t too tight and that he’s comfortable. When you lean back and take him all in, the situation floors you. This is your best friend Tom, someone you’ve loved for years but now might actually be awakening the feeling of being in love with. And he’s tied to your bed, naked and hard and absolutely fucking stunning. Tan skin flushed with a red tint that deepens depending on what you do to him. His curly hair is messy from your hands. His lips are red and swollen from your lips. He’s hard and leaking against his stomach because of you.

“Fuck.” It’s the only word your mind can coherently string together in that moment because this is everything you never knew you wanted and now it’s all laid out in front of you for your own taking. 

He shivers under your stare, arms flexing as he pulls at his restraints just slightly and the fact that you aren’t on him yet is criminal. So you lean in, pressing your lips to his quickly first, a soft, sweet kiss of reassurance before you tilt his head to the side and drag your teeth down his neck. He moans as you start to suck on the skin at the junction of his neck, hands rubbing along his chest. You find his nipples, pebbled hard and as you bite down on his neck you pinch them, eating up the way he whimpers, the way his hips jolt off the bed. One last bite and you pull your mouth from his skin, resting in the crook of his neck, listening to his heavy breathing. His cologne is faint but you can still smell it. He’s completely enveloping all five of your senses. You slide your hand down his stomach and watch as his muscles move, his cock twitches as you get closer to it. And you can’t tease him, as much as you want to, you want to feel his cock as badly as he wants you to. 

You wrap your hand around him, stroking slowly and his head falls back. He swears, long and low, drawing the word out as you play with him. 

“Make such pretty noises, Tommy,” you praise. Enjoying the weight of him in your hand, how hard he is balancing out the velvety softness of the skin of his shaft. How hot he is, memorizing every ridge and vein along his length. Watching his foreskin roll back with the movement of your hand, as you continue to slowly milk pre cum from him. 

He gasps, “I’ve been thinking about this all week — well, fuck. A lot longer than that actually but like, ugh, what you said last weekend.” You pull your head out of the crock of his neck so you can look at his face as he continues. “I’ve been horny all fucking week. I’ve jerked off every night and it’s not enou— ”

He whines high in his throat as you twist your grip along his tip.”Fuck! Fuck it’s not enough. And I've been… I’ve been doing research. About what you said. And I —” his heavy breathing interrupts his thought process. “I want to be good for you. I — I wanna be yours.”

He looks at you then, locks and holds your gaze. “Can I? Can I please be yours?”

Your heart and pussy clench simultaneously. “Fuck. Tommy. Yes, I want you to be mine. All mine.” 

His eyes go wide, face softening as you give him the answer he needed to hear. “Thank you, oh fuck, thank you Miss. Shit. I’m gonna — gonna cum.”

You stop your movement immediately, grip loosening and you feel him twitch, hear the rattle of the headboard as he pulls on the ropes. 

“Fuck!” He squeezes his eyes shut, his whole body going taut as you deny him. 

“Baby boy, if you think you’re cumming before I get that gorgeous cock inside me, you’ve got another thing coming.”

His eyes snap open, “Oh fuck. I wanna be inside you, I wanna feel you, I wanna —” his arms flex against the rope once more, “Are you wet Miss? I wanna feel it, I wanna know I’ve been a good boy and made you wet. I wanna taste you. I want —”

You hush him gently, pushing back the hair that’s fallen across his forehead, “I know baby boy. And you have been so good for me already.” You emphasize this with a quick squeeze of his cock. He gasps, eyes never leaving you. You place a quick kiss to his lips before getting up off the bed. You strip, a little slower than normal, keenly aware of his eyes on you. Sliding your jeans down your legs before pulling your top off slowly. A quick pinch of your fingers and your bra loosens, straps slipping off your shoulders and you let it fall to the ground. 

“Fuck me,” he whispers, fingers curling into his palm as his eyes sweep over your body for the first time.  

You toy with the band of your underwear, pulling downward slowly from each hip before you turn around, bending over as you slide them past your ass and down your legs. The movement of your hands accompanies another jarring shake of the headboard and he’s swearing as he stares at you, bent over and showing him everything. 

“Miss. Fuck, I can see how wet you are. Shit… god I wanna taste you, I wanna feel you. Please Miss. Please.”

You stand back up and turn towards him, crawling onto the bed over to him. “So vocal, baby boy. I love it,” you murmur, moving to straddle his hips. You hold yourself above him, smirking when he tries to tilt his hips up to you only for you to move further away from his cock. 

“I’ve got the implant in,” you start, waiting for him to look at you. When he does, he nods, understanding what you’re saying. “Are you clean, Tom?” 

“Yeah,” he rushes out, “I haven’t been with anyone in a while and I always got tested afterwards.” 

“Good. Me too.” And with that you drop your hips slowly, settling his cock between your wet folds. He moans and it’s impossible for you to hold one in as well. His cock fits along your center perfectly. You slide along him, getting him wet and focusing on the tip of his cock nudging against your clit. 

“Fucking hell, you’re so wet,” he whines, biceps bulging as his hips start to move with yours. 

You smirk, leaning in to rub your lips against his, “So are you.” 

And you glance down, watching as his cock continues to leak onto his stomach, as he gets wet from you, foreskin rolling back with each movement from your hips as you rock against him. You lean in, capturing his lips with yours properly. He leans up and into you, moaning when you bite roughly along his bottom lip. You lift your hips off him, reaching down to get a hand around the base of his dick. He’s lost in the kiss, arching up into you, mewling but as soon as you start to sink down on his cock, he freezes. 

He pleads your name, breathing heavily against your lips, “Holy shit. I — you… fuck! You feel so good.”

“Baby boy, you sound like a virgin,” you tease, enjoying the stretch of his cock as he bottoms out inside you. You sigh, clenching purposefully around his cock as you reach down to start rubbing your clit.

He whines, head falling back against the headboard, “I fucking feel like one.” 

You chuckle, finding a rhythm with your hips, angling your movements slightly until his cock is rubbing exactly where you want him. You clench involuntarily and his name leaves your lips in a breathless whisper. He looks back at you then, watching you use him, ride him, finger slipping easily against your clit. 

He pulls at his restraints and you look at him, cocking an eyebrow to push him to voice what’s on his mind. He takes in a deep breath through his nose. “Miss, I wanna make you cum. I wanna be good for you. I want to — can I show you how good I can be? Please?”

You slow your hips to a stop, watching his body jolt as the friction on his cock ceases but stays buried deep inside you. You trail your fingers up his stomach, circling one nipple, then the other, “Yeah? And how are you going to do that, Tommy? How are you going to be good for me and make me cum?”

“My fingers, my cock. I want you to cum using your boy. But I should be doing the work. Please. I’ll be so good for you. So fucking good.”

You snicker, his eagerness and willingness to please is palpable. You consider him for a second longer and then give one single nod. You reach for his wrists and give a good tug, the quick release knots loosen and his hands are free. 

He goes to touch you but stops himself, “Can I, Miss?” 

Your clit throbs, so much so that you clench around his cock to try and ease some of the ache. He shudders as a result, muscles in his stomach and chest tightening. “Yeah, baby boy, you can.” 

He wraps an arm around your waist, moving to have you settle down on your back but doing delicate work to keep his cock inside you. He grabs at your hips and tilts them up a bit, the movement allows his cockhead to rub directly against your sweet spot. You moan quietly, a noise not lost on him and he starts thrusting, keeping them pointed and determined. He reaches for your hand, bringing it up to his throat and as you squeeze gently, he sucks his thumb into his mouth. He presses it to your clit expertly, letting it slide against you quickly while he fucks his hips into you. Every movement of his body is perfectly pinpointed on your pleasure. 

“Fuck, Tommy.” Your fingers squeeze gently against his pulse points. You reach your other hand up and thread it into his hair. You pull, bringing his mouth down onto yours. He steadies himself with a hand next to your head but doesn’t stop the movement on your clit, doesn’t slow the perfect drag of his cock inside you. He opens his mouth to you, lets you take what’s yours. 

You start tightening around his cock, can feel the heat building in your core and your mouth goes slack as your release approaches. 

“Yeah, please Miss, please cum, please let me make you cum,” he urges, his breath mixing with yours, lips so close they bump against yours as he talks. 

It swells like a wave, building momentum until finally it reaches its peak and breaks. Your body shudders, fingers tightening in his hair and Tom is close, thumb still against your clit, feeling you clench and flutter and it registers after a moment that you’re clenching around nothing. You gasp, fingers loosening some. You suck in a deep breath, doing your best to fill your lungs. 

Your go limp into the mattress and you open your eyes to see him staring in awe at you. You lick your lips as you rub his hair and let your fingers trail down his neck. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve been picturing what you would look like when you cum, and my imagination wasn’t even close. Fuck, you’re amazing. Thank you for letting me be good for you.” 

You press your lips to his, “You were so good for me, puppy. Made me cum so fucking hard.” You take a deep breath in, body feeling more and more like jelly. You trail your fingers down his arms, feeling the smoothness of his skin, “You pulled out though…?” 

And he blushes, eyes dropping, unable to hold your gaze. “I was gonna cum, you felt so fucking good but you — well, you didn’t give me permission to...” he trails off.

There’s no fighting the devilish smirk this time. “Oh baby boy, such a good boy for me, aren’t you?” 

He smiles sweetly. “I try to be, Miss.”

“You are,” you affirm, pushing at his chest and moving with him as he settles back against the headboard once more. “So good for me. And good boys get their rewards.”

You settle down between his thighs, a wave of possessiveness washing over you as his legs spread automatically to fit you comfortably. You press your lips to his chest, lazily trailing kisses down his stomach, taking your time to nip and suck on his skin. His stomach muscles tremble under your touch and he’s making sweet little mewling noises as you move lower and lower down his body. 

You trace your tongue along the jut of his hip, raking your fingernails gently up along the inside of his thighs. He chokes back your name as you reach up and cup his balls. They’re heavy and full in your hand. You move to his opposite hip, marking his skin in a rougher way, determined to leave a bruise that he’ll see for days to come. 

His fingers are curled into your comforter, tendons prominent on the back of his hands as he squeezes and releases his grip. He’s babbling above you, a mantra of please leaving his lips. 

One lewd sucking noise and you pull away from his hip. Letting your hand fall away from his balls, you lean up and look at him. “Please what, puppy? What do you want?”

“Touch me, please. Please, Miss.” 

You splay your hands deliberately across his thighs, rubbing at his legs. “I am touching you, baby boy.”

He sobs, hips flexing up off the bed as you run your hands up his body, purposely staying away from his cock. “Use you words, puppy.”

“F-fuck! My cock, please. P-please touch my cock.”

“There,” you coo, “all you had to do was ask, Tommy.”

And finally you do, leaning back down to lick along the underside of his cock, flattening your tongue and dragging it up his length. He chokes at the first contact, chest heaving as he falls back against the headboard. His tip is dark red and leaking steadily. You envelop your lips around him, wrapping your hand around his base as you start sucking. You swirl your tongue, tasting the saltiness of your wetness and his pre cum on your tongue. 

He starts twitching underneath your touches, cock jerking in your mouth as you hollow out your checks. You start bobbing up and down, spit starting to coat his cock and make him sloppy. You pull off with a pop, letting your hand pick up where your mouth left off. 

“Love that your cock tastes like me, baby boy.” You growl, the slick noises of your hand around his dick echoing in your ears. “How it always should be, yeah? Your cock should always be wet from my pussy.”

He whimpers your name, panting as he looks at you. His body is taut, like the string of a bow. He’s practically vibrating, doing his best to stave off his orgasm for just a little bit longer. You watch him, his jaw clenches, sucking a deep breath in through his nose before he opens his mouth again. He sounds breathless. His eyebrows crease and eyelids flutter as you thumb his slit, collecting even more of his pre cum. 

“Wanna cum, Tommy?” you taunt, twisting your grip and watching as he shutters. 

“P-please,” he gasps, grip twisting even harder into your bedsheets. 

You stop the movement of your hand, moving in closer, feeling predatory as you glare at him, “Beg for it.” you demand, voice harsh and authoritative

“F-fuck, Miss, please can I cum? I want to so badly. Please, please Miss. Please… please make cum,” he whines, voice high pitched and broken. 

“Good boy,” you purr. You start to move your hand again but not at the speed he needs. “Go on, puppy, fuck my fist and make yourself cum.” 

He cries out, doing as he’s told, hips flexing and thrusting up into your grip. His muscles are defined and quivering as he moves. Moans getting shorter, choppier, whinier. He sounds wrecked and desperate and needy and bloody fucking beautiful. 

“There ya go, baby boy, cum for me.”

And he does. He freezes, body going rigid and you feel his cock pulse in your hand. He curls forward towards you as he cums, spilling across your hand and up his chest and stomach.You stroke him through it, listening as your name is a litany on his lips. He twitches as you milk every last drop of cum from his cock. 

With one long moan, he sags backwards, exhausted but completely sated. He’s still breathing hard, chest heaving and he looks up at you, “Fuck me.” 

You chuckle, leaning in to press your lips to his and kiss him lazily. You pull back, going to move off the bed but he grabs your wrist, “Where are you going?” suddenly sounding a bit lost. 

You smile softly, leaning in to kiss his check. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom. And get you something to clean up with,” you say with a wink, motioning to his cum covered stomach. 

He goes a bit sheepish, grip loosening. “Oh, yeah — right.”

You come back soon after, washcloth in hand, and he cleans himself up quickly as you crawl back into bed with him. He tosses the now dirty cloth onto the floor and you giggle as he cuddles into your side, arms wrapping around your waist and pressing himself along your body. 

You scrape your fingers up into his hair, listening as he hums contently. “You mentioned something about research…” you trail off, leaving the statement open ended. His fingers squeeze at your skin. 

He fidgets against you for a moment or two, “Yeah I — well, what you told me last weekend definitely piqued my interest.” You move so that his face isn’t buried in your neck anymore and you can see him properly. His cheeks are red, a color that’s barely left his features all night, and you reach up to cup his jaw, rubbing your thumb along his cheek to encourage him to keep talking. He swallows, “And I’d been thinking about talking to you about how I felt about you. But then when you said that — I realized I didn’t really know what that all entailed. So I did some reading,” his gaze is dropped, focused on your collar bones instead of your eyes. “Articles and podcasts and forums. There’s also a whole mess of videos on Tik Tok? I just… I wanted it to be really good for you. I wanted to be really good for you.”

“Fuck, Tommy, you were. So fucking good. But you’ve really never submitted to someone before?”

He presses his lips together, finally glancing back up into your eyes, “No.”

You raise your eyebrows, impressed, “Well you could have fooled me, puppy. You were a natural.” 

He shivers at the praise, “Shit, I really like it when you call me that.”

You bite your lip, “I’ll remember that, puppy.”

And there’s that unspoken conversation about your feelings for one another. Something you’ll need to discuss at some point, but in the moment, it doesn’t hold the need to be explained, to be articulated because you can see the emotions swimming in his eyes, the intent behind his hands on your body. It’s the same intent your body language is telling him. And yes, one day you’ll discover just how deep those feelings go, but right now, there’s nothing more that needs to be said. Nothing that you both don’t already know. 

[sunjaesol]

♡ IT HAD TO BE YOU, WONDERFUL YOU ♡

canon compliant juke valentine’s day fic ♡ for all you sweethearts in the fandom

Before hopeless romantic Julie Molina fell in love with Luke Patterson, she always felt glum on Valentine’s Day. She tortured herself with romcoms leading up to the holiday, went into the “couples goals” tag on Pinterest, pouted when her crushes she never talked to dated other people (read: Nick) and felt all around envious of those having a lover to spend the day with. Her mother dying, she who held the biggest heart of all, also didn’t help her mood.   

But that was before Luke blasted himself into her life. Sure, their romance was a little unorthodox, but predictability was overrated anyway.

They got together last summer, when the band played an amazing gig at a tiki bar on the beach and they were drunk on the heat, pink lemonade and each other’s adoring gazes. Dancing on the beach with him and the boys, Luke had grabbed her in his embrace and whispered lyrics at her she’s never heard before. His fingers grazed her jaw when he said it was a love letter - “For you, Jules.” She didn’t have to go far to reach his lips, both eager and giddy to finally come home.

(Weeks later, the love letter was transposed to music and performed for an audience. It was full circle moment. He loved music and her and now it was all connected. Luke had been dazed, but Julie was quick to kiss the stupor away. They could do that now. It was insane.) 

All week, Julie had been working on a secret gift. She scoured her room was scraps and pictures and notes; reminders of Luke hidden in every corner without realising it. A purple pick was found under her bed, a song in her dream box they never got to finish, a seashell he plucked from the beach, a row of pictures from a photo booth, love notes. Julie would lie if she said she didn’t find it adorable how his only reference of romance were the 80s flicks, as it gave her a heartthrob of a boyfriend that didn’t back down from cute gestures like those notes. It left her heart racing and brought a blush on her cheekbones. the sun’s jealous of that smile jules

It was only natural she made him a collage. 

They had an unspoken agreement to never involve money. Though they were in a band together, all the money they made directly went to Julie. She invested it back in their life passion, obviously, but the fact remained that Luke couldn’t take her on typical dates or buy her the typical gifts. Until American Ghost Dollars got invented, they had to be creative. 

Going to the movies were movie nights in the studio with a projector and cookies they made together. A love song instead of dinner. Dancing in her bedroom with AirPods instead of partying.     

And it was enough. It was more than enough. She loved him so much that each second spend together was perfect as is. 

The collage was small enough that he could easily tuck it away. Pictures overlapped, a dozen Mini Luke’s and Mini Julie’s staring at the camera or each other, from before and after they started dating. 

A photo Flynn took of Luke peppering her temple with kisses backstage. A polaroid of when she snuck up on him and smacked a kiss on his cheek, his teeth flashing white from the beam on his face. A Snapchat of when she showed him the filters and he kissed her instead. Multiple pictures of them snuggling on the studio couch, supposed ‘blackmail’ for Alex, but Julie cherished them. If she closed her eyes, she could feel his arms wrap around her back as she’s sprawled on top of him.

The pretty shell didn’t fit on the collage, so she decided to make a bracelet as well. A thick band made from orange, red and yellow string, the shell as its penchant. 

That morning, she pulled on her most Valentine’s day inspired outfit and rushed to the studio. Her gifts were still in her room, out of sight and kept for later, now she just wanted to see her boyfriend. 

Her smile, painted in cherry lipgloss, stretched wider when she slid the doors open and saw that no one was inside. Just last night had he kissed her a little longer after rehearsal, wiggling his brows like he knew something she didn’t. Luke was terrible at keeping secrets. She wasn’t surprised to find it empty, unless…

Luke poofed in front of her with a warrior cry and hoisted her up in one fluid motion. Julie yelled in delight, gripping onto him as he spun them around. For the occasion, he swapped his regular orange beanie for a red one. (One day, her heart was going to explode from all the silly stuff he did.) Matching her expression, his hands steadied her as she wrapped her legs around his waist.    

An index finger flicked his chin playfully. “How long did it take you to plan this?”

He gasped, faux-offended. “Julie! I’m spontaneous as shit.”

“Mh-hm,” she hummed, leaning in to kiss his lips. His frown melted away, the languid kiss flickering with the hint of passion it usually held. Slowly, he set her down, her staying locked between his arms. When she pulled back, he chased after her and pecked the side of her mouth - once, twice.    

“I’m gonna smother you with so much kisses that you’re gonna get sick of me,” he declared, as if the threat of loving her was scary. 

She pressed her forehead against his with a grin. “I look forward to it.”

Instantly keeping up his promise, he nuzzled against her cheek. “What’d you wanna do?”

“Well, we’re ending the day in the hammock.”

“Duh.”

“And,” she sneakily added, “we can be really cheesy and watch ‘Valentine’s Day’.”

He made a face, both remembering their divided opinion on the movie. “If we’re seeing it again, then I’m choosing all the snacks.”

“Deal.”

“Nice,” he breathed, raising his fist between their torsos so she could bump it with her own. Her cheeks were already aching from smiling so much, giddy to spend the entire day with her boyfriend undisturbed by the boys or family or school. 

Her fingers scratched into his plaid jacket. “You know what I’m also looking forward to?” His eyes narrowed at her lilting voice. “Giving you your present.”

His jaw fell slack. “Jules, now I’m gonna be thinking about it all day.” But then she saw the devilish glint in the green of his irises as he uttered: “Guess you’ll have to wait on your present too.”

“You-” That was unexpected. “You have a present?”

Luke bit down on his lip, watching her surprise. “I was waiting for that reaction. Sweet. Okay, I’m saying we dip everything in chocolate. Fruit, popcorn-”

“I’m willing to try one of those crazy combinations you love so much,” she proposed. The excited smooch she got afterwards was worth it.

The couple claimed the kitchen for an hour as they made their snacks, most of which being the typical chocolate covered strawberries both liked a lot, and then nestled themselves in her room. Curled into his warm body, they shared earphones as they watched ‘Valentine’s Day’. Though she asked to watch it, all her attention went to his hands continuously caressing her waist and thigh. It lulled her into a blissful trance. Sometimes he would make a joke (“We’re way cooler than Taylor and Taylor!”) and she’d chuckle and hum and rub his chest. By the time Jessica Biel was smashing the piñata, she was placing soft kisses on his neck and he had to pause the movie. 

Hovering over her with a wolfish grin, he pecked her nose. “I thought you wanted to watch.”

“And I thought you were going to smother me with kisses,” she bounced back with a quirked brow. For a beat, they shared an amused look. 

Then Luke laughed, diving for her lips and doing just that. That rushing feeling coursed through her veins, a pure shot of adoration and attraction with each warm, open-mouthed kiss. He tasted like chocolate, skin sticky from fruit, and smelled in that perfectly boyish way. Julie sighed into the kiss. No cheesy movie or love song could compete with the sensation of slipping her fingers in his hair and having his arms tighten like he never wanted her to stop. Her bedroom was heaven on earth.   

(Perhaps that was silly. She was only seventeen after all. How much did she actually know about the world to accurately make that statement? But did it even matter if right now, right here, she felt like the luckiest girl in the universe? The cynics could bite her.) 

She didn’t know how long they let their lips and hands wander. It was hard to care about time when his mouth was on her ear and her nails drew shapes on his back. 

“I bet,” he whispered, “Taylor and Taylor never felt like this.”

She giggled. “You’re just jealous of the big teddy bear.”

His smile pressed on her cheek. “Maybe.”

When Luke and her first got together, they were scared to touch. Sure, they had their moment on the beach and previously, they found plenty of opportunities to be in contact. But after they made if official and there was nothing to hide behind anymore, it got scary. They yearned for affection, but what if Luke disappeared one day without meaning to and then they’d both ache for each other’s comfort? They got over it eventually and now it was only natural to feel his smile on her skin.

It was hard to imagine kissing anyone but Luke, unfathomable having a different boy hug her from behind at school and whisper sweet nothings in her ear. Only Luke could write her love notes. Only she was allowed to write him ones as well, or leave cute post-it’s on his guitar to cheer him up when he had a bad day. It was just them.

Her mind going haywire over such a simple touch jolted her memory, Julie abruptly sitting up and bringing Luke with her. His brows raised in surprise. She pecked the pout away, brushing her nose against his. 

“Can I give you your present?”

A breathy smile tugged on his cheeks. “Yeah, I’m curious.”

Julie untangled herself from their embrace and reached inside her wardrobe for the gift. Sitting cross-legged in front of him, she gave him his present with barely-concealed anticipation. Hopefully he loved it as much as she loved making it! 

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” she sang, watching him pull the tissue paper out the small bag and unearthing the collage and bracelet. 

Speechless, he gawked at the collection of pictures. Eyes flitted past each quickly, like he wasn’t sure what he was seeing. Crawling over to sit beside him, she placed her head on his shoulder. “You like it?”

He sniffled. Julie looked up and was shocked to note his eyes were shiny. “Aw, babe!”

His gaze caught hers, distraught. “You’re not supposed to make me horny and then emotional!”

She laughed and pressed a kiss on his cheek. His cute reaction made her heart lurch with fondness. “It wasn’t supposed to make you cry.”

Luke sighed, hand guiding her face to place a proper kiss on her lips. It was short, but just as electric as all the ones before. He kissed like he played guitar - always intentional and one hundred percent. 

“I love it,” he muttered. “Thank you. And I love the bracelet too.”

“I made sure it matches your others.”

He captured her lips again. “Yeah… Thanks, Jules.” His nose scrunched, arrogance dripping from his voice as he tucked a curl behind her ear. “My present is better though.”

Her arms crossed, challenged. “Oh really?”

“Hell yeah, it is. Gonna knock it out of the park.” With a snap of his finger, he conjured his songbook and stuck the collage between two fresh pages. He clicked his tongue with the typical bravado he exuded onstage. “Who knows, Jules, you might even get a crush on me.”

Just as she was about to retort with a tease of her own, her eyes caught a fluttering page with words she didn’t recognise. Pointing at it, she asked: “What’s that?”

Luke frowned, thumbing to the right side and rolling his eyes. “Some lyrics that got stuck in my head a few nights ago. It doesn’t work though.”

“Maybe not. I kind of like that part.” She tapped on the line ‘so deep, your DNA's being messed with my touch’ with a pensive wrinkle knitted in her forehead. Ideas began to brew, throwaway pieces from other discarded songs coming back to her and meshing well with what he’s already composed. “Yeah, this is good, Luke. Do you want to work on it?”

He hesitated for a beat, stare trailing from her to the half-eaten plate of snacks. “Do you want to?”

“Of course,” she smiled. They were Luke and Julie - did either of them really think they could go a day without music? Even if she hadn’t discovered this diamond in the rough, he’d inevitably spring upright to write down a riff or her fingers would tingle to try out a melody. Songwriting was perhaps the best date of all, showing that work and play could successfully be mixed together. 

He sighed in relief. “Good. Okay, so I was thinking…”

Hours went by tinkering on the song, the afternoon drifting by and them having moved to the hammock in the garden. It was a spot Luke rediscovered and she all too willingly found a place next to him. They cherished the quietude and warmth even before they were dating. The page was now littered with flowing, strung-together verses and a half-done chorus. Instrumentals were for tomorrow when they were all together. In the back of her head lingered the thought that he still hasn’t given his supposed homerun of a present, but Julie reminded herself then that it didn’t even matter. This was enough. He was enough. Who knew, maybe he was just talking smack! The doubts vanished as Luke drummed his fingers on her stomach, humming a beat.      

“And you thought it wouldn’t work!”, she teased. 

He puffed. “Cause it didn’t! It needed the Molina Touch!”

A brow quirked, amused. “The Molina Touch?”

“Yes,” he grinned and tapped her chest. “The Touch.”

“I don’t have the Force, Luke.” When his face fell flat, she decided to play along and mimicked his motion. Her fingers circled his sternum as she said: “Well, I look forward to the Patterson Energy bringing it alive onstage.”

The boy rolled on his side, she following suit. The hammock bended to the movement, pushing them closer together. The couple snickered, noses nudging and locked in the other’s arms. Above, the sky was coloured like Monet, purples and blues and pinks as the sun dropped below the trees. Julie stared at the way he craned his neck, green eyes blown wide while marvelling at the sweeping atmosphere. He was the most beautiful person she’s ever encountered. She was probably a little obsessed with him, never bored of looking at him, of finding new freckles, moles and spots. 

Her reverie snapped like a bubble as he said something. 

“What?”

He repeated himself. “Wanna get waffles?”

She blinked. “Waffles?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “V-Day waffles. I bet they have red velvet ones.” His face twisted, like he was in on an inside joke, and murmured against her lips: “Whipped cream, Jules. Can’t resist that.”

Damn. He knew her too well. “Reggie’s going to be mad we went without him.”

“Then he should get himself a ghost lover,” he joked. Slapping her hip, the exclaim was resolute. “Let’s go!”

The drive was short, an surprising amount of waffle places scattered around Los Feliz. The cityscape was painted red for the day. Heart-shaped wreaths adorned the doors of stores, bars promoted special cocktails with pink hues, boutiques displaying date night dresses on mannequins in the windows. At the end of a large strip of food joints, a waffle house joining in with a red banner hung across the frontage. RED VELVET WAFFLES! ONLY TODAY!

Julie shot him a suspicious look. “You knew?”

He shrugged, smirking. “A good guess.”

They were lucky. The parking lot was pretty much abandoned, no onlookers to see her joking around with air. He stayed in the car as she got the treats.

As she queued, her aimless thoughts found Luke as a focal point. It was hard not to. Maybe the best thing of all for a hopeless romantic like her, was that she found someone who was an even bigger dreamer than she was. If she jumped for the stars, he rocketed himself into space and hoped for the best. It made days like Valentine’s special, but it also felt like another regular Saturday. He didn’t kiss her differently, looked at her more intently - it was always like this. The red velvet waffles was just… extra. A cherry on an already perfect milkshake. Luke and Julie never needed fireworks to make the other feel remarkable. 

Dropping back in the driver’s seta with a sigh, she propped the waffles on the dashboard. “I’m not sure if it’s going to taste right, they look kind of mushy, but I’m sure the whipped cream-” The words died in her throat as she looked at Luke, a timid smile on his lips as his present laid flat in his hands. A mixtape. 

Her eyes tracked the CD for a beat (jules <3 written in sharpie with his infamous scrawl) and then flicked up to his face. That was most spectacular of all: the nervous twitch in his eye, the breathy smile. Luke was flustered.       

Gingerly, she took it from his grasp. “How did you make this?”, she whispered. 

The palpable energy didn’t waver. “Carlos. He lend me his computer and explained how to burn CD’s.” His chuckle was awkward. “Had to get you in the car somehow.”

A smile bloomed on her lips. Her heart was truly going to explode; the gesture so thoughtful and sweet. (Shit. He did knock it out of the park. How will his ego cope?!) Reaching over the middle console, she chastely kissed him. “I already love it.”

He shook his head with a grin, shoulders loosening a bit. “You haven’t listened to it yet. C’mon, play it.” He shot her a cocky nod. “You know how to use a CD-player?”

“Very funny,” she quipped. Cautiously, she took the CD out of its case and slipped it into the player. It whirred for a beat, her upping the volume, and just as she thought she’d hear some 90s rock band, something unexpected happened. 

hey jules

She froze, staring at Luke’s feverishly excited face, as his crackling voice came through the speakers.  

i finally learned about technology! you happy? anyway, you know i love you. i love everything about you, i think… i think that’s kinda why i’m here to begin with.

Tears lodged itself in her chest, ready to spill. Love was going to make her go mad one day. She loved this boy so much that it was insurmountable by anything else.

that’s not- it’s not what this cd is about. His tone brightened. what i love most about you, julie molina, is how fucking in love you are with music. so what better thing to give you, is more music? these are ten songs that remind me of you… happy valentine’s day, baby. 

It clicked off. Quietly, slowly, a melodious piano variation flowed in. Her breath hitched as she recognised it. Frank Sinatra’s ‘It Had To Be You’ reminded Luke of her? Her hands were shaking. His calloused ones grabbed them, pads of his fingers caressing the skin. A pout jutted from her lips, her eyes shimmering with emotion. It wasn’t fair. Boys weren’t supposed to be this romantic. 

His smile could light up the entire state, touch trailing across her arm up to her cheek, grazing the lone tear that she wasn’t even aware of. “Don’t cry,” he chuckled. “I can be the only sap.”

Shaking her head, she pushed herself over the console and placed herself on his lap. The divide of a stick shift was a plain crime. Circling her arms around his neck, Julie kissed him in the way she thought the song felt. Warm and languid and timeless and wholly, utterly loving. Depthless and infinite. The thrill of his bass voice melted them together, no space between them with his hands wrapped around her lower back. 

For nobody else gave me a thrill With all your faults, I love you still It had to be you, wonderful you It had to be you

“I love you,” she sighed into his mouth. “It’s not enough. It’s not…”

He kissed the lament away. “I know. That’s why music works.” Sinatra sang a line and then he grinned. “Gotta express ourselves somehow.”

Though that was true, though they had music to shape their thoughts into the most beautiful declarations of love, all she wished to have was a word. A simple word that perfectly encapsulated what she felt. Love felt too small. Too simple. But until she found it, she’d keep saying it.

And so she did. “I love you, Luke.” 

His eyes shut in delight. “I love you too, Julie.”

They wouldn’t leave for a long time. Locked in each other’s loving embrace, they listened to every song on the mixtape. And when it ended, they looped it.

Time and space wasn’t really important to them anyway.     

For nobody else gave me a thrill With all your faults, I love you still It had to be you, wonderful you It had to be you

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

@blush-and-books​ @bluefirewrites​ @ourstarscollided​​ @alexjulies​ @unsaid-emily​ @willexx​

[themadlostgirl]

When It’s Cold (2)

*Horny teens are horny. Mild smut mentions ahead.*

~~~

I laid in bed watching the lightning flash outside my windows as thunder shook the room and rain poured down. As a child a storm like this would have had me hiding under my covers. Tonight though I watched the storm, every inch of my body on alert with every crack of lightning and thunder. The doors to my room burst open with a roll of thunder. A shadowed figured stood in the hallway. My heart hammered fast as I tried to see through the darkness at my intruder. A flash of lightning illuminated the once dark room and I recognized the jagged line down my visitor’s face.

“Felix?” I sat up straighter. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to make sure you weren’t scared.” He prowled closer, a wicked grin on his face as he got to the foot of my bed. “You always were so scared of storms.”

“I was…” I murmured. He was dressed only in a pair of pants. That same chiseled torso I had gawked at earlier on full display.

He crawled onto the bed until he was hovering over me. “Do you want me to stay?” His voice purred in my ear, “I can keep you warm if it gets cold.”

“Yes please,” I let the robe around me fall from my shoulders leaving me exposed. “Keep me warm, Felix.”

“Gladly.” He swooped down upon me.

~~~

I woke with a start. My body was wound up tight and I was tangled in the blankets on my bed. I gazed around me confused before the previous day’s events caught up to me. It felt like a dream that Felix and I had found this mansion last night.

Felix…

The real dream came back to me with stark detail. What had that been all about? I’ve never had a dream like that before. I never have dreams in the first place. Even when I do they’re nothing like that and most certainly do not feature Felix. Yet he had been the epicenter.

Half naked with a devilish grin looking down at my own nude body. I had wanted him to--to--

I buried my face in my pillow. This wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t gone to his room last night and saw him coming out of the bathroom. Why did I have to see that? Now I was having borderline erotic dreams about him. Oh screw borderline! I knew exactly what I had been hoping to happen and the aching between my legs only solidified it.

It’s not like I never found Felix ugly or anything. He was pleasant to look at. I dare say at times he was handsome but I never dwelled on it. Maybe a stray intrusive thought or two but they never went so far as my dream had. I couldn’t stop picturing it. Felix and I in bed, his large hands on my body, his lips caressing my skin…

I pressed my legs together as the image took root in my head. Maybe I deserve to indulge a little. For right now there is nothing to worry about. Besides, it’s not like Felix will ever know. My hand dipped between my legs as I let myself fall back into the dream. My body was extra sensitive since I hadn’t been able to indulge in this particular past time since Neverland. Not that I got to do it a whole lot there either. I swear there is absolutely no privacy on that island.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

And none here either it seems.

With a small whine I swung out of bed and pulled my robe in tight. I opened the door and Felix was waiting on the other side already dressed. Could it be considered poetic irony that the boy I had just a moment ago been masturbating to interrupted said masturbation?

“Did you just wake up?” Felix looked me up and down.

“Kinda. I figured I was allowed to sleep in. What do you want?” I stepped back and started collecting my clothes from the floor. 

“Get dressed. I discovered something you’re gonna wanna see.”

“Can’t you just tell me?”

“No. Now hurry up.” He closed the door and left.

With a sigh a pulled my clothes back on and followed Felix up a set of stairs to a hallway that led to a dead end. “This is what you wanted to show me? A wall with a picture on it?”

“Watch this,” He pulled the light fixture next to the painting and suddenly the wall came loose and rotated opening up a passageway into a whole new room.

“This place has secret rooms now. Very cool.” I stepped inside. “A library?” I looked at the books but there were no names on the spines. I pulled one off and flipped through it but all the pages were blank. “I will say I wasn’t expecting this.”

“Oh but it gets better.” Felix went over to the desk at the end of the room and pulled open the drawer. There was a button inside. He pressed it and a section of the floor popped up. I knelt down and opened the hatch and my eyes went wide. It was a safe!

I turned the latch and nearly cried at what I saw. Money. Just stacks and stacks of money! One less thing to worry about. We wouldn’t need to scrape by or get jobs. This safe could keep us comfortable for months! Years even!

“How did you find this?” I asked Felix.

“I like puzzles and I like to snoop.” He grinned pulling out a stack of hundreds. The band around it said ten thousand. Ten thousand dollars and there were easily a hundred or more just like it from what I could tell from the naked eye. We have someplace warm to sleep and we have money for food.

I started sniffling and I could sense Felix watching me befuddled. “Sorry, I just--” I took a deep breath and wiped the tears from my eyes, “We’re going to survive the winter. We don’t have to be hungry or cold again.”

“I know,” Felix pulled a few hundreds from the stack and dropped the rest back in the safe. “Now how about we go do that grocery shopping you were so insistent on?”

“Yes!” I hopped to my feet. We put everything back in place and left the room. I found a pad of paper and started making a list of everything we would need. Unlike Felix who had spent so much time on Neverland that he couldn’t remember who he had been before being a Lost Boy , I did remember who I was. I remembered the responsibilities I had before Neverland. What was needed when I was made to go to market. The grocery store wasn’t like the open air markets I was used to but it was still the same general concept.

Felix and I got weird looks as we entered the store and I took one of the trollies. My first stop was to grab some toiletries. Toilet paper, shampoo, body wash, loofah, deodorant, toothbrushes, toothpaste, floss, and even a set of razors in case Felix wanted to shave. Next we grabbed laundry detergent, dish soap, paper towels, spray cleaner, trash bags, aluminum, and hangers. We would need to go to a different store for clothes. Lastly, food. Now, being the designated responsible person out of the two of us I know we couldn’t just indulge in the sweets and other delicious yet not necessarily healthy food for us.

I sped up and down the aisles with Felix trailing after me as I dumped stuff into the trolley. Chicken, beef, bacon, vegetables, fruits, a ten pound bag of potatoes, bread, milk, two dozen eggs, pasta, rice, butter, flour, sugar, brown sugar, baking powder, baking soda, vanilla, yeast (it’s been forever since I baked anything but I figured I could give it a try), orange juice, apple juice, cheese, canola oil, olive oil, and spices. Then came on the things I knew less about, peanut butter, chocolate chips, gummy candies, dressings, chips, ice cream, instant brownie mix, pizza rolls (they sounded good), cans of soup, yogurt, pancake/waffle mix, whipped cream, cereal, granola bars, pretzels, and tea bags.

Our trolley was overflowing with items as we wheeled our way over to the register. The man bagging our items looked at us strangely as we started unloading our groceries onto the counter. Several minutes and a trolley full of groceries later we were given our grand total. I was scared that we wouldn’t have enough but thankfully we did. We left the store and looked at our haul.

“Hey, Felix,” I paused as we were halfway through the parking lot, “How are we gonna get all this back to the mansion?”

“We steal the cart.” He said it like it was obvious. “Who is gonna stop us?”

“True.” We started out trip back to the mansion and pushed the trolley into the house. We spent the next several minute cramming things into cabinets and the icebox. I pushed the trolley back outside and went to put my toiletries away while Felix took the laundry items down to the basement. I would also need to learn how to use the electronic washers they had here if I wanted clean clothes.

Speaking of clean clothes, “Felix!” I shouted down the steps, “We’re not done yet today. We need to go clothes shopping.”

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t bring any extra sets of clothes with me when we left Neverland and I’m sick of wearing these dirty rags. Now get a move on!”

Felix came upstairs with a scowl. “Don’t pout. Even if we kept these clothes clean they stand out too much. I think it’s part of the reason everyone glares at us. We’ll arise less suspicion if we blend in. Especially since our mission is to find a way out of here and back to Neverland.”

“Fine.” Felix grumbled. He counted the remaining money in his pocket. “Let me grab a few more bills from the library just to be safe.”

My stomach grumbled and I decided to grab a granola bar to settle my stomach while I waited for Felix. This house was so strange. They didn’t have any dish soap but they had pots and pans. No shampoo but they had combs. Not a lick of food but a cabinet dedicated to what looked like a very fragile table set.

Felix came back a few hundred dollars richer and we made our way back into town for the second time that day. The clothes store was emptier than the grocery store which put me more at ease. Felix and I went our separate ways as I perused around the racks and racks of clothing. I grabbed a few shirts, pajamas, sweatshirts, sweat pants, underwear, socks, gloves, a scarf, hat, a thick jacket, a new pair of boots, and a large messenger bag. When I went to try on some pants though I was thoroughly disappointed. They fit fine but the pockets on them were tiny! I could barely get my hand in them. Was this what pants were like here? Why?!

I went over to the men’s section and found Felix also trying on some new clothes. It was a simple black t-shirt and a pair of dark denim jeans but it looked really good on him. He almost looked less foreboding. Maybe that was just due to the fact that he didn’t have his cloak hood up like usual.

“You look mad,” Felix chuckled upon seeing me stomp up to him.

“I am! Look at this.” I squeezed a few of my fingers into my jeans pocket. “These pants have absolutely no room! Are yours like this as well?”

“Mine?” he stuck his entire hand in his pocket up to the middle of his forearm. “Nope.”

“What the hell?” I stuck my hand in his other pocket. These were so much roomier than mine! “Why are these better than the ones in my section?”

“I don’t know,” Felix pulled my hand out of his pocket, his face was red with anger again and he wouldn’t look me in the eye, “You can stop invading my personal space though.”

“Oops, sorry.” I snatched my hand back to my chest. What had I been thinking? I essentially stuck my hand down his pants and for what? Because I was jealous of the size of his pockets? I grabbed a few pants from his section that looked to be my size and raced back to the dressing rooms in my section. These fit just as well as the ones I was wearing now but the pockets were much roomier so I chucked the others away and got the men’s pants.

Felix met me at the registers when he was done browsing. He still wasn’t looking at me. I think I made things between us really uncomfortable. We paid for the clothes but had no trolley this time so had to carry everything in large bags back to the mansion. After we got back Felix disappeared into his room. I changed into a pair of the comfy new clothes I bought and went downstairs to make myself something to eat.

I heated a can of soup up and sat down to eat. I wasn’t in the mood to be so adventurous as to make a full blown meal. Now that we had all the essentials Felix and I could start our search for a way back to Neverland in earnest.

I didn’t see Felix for the rest of the night. Figures he wouldn’t want to be around me after we spent all day together. I drew myself another hot bath and this time was able to actually wash myself with the soap and shampoo we had bought. I felt truly clean for the first time in a long time as I slid on the pajamas I bought and crawled back into bed.

Rain pattered outside and I was reminded of my dream from this morning. A part of me dreading and hoping that I would have another just like it.

~~~

Fucking hell! You were killing him! You had to be trying to kill him! That’s what Felix concluded as he locked himself in the master bedroom of the mansion.

Ever since Felix had let himself be talked into going to Storybrooke with you he had been forced by your side. You were the only Lost One in Storybrooke still loyal to Pan when all the others had run off to find families for themselves. He told himself he was tagging along instead of staying in Neverland to enact revenge on those that murdered Pan but that was only half of the story.

He should have never followed you though. Revenge aside. It hadn’t worked out anyway. Even after he learned that Pan was still alive, albeit in someone else’s body, it wasn’t enough. Pan died anyway before he got to enact the curse that would have turned this worthless town into a new Neverland. Now everyone was happy and safe and you and Felix were both very much stranded.

Finding this mansion had been a sweet turn of luck. He knew you were right when you mentioned needing a better place to stay over winter. Felix didn’t like the cold either but he could tolerate it better than you. Every night since you two got here you would shiver the night away at your camp. The night before it had been so cold that even Felix was cursing the wind. While he shivered though he glanced across the fire pit at you. You were huddled in so tight to yourself. Teeth chattering and body convulsing.

He was glad that you didn’t make any mention of him giving you his cloak as an extra form of warmth that night. He didn’t want to try explaining why he had done it. Terrible complicated feelings that he refused to acknowledge. He pushed them down hard, stomped them into dust so they could never rear their ugly head again.

Then he had gotten out of the bath. Truly clean for the first time in years he had left the bathroom and all those complicated feelings from before shot to the surface at the scene laid out before him. You knelt on the ground with only a towel barely covering you. Your wet hair leaving drops of water rolling down your shoulders and back.

His jaw clenched and he fumbled to maintain some composure as you explained what you were doing practically naked in his room. He had found the robe in the master bathroom and was planning on wearing it to bed himself but when he caught sight of you he was only too happy to chuck it into your arms. He needed you to cover up. He needed you clothed and out of his room that instant!

He was far from relaxed after you had left that night. The sight of you knelt over, the towel just barely covering your ass was burned into his brain. He ignored the stirring under his towel and dove into the large bed. He tossed and turned most of the night trying to rid the image and the thoughts he was having. His mind betrayed him though as it brought him much more vivid fantasies of you on his bed wearing nothing at all and beckoning him to take you.

He woke soon after breathing hard and his hand around his cock. Felix cursed the fact that he had a lewd dream about you of all people. He tried to ignore the images flashing in his head but when he closed his eyes there you were on all fours again with a teasing smile. He jumped into the bathroom and turned on the shower hoping a cold jolt would snap him back to sense but then he was thinking of you in this shower with him. Water rolling down your body, that same teasing smile and sultry voice begging him to take you against the wall.

For a few minutes he swallowed his embarrassment and let the fantasy play out fucking into his fist and pretending it was you squeezing around him instead. He thought of your moans and whimpers egging him on. Begging him to be harder, faster, rougher. He bit his lip to keep from shouting as he finally spent himself and started coming down from his high.

He felt more relaxed afterwards but the release of tension didn’t make him feel better knowing he had masturbated to you. You were his...friend? You two had never been friends before coming to Storybrooke and he doubted that you two were that now. Whatever you were to him he shouldn’t be thinking about you like that. You both wanted to get back to Neverland and having obscene fantasies of you was not the way to go about that.

It was still fairly early but he was too wound up to go back to bed. So he got dressed and went exploring throughout the mansion. That’s how he had found the secret library full of blank books and that secret vault under the floorboards. He put everything back in place before racing to wake you up and show you. He had almost forgotten about his dream until you opened the door and he was met with your sleepy face and bedhead. Had you always been this attractive or was it just the layers of dirt that had gotten washed away last night that made you much more appealing to him suddenly? He decided not to dwell on why he was having these thoughts and instead took you down to see the stash of money he had found.

You were so giddy at the knowledge that you could actually have a roof over your head and food in your belly that he found himself smiling too. Your smile was so infectious. He let you take the lead when you went shopping. He didn’t recognize half the stuff he saw in that store but trusted your judgement when you dropped something in the cart.

Then there was when you went to go clothes shopping. Felix wouldn’t admit that he was getting a little worn out of his Neverland attire. It was functional but that was all he could say about it. The smell of it after he had gotten out of the bath the night before almost made him gag. Perhaps this was the reason no one wanted you or him around. You both reeked of years of living in a jungle.

You two were on totally opposite ends of the clothing store so Felix thought he was safe until you came charging into his dressing room ranting about the tiny pockets on your pants. The tight fitted pants that hugged your legs and ass perfectly. Then when you unceremoniously stuffed your hand down his pocket to see how deep they were it took all his self control and thoughts of rotting animal carcasses to not pop an erection right there in the store.

You were trying to make him burst a blood vessel and you didn’t even seem to notice! Which is why he was back in his room sitting on his bed hungry and horny. He was waiting until after he was sure you had gone to bed to get some food. He really didn’t want to chance running into you again and risk those impure thoughts bubbling to the surface once more.

Hopefully today had just been a spoof and tomorrow all these strange new thoughts and feelings would be gone. You two had a mission after all. Get back to Neverland. Lust wasn’t going to help that mission.

---

(Previous) (Next)

[maybe-itll-be-someday]

How Far We’ll Go

Chapter 15

Definitely some mature content in this one, so if you’re below 18, there is absolutely nothing here for you.

However, if you’re above 18 and into break-up sex.... 

Read on AO3

--

He never thought he could feel her absence more potently than her presence.

Emily always seemed to overwhelm him any time she was near - a comforting figure he always had in his periphery, his gaze stuck on her long before he realized it. He had stolen tiny tastes of it in the past, in a past lifetime before Foyet and Doyle where she was just his subordinate and he her superior. Aaron had long ignored the slight flush of his skin when she was near, the way he'd look back to her for a split second longer than he knew he had to. It was a magnetic pull he was barely conscious of, an unnoticeable habit swamped by mountains of paperwork, close brushes with their demise, and an unspoken understanding.

It wasn't until the walls between them started toppling, the neat bricks of their professional relationship crumbling whenever she smiled and his heart lurched a little further towards her, that he truly started to feel her presence. He couldn't stop the way she pulled his gaze around a room, noticing the soft dip of her collarbone and the supple pull of her waist. Catching tastes of lavender and clean laundry when she hovered over him, pointing out a tiny detail from a file with a slender finger. Small moments, easily maskable and explainable, that soon became the solace that he stole away to at night.

When she kissed him for the first time, tinged with an impatience and neon lights, she overwhelmed him. He remembers how she tasted - sweet and buttery, remnants of maple syrup in the small factions of her lips, and he was left heady. Thoughts unable to form, barely focusing on her words because all he wanted to do was feel her. He wanted to feel the way her breath, laced with decaf coffee and a spearmint she offered him, brought a welcome contrast to the biting cold. His fingers twisted on her waist, finding purchase on the curves he'd thought about more frequently than he'd ever admit. When he undressed her for the first time, an endless expanse of smooth skin that formed hills and mountains his fingers travelled with a soft touch, a fire consumed him, burning through every limb of his body. An unexplainable need to orbit around her - the center of his universe.

But now, it’s over.

Torn up by Doyle, his influence still reaching from beyond the grave. He had branded her memories of that night into a messy four leaf clover on her chest, staining her for life. She slipped through his grasp, almost as easily as she came.

Her absence burned through him more than Haley's had when they divorced. He thought his ability to compartmentalize was stronger than it was - he was always able to put his home life in a separate thought than work, refusing for the two to mix because he knew only certain disaster would await. Haley and their problems could easily be compartmentalized, tucked away in the confines of his mind and saved for a time when other lives didn't depend on him.

But now there was an emptiness that followed him everywhere he went. Small reflexes that were remnants of their time together - seeking for her in briefing rooms and precincts, wanting to ask her opinion. A lone shampoo bottle in his bathroom, tucked away behind his body wash and a mug with a faint outline of pointy ears and whiskers drying upside down on his counter. The old faded Yale t-shirt he had found in his laundry, an item easily overlooked, forced the air out of his lungs when he gripped a million memories sewn into the soft fabric in his hands.

He had a taste of bliss, only for it to falter on his tongue the moment he had it.

He always ached for her presence.

But now he was drowning in her absence.

--

In the first month, Jack takes it harder than Aaron notices.

The apartment is unusually clean, Jack's books neatly tucked into their assigned spaces on the bookshelf and toys put away in their proper bins. Jack finishes his vegetables and fruit with an unrelenting concentration, even finishing all of his peas despite the fact that he hated them. Aaron had chalked it up to him growing up a little bit and didn't pay it much mind, the grief of losing Emily a heavy burden he thought he was carrying alone.

Not until one Sunday morning, one of their very firsts without her, when Aaron is working on some paperwork in his office and hears a loud crash coming from the kitchen. Jack had said that he wanted orange juice and insisted on getting it himself, the streak of independence Aaron could've sworn he'd gotten from her. He sighs to himself, making his way to the kitchen.

"Jack, are you alright?" Aaron calls. He frowns when there isn't a response and walks in, only to see Jack standing in a sea of shattered glass as tears streaked his cheeks. Aaron carefully steps over the shards of glass, moving to pick Jack up in his embrace and quickly inspecting him to ensure that he wasn't hurt.

"I-I'm sorry, Daddy." He says between ragged breaths, and Aaron lets out a breath of relief at the lack of blood on him. Jack continues to sob into his shoulder, a sting of worry still lingering at the tears that fall from the eyes that looked so much like Haley's it still stole his breath away.

"You don't need to be sorry, Jack. Accidents happen. We'll clean this up together, okay?" Jack slowly calms down, as Aaron cradles him to his chest. It was too reminiscent of the way he'd comfort Jack when he was younger as he bounces him up and down, running a soothing hand down his back.

When the tears cease, only bubbling hiccups remain, that's when Jack asks him a question that nearly brings him to his knees.

"You're not going to leave me too, right Daddy?"

The pain is hot and prominent in between his ribs, his own tears rising in the corner of his eyes. Aaron had been so consumed in his heartbreak, assuming that he was the only one that was devastated by Emily leaving. He forgets that Jack had a taste of life with Emily as well, of stories with funny voices, weekends spent with his hand in hers as they explored DC, and a love that had filled the both of them. She had carved out a new place in his heart, right next to where Haley was, and her departure had left a hole in him too.

Aaron is quick to shake his head, tightening his hold on the young boy.

"Jack, you listen to me, okay? I will never leave you." Jack is easily placated with promises of chocolate ice cream as Aaron suggests he go grab the broom so they could clean up the broken shards of glass together.

Aaron is left standing with shards of glass around him, and wonders how you put something back together that has shattered beyond recognition.

--

In the fourth month, Emily starts to get used to the London streets.

A coffee shop with croissants that melt on her tongue is only a ten minute walk from her flat, she's learned the particularities of the personalities of her team, and she actually knows of the Sunday market taking place downtown. The fear that pricks the back of her neck and fills her fingertips with a nervous energy dissipates slowly as she carves familiar pathways in London streets.

The nightmares cease and she builds a new routine. A black coffee in the morning, a splash of cream and sugar from the break room (she avoids Splenda at all costs because when the sweetness hits her teeth, all she can remember is the small box of Splenda he had added to his grocery list, just for her, tucked away in his kitchen), followed by hours of meetings with superiors and colleagues or a case that whisks her to whichever part of the world beckoned for them, only to crawl to her flat when the work had ceased and pour herself from one of the multiple bottles of red she kept with worn paper labels printed in French.

She savors the warmth of the expensive sheets she splurged on, the soft silk a gentle caress on her skin to soothe the dull ache in her chest when she crawls into bed alone. She throws herself into social nights spent with her team, trying hard to recreate the feeling of family that she had left behind in an attempt to try and build her own. She flirts, admittedly poorly and without any true effort, when a few glasses of wine had entered her system in an attempt to shield the emptiness she feels when she thinks she caught a glimpse of his brown eyes in the dim lights of the bar and the following disappointment because of course it would never be him.

She tries to keep in contact. Penelope and Derek are the easiest, because they had both insisted on flying with her to London to properly see her off. Derek had realized that she was leaving before she even told him, understanding as she had expected him to be. Penelope had, of course, found out from Derek that she had accepted the Interpol Unit Chief position and came to her with tears beading behind her sparkled frames and booking flights for her and Derek before she could protest.

But it's obvious from the first few phone calls that they were skirting around the team to talk to her. JJ had been a little more confused, given the fact that she knew that there was more than just the BAU she was leaving behind.

"Are you sure about this, Em?" She had asked, when Emily pulled her aside for their last coffee date. Emily remembers the concern in her look and the mild disappointment, but she had just swallowed the words I'm not and said that she was. She doesn't tell JJ of the nagging voice in the back of her head, the one that insisted that she must have been making a mistake.

But the voice was small, insignificant compared to the fear that plagued her for months. So she accepts the hurt on JJ's expression and pulls her into a tight hug, promising that she would call, visit, and they could still play Scrabble.

Reid had pulled his eyebrows together, reminding Emily of how Jack looked when he didn't understand something. He had snapped away from her eyes the moment the words I'm leaving left her lips, his body language stiffening as she told him of the opportunity with Interpol. Spencer had been in the room with her when Clyde had first made the offer and he felt betrayed and lied to once more. It was obvious in the way he slightly pulled away from her last hug before telling her he had a meeting and stalked off towards the elevator without another word. Spencer still hadn't spoken to her directly since.

Dave just sat in silence, listening as Emily filled in the gaps she purposefully left out the past few months because he deserved an explanation. Disappointment had flashed on his face when she finally told him that she had accepted another position, his expression unreadable as he plucked out the question that she knew everyone else on the team was wondering as well, even if they didn't voice it.

"What about Aaron?"

"He'll find someone else." She had said, her tone joking but her eyes betraying the sharp pain that throbbed in her chest at the idea of someone else loving him. Dave had just nodded, wishing her good luck and promising to send her the names of restaurants in London that she'd enjoy. She knew that Dave still didn't understand, hiding his disappointment from her until she caught his eye right as she emptied her desk on her last day. His gaze had landed on her, heavy for a split second, before straightening up and walking into Aaron's office and closing the door behind him.

So her phone calls with Penelope and Derek were taken behind closed doors and with hushed voices, not wanting to agitate the hurt that palpated from the team. She stops reaching out and they do too because maybe they all needed a little space.

She builds a new routine, because this is what she wanted. It was the new life promised that gave her a reason to fly out of Dulles, leaving the sparkling city skyline and the only family she's ever been a part of.

It's 3:40 AM on a Tuesday night when her phone cuts through the silence of the night, groaning as her sleep was abruptly interrupted by the shrill ringing on her bedside. Her eyes are half open as she squints at the bright screen, only to pop up into a full sitting position when she realizes who's calling.

"Aaron?" She calls out, fear and anticipation tight in her throat as she waits to hear the voice that plagued her memories more than she would admit.

Instead, an excited high-pitched voice comes through the phone, flooding her with a familiarity and a sharp ache all at once.

"Hi Emmy!"

"Hey honey." She says, her voice cracking as tears build in her eyes at the sound of his voice. Jack was one part of her routine that she had never quite replaced. It was a different emptiness that she felt when she realized that her apartment was devoid of his dinosaur sneakers, his crayons and books left open and scattered on communal surfaces, and the sounds of his make-believe echoing from his bedroom.

It was an emptiness she didn't bother to fill, because she knew that nothing could.

He had been devastated when she told him that she was leaving. She had insisted on being the one to tell him, knowing that she had the rare chance to explain herself to Jack instead of having Aaron make up excuses on her behalf. Jack deserved that much and Emily felt like the reaction he gave her was something she deserved too.

He had flinched, like he had been burned, when she told him that she wouldn't see him for a little bit. His brown eyes grew wide, tears sparkling when she explained to him that she was moving to a city called London that was far away and that she wouldn't see him or Aaron after work or during his soccer games.

"You're leaving?" Jack asked, voice hard and sounding much older than his six years. Emily had reassured him that she would always love him and that he could call her anytime, but yes, she was leaving.

His tears came fast after that, and he bolted to his bedroom and slammed the door behind him.

"Are you okay? Is Daddy okay?" She asks after a split second, because Jack was still calling her in the middle of the night and she was under the impression that he didn't really want to speak to her, especially since it had taken so much coaxing to convince Jack that she wasn't leaving forever and that she'd come see him, it just wouldn't be as soon as he was used to. This had to be an emergency call of some kind.

"We're okay. Daddy's in the shower but I did a school project on chameleons today!" Jack starts to ramble on about some of the facts he knew about chameleons: that there are over 160 of different kinds, that their tongues suction cupped their prey ("Like the things we hung on the window that one time Emmy!"), and that chameleons aren't deaf but don't have ears. He launches into his grand review of his project and Emily thinks that maybe she should stop him because it was too late into the night for her, but she just stays quiet and lets a small smile curve at her lips as she listens to him recite facts like he was reading them. She knew that he wasn't, that he was probably sitting at the dining room table and kicking his feet while he talked.

She had tried so hard to forget that this is exactly what she left behind.

Tears catch in her throat as Jack's voice is suddenly interrupted by a much deeper one.

"Jack! Why do you have my phone?" Aaron's voice, soft yet disciplined, was somewhere in the distance. It was the first time that she had heard his voice in over four months and she shifts awkwardly on the bed, curling her legs tightly to her chest as she hears rustling on the other side.

"Hello?" He says, the tone as smooth and deep.

"Aaron. Hi." She breathes out, cursing the relief that filled her at the sound of his voice.

"Emily. I'm so sorry about Jack - I didn't realize that he had my phone, let alone that he knew to dial your number..." She had emailed him her new number after her first week in London, along with a short update on how the move had gone, that Garcia and Derek were driving her crazy trying to organize her flat and hoping that he was doing well.

The email went unanswered and it hurt her more than she would ever admit.

"It's okay. I missed hearing his voice."

I missed yours too.

"Isn't it late over there?"

She chuckles, glancing over at the bright neon clock on her bedside that tells her it's a little past 4 AM now.

"Early, actually." Aaron sighs, doing the quick math in his head and realizing that Jack probably had no concept of what a time zone was.

"Were you asleep?"

"Yeah, but it's okay." She says. There's a stiff silence on the other end, stretched over thousands of miles across the ocean. Her legs curl tighter around her chest, shielding her heart from the pain that she knows will follow. This was the first conversation they've had in over four months, and she's never found herself speechless in front of him, unable to pull any words that would sound right.

Because there are so many things she wants to say, sentiments that she should have said.

"I'll be sure that he only calls you at appropriate times." Aaron's tone is too reminiscent of how he would talk to police chiefs and their superiors on the phone, clipped and stringent - more Hotch than Aaron.

More impersonal than he had ever been with her.

"You don't have to do that, Aaron."

"You know that I have to." He says, and she knows what he means.

It still hurts too much.

She doesn't know what the appropriate words are. If I'm sorry would ever encapsulate the regret that she has for hurting him.

The regret that still lingers in the back of her mind- that she had walked away from the best thing she's ever had.

"I should go." She says instead, giving him his escape. He takes it immediately and without a second thought.

"That's probably for the best. Get more sleep, alright?" The call ends before she can say goodbye. She's left with the dial tone in her ear and the ache she's been trying to forget echoing in her entire being.

When she finds the strength to end the call, she finds herself drawn to a file box tucked away in her closet. It was the only box she never unpacked, knowing that its contents were better kept in cardboard.

But tonight, for just tonight, she wants to remember instead of forget.

She finds the box right where she had left it, in the back of her closet still untouched after four months. She lifts the lid and her breath stalls as memories wash over her, every single moment she's kept locked away in this box rushing to the surface and stealing all her air from her lungs.

A drawing of her, Aaron, and Jack that was done in crayon and presented to her on one Sunday morning that had lived on her fridge door. An old cotton shirt with a faded Georgetown logo, one she had convinced Aaron to part with in their early days with promises of indecency and ice cream. A napkin she had swiped from the diner where they had their first date, the logo imitating the neon sign that had shone above them when she kissed him for the first time. A handful of pictures she had printed of Jack and Aaron, intending on showcasing them in frames instead of living in a box, shoved to the back of her mind.

She finally reaches the picture she's been looking for.

It was the picture that Aaron had in his wallet, his panicked handwriting on the back. Its edges were now worn from the numerous times she had pulled it out of her pocket that day that she had almost lost him. She never gave it back, the right opportunity slipping from her fingers along with her confession.

It could've been different. If they had figured this out sooner, if Doyle hadn't stolen her sanity and her life from her from the grave, if she was just a little less broken than she was.

Her fingers trace their figures, pure and unbroken captured in a perfect moment.

All she had left of him was a box of their memories and list of if and buts she had left unanswered, dotted with the finality that it could never be.

--

Aaron tries to ignore the date. He briefs the team on cases they had on deck, finishes up the paperwork that was piling on his desk, and wills everything in him to not think of the only person that's plagued his every thought the past six months. He had come into the office early, way earlier than he normally would because Jack was off at summer camp. It was an old decision swayed by the hope that having Jack away for a week or so would give them some time together, maybe in some cabin tucked away in a remote mountain range, spending their days encased in sheets and walking underneath canopies of dense trees hidden away from the rest of their world.

And maybe, just maybe, he would've taken the time to ask her something that had haunted him for months.

A headache builds at the base of his skull, the tension of being hunched at his desk with his pen tightly gripped in hand pinching the muscles around his neck. He doesn't know what time it is, instead pouring all of his attention on reviewing the team's reports and filling out his own. The sun had set hours before and most of the team had already left for the day, but the time was lost on him.

"Aaron." His head snaps up and he winces at the movement that causes his neck to ache, spotting Dave hovering in the doorway with two glasses and a bottle of his oldest scotch tucked in his arm.

He wordlessly crosses into the room, setting the two glasses against the dark mahogany of his desk and pouring trickles of amber into the crystal. He slides one of the glasses over to him before settling in the seat across from his desk.

They let the pregnant silence blanket them and Aaron doesn't have to ask why Dave's in his office this late at night.

"Are you allergic to looking at the time today?" Dave asks, motioning to the lack of a watch on his wrist. "I haven't seen you without a watch in the fifteen years I've worked with you, Aaron."

Aaron doesn't even pretend to be surprised that Dave had caught on. He was the only one who ever did.

Instead, Aaron tips his head back, letting the harsh sting of alcohol soothe out the emotions that have been lodged in his throat for the most of the day. He was wondering how long he could get away with shunning himself in his office, willfully ignoring the thoughts of her skin and her smile that were smattered between the words he wrote in his reports.

"You know what today is." Aaron says, the words bitter and heavy on his tongue along with the whiskey.

"How are you holding up?" Dave asks, his concern evident. Aaron doesn't know if he has the right words to answer that question - if he could describe to him how amplified her absence was that he couldn't bear to walk into the apartment that was now devoid of any of her belongings but cradled some of his favorite memories. How those memories, once sweet and wanted, now felt like they had been soaked in a poison that wrought his thoughts.

How badly he wished that she was still here.

How much he longed for her.

And how much he hated that he did.

So instead, he doesn't answer, and finishes the rest of the whiskey in his glass because there weren't any words. He would rather leave them unsaid, like so many things between them were, and hopefully it would wither away the same way that flowers perished in the winter. Slow but guaranteed, that one day he would wake up and the memories of the slope of her cheek and the way his chest would clench when he realized she wasn't next to him would dissipate.

But today wasn't that day.

"I think I should head home." Aaron croaks out, when the whiskey has bloomed warmth into his abdomen. Dave doesn't stop him, polishing off his glass of whiskey before wishing him a good night and retreating back into his own office.

His apartment is as dark and as empty as he feels. He finds himself being drawn to his safe, unlocking it and reaching in to pull out something he hasn't had the chance to look at since she had left DC all those months ago. It was a thorn in his side, a dull ache that was easy to tuck away in a metal safe underneath his suits and old coats. His fingers touch the velvet box and Aaron almost expects it to burn to the touch.

He doesn't have the strength to open it. He doesn't want to because he still thinks that it's perfect for her. Instead, he lays the unopened box on his coffee table and opens up a bottle of red wine. It was her favorite, a bottle he had managed to track down from an old winery in Châteauneuf-du-Pape. He wanted to save it for a special occasion, one that ended with the ring sparkling on her left hand, but there weren't any occasions for it anymore. He pours himself a glass and raises it to no one.

"Happy anniversary, Em."

--

3,000 miles away, Emily buys a bottle of whiskey before she retreats to her apartment for the night.

She lets the whiskey burn her throat and drip down the old cotton shirt draped over her frame, his scent long gone and faded. Her tears prick at the back of her eyes as she traces the outline of his face with the pad of her thumb, a memory pulled from the box still left untouched in her closet.

"Happy anniversary, Aaron."

--

The wedding invite comes as a surprise.

JJ had gushed to her the previous month that she and Will had decided to marry after he had a brush with death as a suspect gunned him down in the middle of DC. It was in a hospital room that she told him to ask her again, a redo of a night that ended in more tears and harsh words rather than in celebration. She wanted him, all of him, no matter what tomorrow brought.

The off-white envelope embellished with her name comes in the mail on a Wednesday morning bearing an invitation to their wedding in DC.

She calls JJ, confused that she had gotten an invitation.

"Emily." JJ starts, indignant at her assumption that the wedding invite had been a mistake. "Of course I would send you an invitation."

"It won't make things.. awkward?" She asks. Months had passed now and while it had already felt like another lifetime, she knew that there were still some harbored feelings. Reid had only started speaking to her in the last month and she hadn't heard from Aaron outside of the emails that he had helped Jack write. She didn't want to aggravate the healing wounds she knew that still lingered, not wanting to cause any more pain to the people she loved.

She's had her fill of all that for this lifetime.

"Em, you're one of my best friends. I know it might be a little weird, but I want you there with me."

"Just let me think about it okay?" She says, promising that she would give her an answer by this week. She decides to talk to Clyde about it, ignoring the half-hopes that she was sent on a case so that she had an excuse not to go as she taps on his office door.

"Darling! I had just sent you an email - The CIA needs a consultation on one of their current cases, interested in going stateside?"

"I actually wanted to talk to you about that. JJ, the Communications Liaison over at the BAU, is getting married and she wants me in DC for the wedding."

"That sounds like wonderful news, darling. But why, may I ask, do you look disappointed?" Clyde asks, a twinkle in his eye and she curses her inability to shield her emotions from him. He was one of the only people, outside of Aaron, who had the ability to dissect her motives with a fine precision.

“I’m not exactly racing to head back to DC.”

Clyde hadn’t questioned her decision to leave Washington, thrilled that she had accepted his proposal. It wasn’t until weeks later, when she had settled into her glass-walled office that overlooked the messy streets of London, that he had asked about Aaron.

“Are you and Aaron still…?” He asked, as he had grazed a wound that felt like it would never finish healing.

She had just shaken her head, smiling weakly at Clyde, before changing the subject.

"I know you're dying to see him."

“I’m not…” She starts to protest, but Clyde just holds up a hand to stop her and Emily’s jaw tightens, doing the math on how many seconds it would take to completely snap his fingers in half.

“Darling, as much as I love having you here, you haven’t exactly been the happiest camper. And I’m not going to question your decision because it benefits me, but go see him before you start to depress all of London.” Clyde dismisses her then, a call coming in from one of their contacts in the CIA and told her he needed her in the US for the consultation. She was ordered to stay there for the week - no matter what she decided to do with her time.

She books her flight back to DC when she gets back at her office.

She hated it when he was right.

--

Aaron fumbles with the small knot on Jack’s tie, his fingers filled with nerves that crackle with anxiety. JJ had let him know that Emily was coming to the wedding, a conversation she chose to have with him behind the closed door of his office - an indication that she knew more than she let on. Emily had told him in an email, letting him know that she was going to be stateside. He wasn’t sure if it was a warning or an invitation.

He had been unwillingly counting down the days, JJ’s wedding invitation was now taking prime real estate on his fridge next to Jack’s drawings and appointment reminders. The days had passed quickly and unbearably slow at the same time - the end of each day a surprise but the rest of the days after seemed to stretch out into eternity.

“You ready, buddy?” Aaron asks, taking a shaky breath as he brushes the small shoulders of Jack’s suit. He walks into Dave’s house, following the slew of caterers that are doing last minute tasks, bustling in and out of numerous hallways and doors.

That’s when he hears it.

A sound that he had played over and over again in his head, simply replaying a fading memory of a memory until he convinced himself that he actually didn’t remember what she sounded like. He follows the sound, calling him in like she was a pied piper. He steps through the doorway, Jack in tow, to see Penelope animatedly talking to an overwhelmed Emily, who had an amused smile on her face as Garcia asks her if she had liked the tea she had recommended.

Her eyes find him from the corner of the room, barely a glance in his direction but he catches it with ease, a dance they’ve practiced to perfection. Jack breaks from his grip before he can truly register what happens, flying right into Emily’s legs and bursting into tears.

He wails as Emily scoops him up in her arms, already too big to be held, with an old reflex. Derek and Penelope have the sense to avert their gaze, shuffling awkwardly in their spots as Jack’s cries into Emily’s shoulder.

“Hey honey.” She says, voice cracked and laden with her own tears that she refuses to shed. He’s heavier already, his feet dangling an inch or two farther than it used to when she would hold him.

But he still wrapped his arms around her in a ferocity that grounded her to him, just as unwilling to let go as she was. Slowly the tears bubble to soft sniffles, snot running down his nose and wiped with the back of his new suit's sleeve much to Aaron’s chagrin. Emily puts him on his feet, wiping his tears with the back of her hand and smiling softly at him.

“You’re here.” Jack says incredulously, despite the fact that Aaron had told him in previous days that she would be.

“I’m here.” She confirms, unable to stop herself from running a hand through his hair in a familiar gesture. Aaron catches it and his eyes lock on hers, their gazes heavy and weighted as Derek and Penelope take that as their cue to leave.

“Hey buddy. They got a really cool fountain here.” Derek says, catching Jack’s attention and knowing that they probably needed a moment alone. “Want to go see it?”

They wait for their footsteps to fade in the distance, along with Jack’s excited ramblings about some dinosaur she’s already forgotten the name of. Her gaze is stuck to the back of Jack’s head, not turning back to face him until he speaks first.

“Hi.” He says, the smallest of smiles edging his lips.

His eyes follow the form of her dress, admiring the way the dress hugged her form tightly. The deep neckline teases the top of her breasts, the curves triggering a million memories of worship for them. The dress flows across her skin in waves of soft fabric, painting her skin in a shade of red invoking his own skin to flush to match the shade. Her lip wedges itself between her teeth and he can feel a sharp current of electricity go straight to the pit of his abdomen.

He hates that his reaction to her is stronger now, triggered by the pull of her teeth over her lower lip. A taste of water after almost a year in the desert.

“Hey.” She says, the corners of lips turning up as her eyes raked over his form, making him squirm under her scrutiny.

“You look good.” Is all he can manage to say, averting his eyes towards the mantle with a few lone decorations, an attempt to stop himself from outright staring. She giggles, light and airy, and his own smile breaks on his lips.

“You don’t look too bad yourself.”

It’s the first conversation they’ve had in almost eleven months, and it makes her stomach curl when she realizes that she hadn’t heard his voice in her own ears in that same time period. Aaron was once her solace, a listening shoulder she had relied on more times than she could count, his wisdom and words of affirmations constants  - only to be reduced to strained conversations stripped of the foundation they had built for themselves

“Dolcezza. Garcia told me that JJ’s looking for you.” Emily glances at Dave, who breaks the tense atmosphere with his sudden presence. Emily shoots Aaron an apologetic look and heads further into the house, leaving him standing with the traces of her perfume and a longing that roared in his chest with an unrivaled ferocity.

--

JJ is beautiful, gliding down the aisle in practiced steps before smiling at Will, who twists his hands nervously but the excitement on his face obvious. Their story finally had the happy ending that they deserved.

Aaron can’t help but let his gaze linger on the one person he was sure he’d meet at the end of an aisle.

She would have been a gorgeous bride.

--

He’s jealous.

Derek’s arm is tight around her waist, dipping her as a laugh bubbles out of her. They were all a few drinks in, the alcohol imbibing looser tongues and muscles. The team was paired off on the dance floor, the kids being occupied by Reid’s nimble fingers as he pulled the card he had told them to memorize. Dave was dancing with Erin, JJ and Will swaying to the soft music while Emily was swept away in Derek’s arms.

He breaks his gaze to finish the rest of his whiskey, an old crutch that was reminiscent of his father’s tainted breath.

For a brief moment, he understood why alcohol was his vice.

He watches as Jack cuts through the dance floor and tugs on Emily’s dress. She smiles, blinding and bright, as Jack giggles and tries to tug her in Reid’s direction, no doubt in search for her attention even after months apart, easily sliding back into familiar routines like she had never left.

Emily picks him up, plopping Jack on the angle of her hip as Derek retreated, hands up in defeat.

Jack’s smile is wider than Aaron has seen for a while, his giggles loud and delighted as Emily tickles his sides. His arms wrap around her neck tightly, resting his head against her shoulder and molding into an intimate scene that will never stop stealing the air from his lungs.

They sway gently, and Aaron can see Jack’s eyes softly close, the lateness of the night amplifying how exhausted he was. Emily’s lips move against Jack’s ear, soft whispers of sweet nothings as she rocks him to sleep.

His chest is heavy, twinging tightly with a pain he thought had dulled enough to be ignored. An old wound that’s burst at the seams, bleeding with nostalgia and regret.

They had been so close to having it all.

--

She catches him alone, his whiskey glass filled for the third time that night, as he leans against the marble balcony in a quieter section of Rossi’s mansion. Every inch of Dave’s house reeked of well-deserved success, tall columns and elegant furniture that she had no doubt had cost a fortune.

She steps out into the cool night, a slight shiver running up her spine as Aaron turns his head towards her, eyeing the glass of red wine in her hand.

“Hi.”

He smiles, an actual genuine smile that deepens the dimples on his cheeks and causes her heart to stall in her chest. The whiskey slicked his muscles, now unable to keep his guard up around her. All he could process was the soft scent of lavender and roses.

God, did he miss her.

“Hey.” He says, turning back towards the city view in front of them. Buildings that lined the skyline, dotting the black night in soft dots of light. They were in a nearby suburb, creating a barrier between them and the noise of the city - a carefully curated landscape of artificial life.  

No words are passed between them, Emily reaching for the glass of whiskey in Aaron’s hand, knowing that she needed more liquid courage to survive an interaction with him.

“I thought you hated dark liquor?” He asks, his expression amused as she swallows with no hesitation. Aaron’s eyes can’t help but linger on the column of her throat, following the supple movement of liquid under her skin, smooth and taut.

He still remembers the tension of her muscles as his lips explored the path from her jaw to her collarbone.

He turns away, letting her polish off his drink and bites at the inside of his cheek to regain some form of control.

“I actually learned to like it.” She says, the alcohol flooding her in a warmth that draws her a little bit closer to him. She ached to crash into him, to feel the warmth of his skin and the weight of his solid form, anchoring her down to Earth.

But she had given it up, she reminds herself.

She chose to walk away from this.

“What are you doing here, Emily?” He asks. She knows that he’s not referring to the wedding, or DC, but in this small balcony that overlooked the city. She stiffens, tears beading in her eyes before she can stop them, his presence shielding her in a safety that she had missed.

“I don’t know.”

He looks at her, eyes growing wide at the tears in her eyes. He reaches up to brush a tear that had strayed, her cheek resting in his palm as Aaron’s fingers brushed against her skin. His touch was hot and wanting, stepping closer to her and nosing the hinge of her jaw, pulling her scent to his senses.  

She still smelled the same.

“Aaron.” She whispers, unable to find the air in her chest to tell him to stop. He pulls back, her eyes locking on him with a question.

Are you okay with this?

He nods, imperceptibly.

Yes.

Her lips brush his once, twice, with a hesitance that he hasn’t seen since they had first started to dance around each other almost two years ago. His senses flood, an addict being given a taste of their vice, and the dam breaks.

He pushes her back away from the door, pressing her right up against the brick wall and covering her body with his, shielding her from view. He could feel the warmth of her, already slick, against the fabric of his suit. He kisses her, the desperation dripping off his actions as if she was going to evaporate in his grip.

She moans, the noise strangled in her throat at the contact and his skin feels like it’s aflame underneath his suit, the cool night air a welcome contrast to the heat that was building. She hikes a leg up on his hip, the fabric of her dress falling to reveal the long expanses of thigh that he’s spent many mornings and nights between. His teeth edge the skin of her collarbone, causing the expected sigh to fall from her lips.

He still remembers.

His fingers reach down, pushing the damp fabric of her underwear to the side and slides one finger, then two, pumping and stretching in an old rhythm he created on a Sunday morning. Her head falls back, exposing the object of his fascination. His lips quickly latch on, running his tongue down an old path as his fingers follow the same pattern.

“F-Fuck. A-Aaron.” His name tumble from her lips, and his throat catches at the familiarity of it all.

Her hips roll in tandem with the flicks of his wrist, the palm of his hand grinding against her until he feels her fingers thread through his hair, curling with a force that makes him wince. She feels the tightening of his eyebrows against her skin and she smiles.

“Sorry.” She says breathlessly, a laugh and a moan tumbling out as her hips start to buck against his hand. He curls his fingers, brushing her in a spot that causes expletives that would cause her mother to cringe to fall from her lips. It doesn’t take long until she flutters and shakes underneath him, her limbs curling around him with stars bursting in her vision. He anchors her to him, a strong arm looped around her waist to stop her from tumbling to the floor.

“Jesus Christ.” She whispers when she’s caught her breath, her muscles shaking from the force of the orgasm he had drawn out of her.

“Actually, it’s Aaron.” He quips and she shakes underneath him in laughter, a gentle slap to the back of his head and he can’t help the grin that stretches against her shoulder. His finger slips from her and she whines in protest, her hands reaching down to undo his belt with a snap . She wraps her fingers around him, heavy and rigid in her palm. She squeezes him gently, her wrists twisting in practiced precision that causes his hips to stutter to follow her movements, his head dropping to her shoulder.

“No.” He growls into her ear. “Inside you.”

She nods, a whine bursting from her lips and he seals his own over them to silence her. He was still acutely aware that they were on a balcony, with his team in various states of inebriation and could walk in on them at any time. He nudges against her, so slick and aching before pressing in, her name chanted in prayer as he split her open. He can’t think, can’t form the words to describe how she feels around when he’s fully sheathed, her fingers tight in his hair and her walls even tighter around him. She can’t stop the soft sighs, drawn out by the feeling of him filling her with a fullness that plagued her fantasies. He drops his lips to the plane of skin that he had once whispered his reverence to, savoring the vibration of her moan as her spine curled into him, already desperate for more contact.

She still feels the same.

But everything between them had changed.

Tears bead in her eyes as his hips stole the air from her lungs with every thrust. She stretches and burns, a feeling she’s tried to chase underneath her sheets with thoughts of him guiding the feeling of her fingers. His hips start to vary in rhythm and she knows he’s quickly losing control.

“F-Fuck. I missed you.” He croons into her ear, reaching down between them to swipe at the sensitive flesh, determined on bringing her over the edge with him. He bends his knees slightly and changes the angle, pressing harder and deeper into her until her chest starts to rise and fall rapidly underneath his. He covers her mouth with his, muffling the increasingly loud moans that were lodged in her throat.

She can feel his lips mouth the words he doesn't say out loud, caught in the shell of her ear along with a moan and her heart clenches because he shouldn't say it.

She didn't deserve it.

She falls apart between him and the brick wall and he’s right behind her, filling her to the brim like the city lights in the night sky.

Another three words left unsaid between them.

--

He descends the stairs into the living room, the imprints of their indiscretion hidden in a wadded up handkerchief in his pocket and the slight wobble in Emily’s step as she follows a few minutes behind him.

No one in the team seems to have noticed, all of them flushed with warmth from the open bar that Rossi had set up in the garden. Aaron heads over to JJ and Will, explaining that it was getting late and that he needed to put Jack to bed. JJ nods, eyes glazed and skin pink as she settles an unfocused gaze on Emily.

Her eyebrow quirks in question and Emily ignores her pointed look, instead reaching for her phone to check the time.

There’s a handful of emails from her team with status reports on the cases that she had assigned them and she’s suddenly hit with the sickening reality that this wasn’t home anymore.

She wasn’t going to crawl home to Aaron, curling up under his duvet while he put Jack to bed with a promise that he’d be there afterwards, a teasing kiss pressed to her lips on things to come if she was up for it. She would crawl back to the hotel room she had booked in the middle of the city, large and empty, and she would curl up underneath unfamiliar sheets with the dull ache between her thighs as the only remembrance of him. They had fucked, quick and dirty, in Rossi’s balcony upstairs. They weren’t a couple, routines threaded into their reflexes.

She had given that up, months ago.

She ignores the way Aaron is baring his gaze into her, an unspoken question in his eyes until he heads out the front door with a sleeping Jack in his arms. She couldn’t keep dragging him along, stealing tastes of him whenever she could because she was lonely and missed him. She had chosen to move to London, thousands of miles away from here, and she didn’t get the luxury of him anymore.

She had done enough damage.

--

When Aaron calls the next day, she stares at the ceiling and lets the ringing echo in her hotel room, intensifying the dull ache in the base in her skull and the heavy sting of tears in her eyes.

She doesn’t answer.

She flies back to London two days later, ignoring the vibrating in her pocket and the flash of his name on her screen.

Later that month, she crawls to a dirty bar in Central London after a long case in Turkey. There’s a man by the bar, dark and brooding, his eyes on her as she tipped back her second whiskey for the night.

Her phone vibrates in her pocket, her whiskey blurring the edges of her memories and for a split second she thinks that it’s him.

She’s disappointed when it isn’t, cursing herself for the longing for him that never seems to stop following her around. She tucks away the memory of him, shaking the invisible ache between her thighs and in her chest. She moves towards the stranger at the bar and asks him to buy her another drink.

She tries to ignore the bile in her throat when he says yes.

--

[themilky-way]

as the hours pass {loki odinson}

gif credit: littlemisssyreid

pairing: loki odinson x fem!reader (might be considered gender neutral, though)

summary: he afraid of what he feels, so he does the only the thing he knows how to do: lie. based on this ask.

warnings: super shitty angst lol cuz it was 9 pm and my brain cells were FRIED. i think that’s it?? fluff at the end tho so we good 

author’s note: this took me a whole mf week to write which isn’t that bad but i have no time now and it’s kinda scary. yolo tho lol 

----------

when tony had initially proposed a weekly movie night for the entire team, not a single person would’ve imagined anything like this. a large projector had taken the place of the regular flatscreen television, consequently lining up in all the four corners of the penthouse windows. couches and reclining chairs compiled in a large circle instead of being adequately spread out amongst the common room, and they’d all been filled by at least one avenger. to those wishing to participate, jobs and duties had been assigned the week prior, the list ranging from making popcorn to dimming the lights. it was organized-sophisticated, in a way-how it had all been brought about, and to say the majority of the residents living in tony’s multi billionaire penthouse were surprised was quite the understatement. 

over the course of a few weeks, everything began falling into place. reminders didn’t need to be set anymore, and the designated tasks weren’t viewed as chores. natasha made sure to pop three full bags of delicious kernels- ensuring thor’s bowl had just enough butter to lick his fingers clean when he finished-while steve arranged a variety of pillows and blankets around the seating space. soon enough, fading shades of purple would ignite the obscurity of the living room-all due to the led lights binded to the borders of its ceiling-and either a horror or comedy film would commence. 

in such a manner, your spot could always be found on the same peculiar couch, next to the same peculiar individual. god, at that. to literally go to hell and back, to get placed in a home that wasn’t his home with people who wanted his head wasn’t particularly an easy life to lead. he wasn’t a man of sentiment, either, nor one who engaged in communal activities, so you took your part as a good samaritan and kept him company. the seat next to loki had been unreserved, with not even thor to take its place, and you shuffled away from a very frightened wanda to settle beside him. he'd been neutral, annoyed perhaps. if a stranger came to sit next to you out of the blue, wouldn’t you be, too? 

“mind if i sit here?” a mild pause signaled a response, and the shrug of his shoulders gave it away. “i’m not really enjoying the movie, and the space looked kinda cozy,” you added. 

after you had thoroughly felt the soft cushion of the seat and all its comfort, it was rather difficult to stray away from it. every friday evening, the striped bedding of the couch awaited your presence, and a pillow of an identical design lay by the armrest. loki always got there first, a bowl of ice containing two ice cream bars in his grasp, and if the belief that he had ever been remotely inconsiderate damaged your reasoning, the chocolate chip cookie he gifted you at the start of every night proved you wrong. 

if loki truly had to be honest with himself-his father, if he was peering down from above-the companionship you bestowed upon him didn’t upset him as he presumed it would. he half-expected his cold and antisocial nature to speak for itself, to grab hold of the kindness of your heart, crush it, and scatter its pieces so your blind hands would have to search aimlessly for them. for him, the opportunity would’ve been so effortless, so relieving in its own wicked sense, but you had already known that from the minute the tips of your sock-clad toes had walked right up to his. your words had been honey to him, simple yet profoundly eloquent that had dripped away every vowel on his tongue. the warmth that encircled you caromed over to him, and then his icy fingers became regular fingers, and his wintry complexion no longer overpowered the person he strived to be.

the thought alone of developing a kinship alarmed the presumably mischievous man, and when time, the most rewarding elements of his beloved universe, presented him with such a miraculous creature, he went into a comatose. the object of his interest was no longer an object, it was a person, an individual that appeared to envelop his nonexistent grace as if they depended on it. so his beautiful, virulent mind, as plentiful of wisdom as it was, conceived what it regarded to be the only correct answer. 

the seconds of long anticipated hours grew legs, and urged fragments of minutes to run off. solitude embraced the area loki used to adore being in, and his absence planted a seed of confusion within the person always seated beside him. the following nights were mindless for you, even when wanda had selected your favorite films to view, your headspace drifting off to the god who wasn’t watching it with you. interactions between your team lessened. refusing a handful of thor’s popcorn became a habit, and although he questioned you about it, he never brought it up again. then, a month flew by before you could cognitively process it. loki’s eyes hardly ever witnessed daylight now, or you for that matter. more often than not, his ear perked up at the soft squeaks of sneakers before their shadow halted in front of his door. the air in his lungs would almost escape from him entirely, lips pursed so tightly he felt them turn white, before mere seconds later distorted voices trailed your feet away from the barrier that separated him from you. foolish, he’d been foolish to deceive you so childishly. what could he possibly tell you now, that wouldn’t lead you to scurry away from him?

tonight, the best remedy to get some rest was to fix some tea. a good read seemed suitable enough, too, so a copy of The Scarlet Letter decorated your pillow. you trusted your weary legs to navigate you to the kitchen while your brain busied in forming unrealistic scenarios, as silly as it sounds, and you were doing fine and dandy until a conversation reeled you back in. an all too familiar voice-one you hadn’t heard in so long-was speaking, ranting, about things that bothered him? yeah, that was it. 

it was wrong to what you did at that moment, your dear mother had taught you better than this, but the never ending words spewing from loki’s mouth had glued the soles of your feet to the chilling tiles. 

a heartbeat shriveled to nothing, a weighty ache engulfing it in all its mighty glory, and everything you ever came to know became deception. “...ridiculous! i’ll tell you one thing, brother, and that is that they’re absurd for thinking i’m better.”

a booming retort-thor’s-defended you. “you’re ridiculous. they’re good to you and you’re going to throw it away because you’re afraid?” he neatly placed his mug on the counter before his firm hand landed on his brother’s shoulder and squeezed in reassurance. “if you keep pushing people away, you’ll outlive centuries-worth of joy.” loki flicked it away. “do they truly matter to you? enough for you to stop hurting them?”

the wall pressing into your shoulder obscured the visual of loki nodding his head. the tea you craved for now sounded disgusting, and no matter how hard you blinked your eyes, a puddle threatened to hover over them. you began toying with the sleeves of your sweater, hating the emerald shade you chose for it, and your head drooped down to focus on its marbled designs. odd shapes helped center your emotions, too much that you missed a figure passing by the entry. 

did you jump? yes. did loki jump? also yes. 

“what-why are you-why are you standing there?” his voice was shaky, concerned. he looked at your figure over once, his nervous glare lingering a little too closely at the pigment of your shirt, before he focused on you. it was hard for him to miss your anguish. the question his brother had previously asked him looped in his head, and by odin yes-yes, you mattered to him. 

“did you hear what i said?” he gulped. “all of it?”

your pupils were fully dilated, mouth inconceivably dry, so you muttered a tiny “yeah.”

“it’s alright, though. i’m not-i’m not mad, or sad, or whatever. i get it.” with enough strength, you pushed your body away from where you’d been cornered and started your leave. a tightening on your wrist stopped you. 

“please don’t go.” loki never begged, and he always trusted his ego to prevent him from doing it, but he’d inflicted grief on his most treasured midgardian, and he’d have to remedy that. “please.” 

“loki, hey it’s alright. i’ll leave you alone if that’s what you need.” he held you tighter before pulling your palm up to meet his chest. “what are you-look, i’m sorry-”

“you’re sorry?” he cut you off. “i’m sorry, don’t you see what you do to me?” the pad of one of his own hands moved to cover the back of yours to push it further onto his covered heart. it was beating faster than godly possible. if he were anyone else, maybe he was nearing a heart attack. “i do believe you’re the first one to do that.”

you ceased touching him before beginning to speak, but he knew your apologies, your questions, before they even escaped your lips. he fumbled on his words for some time, thorough confessions of his feelings never came as easily as he hoped, but he managed to get the point across. his obsidian, curly locks drizzling over his tiresome face distracted you, and his enticing features, his slurred attempts to achieve your forgiveness forced a tiny grin onto your mouth.

“it’s okay, honey,” you extended a hand outward in greeting. “let’s just start over, yeah?”

he choked on a breath at the name, and then two clammy hands melded into one, and everything was alright for once. “i’m loki, and the pleasure’s all mine, darling.”

[s-horne]

BASICALLY its about tony showing his love through food sorry that was really long

okay so i had this idea, and im really swamped with work so im passing it over to you: tony associates caring and love with food. when he was really young, he would sit on his mamma's hip, one of her arms around his tiny waist as she stirred with the other, and as he grew older and howard started demanding more of her attention (for this charity or that benefit); the only time tony and his mom spent together was in the kitchen together. 1/2)

years later, tony equates food to love. he cooks for the people he cares about. and then i lost the thread of the idea but it involves steve and tony and peter and tony cooking for steve and teaching peter recipes that he can later teach his kid (2/2)

Please enjoy 3k words of Tony in the kitchen; preparing meals for his husband and their friends, his&Steve’s adoption process, and then Tony’s legacy

*******

Spaghetti Bolognese

It was an affront to the meal. His Mama would kill him if she knew how he was preparing it.

It was the only meal she’d actually known how to cook and they had a weekly Thursday night dinner date in the kitchen when Howard worked late at the office. She’d carry him round on her hip when he was too small to see what she was preparing on the countertops and, when he’d grown a little taller, sit him in pride of place to sound out every word of the passed-down recipe written in her mother’s cursive handwriting.

Of course, Maria knew exactly what the recipe called for – which was a good job when Tony tripped over some of the measurements or skipped down a couple of lines by accident – but she let him play along until he was old enough to help her cook the actual meal itself.

It was definitely the thought that counted, Tony tried to tell himself as he stared down at the meagre ingredients in front of him. He had to work with what he had and what he had wasn’t much. The only tomatoes he’d had in his cupboards were the tinned kind, so the sauce wouldn’t be as good as his Mama’s when she used the fresh tomatoes from the farmer’s market they had to drive out of town for.

He’d only wanted to make something a little special for Steve. Their anniversary had been interrupted by a battle and they’d gone from a romantic meal at a five-star restaurant to suited up and locked in a fight with an alien invader. Given that they were meant to eat out, their kitchen wasn’t exactly stocked for cooking.

“Need a hand?”

Tony lifted his gaze from the two jars of dried herbs he’d been choosing between. Neither were particularly appealing so he was glad of a distraction. “I thought you were sleeping.”

“Woke up,” Steve said, stifling a yawn behind his hand as he wandered over to Tony. “Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Tony agreed with a roll of his eyes, a fond smile tugging at his lips. He turned back to the dried ingredients in front of him as he waved to the other side of the kitchen, eyes drawn to the way his ring caught the light. “You can chop whichever onion hasn’t gone off over there. I think there’s actually a part of the serum that means you won’t cry whilst you chop it.”

Steve huffed a laugh, trailing his hand over Tony’s hip as he passed him. “Pretty sure that’s not a thing.”

“Well, there’s only one way to find out. Dice it finely, please.”

Vegetable Soup

Vegetable soup was easy. Most soups were easy, really. Tony could make most of them with one hand. Chopping the vegetables was sometimes a little tricky with his arm in a sling, but he could stir the vat of broth easily.

After a battle, it was all that anyone needed. A few loaves of bread in the centre of the table and a mountain of pain relievers handed round with the crockery and they were set.  

“Can I help?”

Tony looked up from the pot and over to Peter, hovering in the doorway with his arms wrapped round himself. He looked young, so much younger than he was. “You’re meant to be resting.”

“Couldn’t sleep. The pills hurt my head.”

“But they heal everything else.” Tony beckoned Peter over before he turned back to the stovetop. “How do you feel?”

“Like someone dropped a bus on me.”

“Been there. Grab a tomato and stop chopping.”

Peter did so wordlessly, shooting Tony a soft smile as he slid into a chair by the table. “What else do you want me to do?”

“A few peppers, if you’d like.”

“How thick?”

“Whatever you want.” Tony watched Peter out of the corner of his eye, the way that he winced when he reached for a fresh vegetable in the middle of the table and how he moved gingerly with his eyes narrowed into slits. “How bad is it?”

Peter sighed. He worked on carefully dicing his whole pepper before he spoke again. “Bad. I can’t go home. No one can see these injuries. They’re already questioning me and this will push them over the edge of kicking me out.”

“You’re already home,” Tony said lightly, concentrating on adding a few spices to his soup instead of looking back at Peter. He could feel eyes on the side of his face and fought the urge to turn with everything he had. “After we’ve eaten, I’ll show you the papers.”

The pot bubbled, loud in the otherwise silent room. Tony smiled down at it as he stirred in large circles, scraping the side of the vat where the sauce threatened to burn.

“I’d like that.” Peter sniffed a little and let out a muffled curse. “Well. I’m done with these. Can I help you make the bread?”

Rosemary Focaccia

Tony loved making his own bread. When he was a child, their cook would only let him in the kitchen if he promised to be calm and quiet and she’d quickly realised that one way to keep him like that was to prop him in front of an oven to stare at the bread as it rose.

The smell of yeast and the uncooked dough turned Tony’s stomach as he’d gotten older, but there was nothing better than the scent the bread produced when it started to bake. Fresh rosemary only added to that, or maybe even a few cloves of garlic mixed in with the dough.

Focaccia took a long time to knead and for the rising process to get done perfectly, but spending that long watching over it in the kitchen meant that Peter could sit at the breakfast bar to finish his homework and not be alone.

Peter hated being alone. They’d discovered that pretty quickly after he’d moved into the tower with the rest of the team and had all started going almost out of their way to ensure that Peter didn’t have to suffer by himself. It wasn’t exactly a hardship for Steve to sketch in the communal living room instead of his bedroom, or for Sam and Bucky to train on the mats in the middle of the gym whilst Peter ran laps around the edge to get out of his own head.

And if definitely wasn’t a problem for Tony to dig out the recipe books that had been sent to him after their cook had passed away and flick through them to find an old Italian favourite that would take him a good couple of hours to perfect.  

Cookies

Cookies were a staple in Tony’s recipe book. There were many different varieties, so many tweaks that could be made to each batch to make a different cookie type for any occasion.

“–so that’s why Ned isn’t allowed into the theatre practice room anymore,” Peter said in-between bites of a pecan and chocolate chip cookie. “So we can’t go in to see Madison when she’s in there. We have to meet in the math rooms.”

Tony nodded along as though he’d understood any word Peter had been babbling on about. “Right.” He wasn’t sure what exactly he’d asked to prompt Peter’s longwinded explanation, but he didn’t mind the company.

“Oi, Spider-kid.”

Peter jumped comically at the voice from behind them and Tony shot an arm out to catch him before he fell off the breakfast bar he’d perched himself on. “Jeez, what – oh. Black Widow. Ma’am, I didn’t, I’m sorry, I–”

“Gym,” Natasha said, throwing a thumb over her shoulder to show where she wanted Peter to go. “Spar session. You’re ten minutes late.”

Peter’s eyes went wide and he scrambled for his phone, paling when he realised that he was, in fact, late. Tony couldn’t hide his amusement and snorted loudly, earning himself a dirty look from Peter and an unamused eyebrow raise from Natasha.

“And don’t think you’re getting out of it, either,” Natasha said to him. “Steve is already down there with Thor. They could do with a third. A mediator of sorts.”

“Oh, no.” Tony shot a faux-upset look towards Peter before grinning at Tash, “sorry, but these cookies just aren’t going to bake themselves, now, are they? Pete’s good for the job, though. Practical experience and all that.”

Peter’s glare was about as powerful as a newborn kitten’s, but it tugged at Tony’s heart nonetheless. Giving him a smile, Tony reached for the batch of raspberry cookies he had just pulled from the oven and counted out ten.

“A special treat,” he said, urging Peter off the breakfast bar and herding him in Natasha’s direction. Setting the cookies on a plate at his side, Tony winked at the kid. “For when you’re finished. You’ll need to get your sugar levels back up.”

Rigatoni Pasta Bake

The only difference between Tony’s preferred version of a pasta bake and the classic that Ana had taught him as a child was that his was a bit more adventurous. It served to make things just a little bit more exiting. Everything he did was done with a flair of the dramatics, so it made sense for cooking to follow the same lines.

Making his pasta bake was an excuse to throw everything in his cupboards into the mixture. A hundred different varieties of cheese for the topping, ground beef and sausages for the filling and whatever vegetables he found in the back of the fridge to make the meal just a tiny bit healthy. Tony loved to make it, loved to spend an entire afternoon shaping each piece of pasta if he really wanted to get out of his head. Experimenting with different sauces was his favourite – a tomato sauce for a rainy Sunday afternoon, a cheese sauce for an evening in front of the television, a mushroom and white wine sauce for a romantic evening in.

His pasta bake was the first meal he’d made when they’d finally adopted Peter, legally and truly. Maybe a small part of him had been wanting to show off, but Tony had really cared about making sure Peter had a real square meal. Something to help him recover from the small scrapes he’d gotten in his night-time brawls, to repair some of the damage of malnourishment from his previous home.

It was something so simple, but made with so much care.

Apple Pie

As stereotypical as it may have been, Steve loved apple pie. It had been something of a staple in his household when he’d been growing up and his mom had made it whenever they managed to get the fresh ingredients needed. Steve spoke so fondly of her hours in the kitchen, telling how he was often too ill and weak to do much more than sit at her side and watch, that sometimes Tony felt as though he’d been there too.

Sweet pastry wasn’t Tony’s favourite thing to make, so he chose to keep it for really special occasions. The sort of days where he wanted to spoil Steve a little, wanted to make him feel important and loved and all the things that Steve made Tony feel every day.

Tossing out the apple cores and scraps he’d collected on the side of his chopping board, Tony settled in to decorate his pie. He preferred the open-top approach, liking to cover his filling with thin slices of apple and a sprinkling of cinnamon and sugar instead of more pastry. Lost in thought, Tony startled when Steve wrapped his arms around Tony’s waist and pressed a kiss to his neck.

“Happy birthday,” Tony murmured as he fell back against Steve’s chest. “Wasn’t expecting you up just yet. Thought I tired you out last night.”

“Hm. You did a pretty good job, but the bed was empty. I don’t like it when the bed’s empty.”

“Sorry, darling. Wanted to make this for your birthday breakfast.”

Steve nosed at Tony’s shoulder, dropping kisses to the bare skin there. The first thing Tony had found on their bedroom floor when he’d woken at the crack of dawn was a workout shirt of Steve’s. Given its size, the material hung off Tony’s frame. It wasn’t practical, but it was cozy.

Sexy, as well, apparently, if the hardness pressing against his ass was anything to go by.

“Pie for breakfast?” Steve asked, hooking his chin over Tony’s shoulder as his hand shot out to snaffle a piece of apple floating in the bowl of warm water at Tony’s elbow. “How lucky am I?”

“Of course it’s pie for breakfast,” Tony said, hands working quickly to place the apple slices on the top of the very-nearly finished pie. He kicked at Steve’s ankle for punishment of the theft, but couldn’t find it in him to be too mean. “It’s not every day you turn four hundred and seventy-three.”

Standing as close as they were, Tony felt Steve’s laugh vibrate through him.

“Demon.”

“That’s me,” Tony replied happily, laughing with Steve and tilting his head to one side when Steve bit at his neck in retaliation. “Now, get off me, you brute. Let me stick this back in to brown.”

Moving back a fraction, Steve’s hands danced over Tony’s stomach. “How long do we have?”

Tony sighed happily when the pie was in, his eyes falling closed when Steve swapped from biting to sucking a deep bruise just above his pulse point. “Long enough.”

Indian Potato Pie

“Here, try this.”

Whatever Steve had been about to say was cut off by Tony shoving a forkful of potato-filled pastry in his mouth.

“Well? What do you think?”

Steve fanned his mouth. “I think it’s hot,” he said through the mouthful of crust. “Did you cook this with lava?”

“But what about the texture? The filling – do you think it needs more of a kick? I only put in a small amount of chilli flakes this time and a lot less ginger than I did before. I think I liked it better last time.”

“Tony,” Steve reached out and caught Tony’s hand, taking the fork from him before twisting their fingers together, “this pie is perfect. You’ve been making it since you were a child. You’ve perfected it so much you could make it in your sleep.”

“No,” Tony said dismissively, turning back to the counter and peering at the unbaked pie on the side. “I think it needs more salt. You can taste it in the crust. Let me just redo the pastry.”

Steve used his grip on Tony’s hand to pull Tony into his chest, wrapping his free arm around Tony’s waist to hold them close together. Tony gave up without a fight, his shoulders slumping as he rested his hand on Steve’s chest.

“Please stop worrying,” Steve whispered. “Replace the bit you shoved in my face and pop it in the oven. It’s going to be fine.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do.” Steve ducked his head and caught Tony’s lips in a sweet kiss. “I know you and I know our son. He wouldn’t be bringing someone home unless they were special to him. There’s no way we can scare them off. Not with a pie, at least.”

Tony Stark-Rogers’ Recipe Book

The book had taken him years to complete. Tony had started it as a young boy when Jarvis had bought him an empty journal for his fourth birthday. For the first few years of its existence, Tony had hidden it under his bed just in case Howard ever entered his room and caught sight of it.

Every page had been handwritten, carefully crafted letters spelling out the words of each recipe (and most of them had even been spelt right because Jarvis had helped him).

There were sections of his Mama’s recipes, the ones she’d passed down to him from her Mama and even her Mama’s Mama. Though Tony had never gotten to meet either of them them, he’d known even as a child that that was pretty important.

Ana Jarvis had a section as well, one with special Hungarian recipes that Tony had needed a lot of help to spell. He’d shown Ana one day, down in the kitchens. He’d pointed out all the best bits that he’d coloured in the colours of Hungary’s flag and Ana had started crying. Tony had been horrified and started tearing up himself before she promised him that he was a lovely little boy and she was crying because she was so very proud of him. Even as an adult, Tony remembered that he’d gotten a huge hug that night before bed and an extra special plate of lemon squares brought up to his room – made just for him!

As he’d gotten older and his book had gotten fuller, Tony had carefully moved it from journal to journal, cutting out pages and sticking them back into the next edition with slight amendments or scribbled changes to quantities. It was his pride and joy.

“You’re going to take care of this, aren’t you?”

The child stared at him with wide eyes, so big they were nearly popping out of their head. They didn’t speak a word, but their head just about wobbled off with the velocity of their nodding.

“You’re going to listen to Nonno when he tells you what to do in the kitchen?”

Another round of silent nodding and Tony laughed, bending down to his grandchild’s level. Holding out his arms, he let his precious recipe book rest in the palm of his hands, ready for the taking.

“Go on then, bambino. It’s yours.”

Tiny fingers curled over the edges of the stained and battered book, complete concentration etched all over the child’s face. The love Tony felt threatened to beat right out of his chest and he reached out to flick his grandchild’s nose.

“What shall we bake for your first try? I’m pretty sure there’s a good recipe for mini cupcakes in there, somewhere, and I need an assistant chef.”

Tony had no qualms about handing his book down to the next wave of Starks. His children had grown up in the kitchen working tirelessly next to him to feed their teammates and friends, their siblings and their partners. It was time.

The kitchen was the heart of the home, after all.

[harringtonstudios]

hershey’s.

plot: you didn’t expect halloween night to go like this.

A/N: it’s nowhere near halloween haha, but inspiration strikes in weird ways. let me know what you think & if i should try for a part 2? v soft & long! :)

taglist: @iamdorka​ 

Halloween night in Cleveland was almost always crazy. There had been years where you had been off partying in clubs and houses, spilling alcohol over couches and laughing with friends. Usually, that’s where you would be found, in between the music, hands thrown around a nameless face as your best friend egged you from across the room. This year felt different though, quieter in a sense. 

It had been a while since you’d shown your face in the party scene, the last time ending in a disastrous way. You had rushed to the hospital with your best friend, getting there only to find out that she was suffering from alcohol poisoning. It had been a real wake up call, and you both had decided to stay sober for the time being. That had been a month ago, and so far you really hadn’t missed the alcohol version of you. But with Halloween coming up, you felt a tinge of nostalgia at the previous year’s antics. Things had always been so fun and dressing up was something you looked forward to. Swallowing the memories down, you reminded yourself that this was more for your friend’s sake than yours and nodded enthusiastically when she mentioned horror movie night. You wouldn’t get to pull out your costume, but if that meant keeping her safe and happy, you’d do it without hesitation.

One thing neither of you had prepared for was trick-or-treating. Staying at home meant constant knocking on your front door. You had turned off the lights, drawn all the curtains to give off the impression that nobody was home, but the kids didn’t seem to give up so easily. Sighing, you got off of the couch, walking over the kitchen to search in the cupboards for any type of candy to give away. Your hands passed a large bag of Hershey bars that you had once bought after your terrible breakup. It wasn’t even opened and you let your fingers hover over it before you heard yet another hard knock on your door. Grabbing the bag with only a hint of regret, you walked to the front door and braced yourself as you opened it. 

There was a little girl standing in front of you, dressed as a ladybug. She had on a red skirt, and a red antenna headband and you smiled as she looked up at you. Holding out her pumpkin basket, she exclaimed, “Trick oh Treat!”  You laughed as you pulled out a whole bar from the bag, and leaned down to put it in her empty basket. 

“What do we say Case,” someone said from behind her, and you looked past your porch. Standing at the curb, there was a man on top of a skateboard. He grinned as you made eye contact and you immediately willed yourself not to blush. You had a type, and this man was very obviously what you usually went for. You could see his tattoos in the dim light, and he had a beanie propped on his head, at an awkward angle. Regretting your outfit choice, an old Slurpie stained t-shirt and a pair of gym shorts, you crossed your legs trying to hide the worn out fabric.

“Thank,” the girl mumbled and she turned around to cautiously walk back down the stairs. He met her halfway, lifting her up and turning her around to face you. “Thank you,” he said to her and she looked at you, raising her little hand, “Thank yu!”

“Yeah, no problem,” you smiled back. He gave you another grin before setting her down and walking back to grab his skateboard. You closed the door as soon as he turned his back, smiling as you went over the interaction in your head. Leaving the bag of candy by the door, you ran to the window, slightly moving the curtain to see the duo. He was holding her hand as she slowly walked down the road and you could feel your heart melting at the sight. 

“Who was that?” your friend questioned and you turned around. Not wanting to particularly share why you were grinning like an idiot, you brushed it off. “Okay, come back! You’re missing all the good parts,” she declared. You walked back to your spot on the couch and plopped yourself down, willing your mind to become invested in this stupid film.

A few scenes later, you heard knocking on your door again. “Don’t get it Y/N. It’s the climax scene,” your friend whispered as she moved closer to you. You gave her a look as the knock came again a little harder. Pushing her away from you, you got up. “Seriously,” she whispered at you and you stuck your tongue out as you went towards the door. There was a tiny part of you that hoped it was the ladybug girl again, but you knew there was no way it was. You’d opened the door a couple of times in between and it’d always been some other kids, eyes lighting up as you gave them king-sized candy bars. It felt good to see their smiles and enthusiasm as they bounded down your stairs to show their parents. You grabbed the bag from the floor as you opened it again. 

There stood the guy from earlier, holding his daughter again, fist paused mid-air as he reached to knock again. “Oh, hey,” he said as he saw your confused face. “Hi,” you responded questioningly. 

“I know we’ve already been at your house but my kid got their candy stolen and you’re like loaded can you just spare one more c-” he rambled out as you reached into the bag for the last few bars. 

Pulling out four, you dropped them into his daughter’s basket. “Oh God, no not the whole bag of candy, dude, she’s gonna be off the walls,” he ended with as you laughed. 

“It’s all I have left. You should take them, gives me a good excuse to not open the door anymore,” you said as you held up the empty bag. He seemed kinda shocked, eyes glancing up at you before he replied, “You positive?”

“Yeah, my friend’s been trying to get me to ignore the kids anyway,” you blurted out before clasping a hand over your mouth. “I didn’t mean it like that,” you mumbled as he snickered. 

“Nah, you’re good,” he shook his head slightly. As soon as the words left his mouth, screaming started from inside the house. Both of you peered in and you shouted, “You good?” 

He put his daughter down on your porch as he moved a little closer to the door. “Y/N YOU JUST MISSED THE REVEAL MAN OH FUCK,” your friend shouted from the living room. You turned back around to face him, rolling your eyes. Seeing his questioning expression, you clarified by pumping your fist in the air, “We’re watching a horror movie. Halloween nights woooo!”

“Mhm, so your name’s Y/N? That’s pretty,” he said as he casually licked his lips. You laughed a little and he raised his eyebrows at your reaction. Pointing at his daughter, you responded, “Sorry man, she’s like trying to eat the wrapping.” Reaching down, you took the candy bar from her hands and opened it a little. Breaking off a piece, you handed it to her and she giggled before smashing it in her mouth. 

“Shit, I didn’t know she would do that, sorry,” you looked up at him. He was smiling and he waved it away. 

“It’s fine. Don’t worry, I have tissues somewhere,” he dipped his hands into his pockets, searching as his daughter continued to spread the chocolate over her cheeks. Coming up empty, he grimaced.

“Hey, um if you want, you can come in and clean her up? Just take your shoes off at the door,” you suggested. He hesitated for a second before responding, “You sure?” Getting back up, you nodded, “Yeah, my friend won’t mind.”

Scooping up his daughter, he kicked his skateboard, propping it against the edge of the door. You picked up her pumpkin basket, seeing him struggle to keep her sticky face away from his jacket. As he toed off his shoes, he said, “I’m Colson, by the way.”

Closing the door behind you, you smiled at him. “Nice to meet you Colson. Bathroom’s down the hall, first door on the right. Let me know if you need anything.” He shot you a thumbs up from under his daughter’s legs. 

Running into the living room, you sat back on the edge of your couch. You could feel the warmth on your face and you huffed before poking your friend. “Sooo, there’s a really cute guy in our bathroom right now with his daughter, how do I look?” you mumbled out as you struck a pose. She laughed, smacking your arm and you dropped the pose. “No I’m serious. Is this outfit the one?” you said, motioning to the stain on your shirt.

“Y/N!,” she screeched and you laughed, feeling happier than you had in awhile. This might turn out to be the best Halloween night yet, and all it had taken was a few king-size Hershey bars.

[raekahwritings]

Shinsou Hitoshi Drabble

Idk man, all my readers can have this drabble I wrote because I think we all know the feelings of being left out. When your friends don’t invite you out but imagining that Shinsou Hitoshi will come to your aid and be the dream guy we all want.

Read more at the cut below.

Pairing: Reader/Shinsou Hitoshi, Rating: All Audiences

“We miss you <3!!!” Your phone dinged with the message, following the inundation of facebook and instagram pictures of your pro-hero friends going out and enjoying themselves at a club.

You nearly threw your phone at the wall. What a load of crap! “You can’t say you miss someone if you didn’t invite them, assholes!” You got to see the blurry pictures of Tamaki and Shindo making out. You saw Todoroki Shoto dancing with Midoriya. Already, paparazzi photos caught Mina and Kirishima leaving together. That and so much more. You thought they were your close friends. Not close enough apparently. You didn’t need them to include you in everything but when everyone, literally, everyone else was there-- it felt like you had been left out on purpose. 

“Fine then!” You stomped on over the to kitchen, grabbing the one thing you had left. Some cheap ramen- which honestly didn’t make you feel any better. You felt worse; was this what your life came to? All your friends having the time of their lives and you were failing life by only having cheap (and probably expired) ramen to assuage your hurt feelings. 

“Come on, Y/N.” You took a deep breath. “They all know you’re tired from work and you wanted a quiet night anyways.” Which you did. You absolutely did. Saying this to yourself though still didn’t make you feel better because when it came down to it, no one remembered you.

You shuffled yourself to the closet, holding onto your expired ramen and looking for the fluffiest blanket you could find. You dragged it over to the couch, wrapping yourself like a angry burrito, and reached for the remote... your fingers hovering listlessly over it. 

You didn’t want to watch anything. You just wanted someone to care and remember you. Am I so easily forgotten? You sniffled a bit, refusing to look anymore at your phone.

But you did hear the doorbell ring, startling you out of your festering self-pity. You didn't bother to get up though, you were sure it was a mistake. Because everyone was at the club while you were being a failed adult. The doorbell rang again.

Feeling a little petty, you decided this wasn’t worth leaving your fluffy burrito home that you’d now forever camp in. “No one is home! Or wants company!” You shouted. You knew it was contradictory but who the fuck cared. You heard some movement but they probably left.

Surprisingly though, your phone rang. You picked it up without a glance to the caller, now in a fouler mood. “Who is this and what do you want?” You snapped onto the phone.

“Y/N, it’s Shinsou Hitoshi.” Ah, one of your ‘friends’ probably at the club. “I need a favor.”

“Oh, I’m sorry? Shinsou? Did you need a ride from the club?" You snarkily said. “Do you need me to drive something ‘forgotten’ over? Am I the last person on the DD phone list? Pray tell, how can I help you?” You knew you were being extra-petty but people needed to know you weren’t a mat to be stomped over.

“I need you to open the door to your apartment.” You ... stopped, a little confused now.

“Uh...” 

“The food’s getting cold every second you take.” You were very confused but the words propelled you to take your blanket burrito with you to open the door. On the other side was your purple-haired scowling friend. Which you were stupified by as he pushed his way in. 

“What are you doing here?” 

Shinsou put the food down on your table, looking at the expired ramen you’d left on the couch. 

“Don’t tell me that’s what you were going to eat.” Shinsou gave you one of the most judging looks you’d ever seen.

“It’s none of your business!” You defended yourself, a bit lamely. “Answer my question first!” 

Shinsou busied himself by taking out all the containers. “I saw your fight earlier in the day. It looked exhausting.” You pulled the blanket closer, taking comfort in its worn folds. 

“It was.” Hence why you wanted a quiet night in.

“So I stopped by the club and I didn’t see you.” 

That’s because no one invited me. But you didn’t say that, even you weren’t childish enough to say that.

“And then I thought to myself, fuck it, I’m gonna get food for us both and check if you were home.” He gestured to your ramen. “Knowing you, you’d go to sleep without taking care of yourself.”

What I’d actually do is sit here and cry by myself. You knew Shinsou couldn’t hear your thoughts but by the way he looked at you, you almost believed he could. 

“What if I wasn’t home?” You... asked after a moment. “Or did you think I’d be home because I’m just so boring that I wouldn’t be at the club?” You couldn’t resist the taunting words out of your mouth. What other reason would you not be at the club with all your mutual friends? 

“The possibility was there.” Shinsou mused. “And then I’d have to eat all this food by myself.” He put two plates and two glasses in between you both.

The sheer normalcy of the conversation was irking you. Because he wasn’t answering the real question.

“Because I’m boring?” You pushed, not even touching your food.

Shinsou settled in on the bar chair. “Because your favorite thing is a blanket and hot chocolate after a long day.” He pulled out a thermos, uncapping it to the smell of marshmallows and the aforementioned drink. “Because you deserve to rest where you feel safe, not in the some stupid club where drunk guys will hit on you all night and you’ll hate your heels and being dolled up.” You do remember telling him that but it was ages ago. How did he remember that? He pushed the food closer to you. “And most of all, your ‘boring’ is the my idea of the best night I could have.” Shinsou reached over, tucking a lock of your hair behind your ear.

“Shinsou, how was I ever so lucky to know someone like you?” His words made your eyes water, made tears fall but for a completely different reason.

“I’m here for a lifetime.” The words were solemn, they held the weight of the world to you. But he broke the tension, sighing and gesturing to your food. “Y/N, It’s gonna get cold if you don’t eat it.” 

One day soon, you were going to tell him how much you were in love with him. But that would be courage for another day. Today, you were just so thankful that Shinsou saw you when no one else did, that he remembered you.

[sprnklersplashes]

your parallel universe or mine? (part 1)

AO3 

Or, the Heathers/OUAT crossover that nobody asked for but everybody gets because 2020 is like that I guess

The diner is half-full when Emma pushes open the door, the little tinkling bell barely audible above the evening chatter, as well as the patron greeting her good morning. Truth be told, she wasn’t planning on getting dinner from Granny’s today. She had started seeing that maybe, maybe, Killian’s points that eating out for dinner for half the week is not economically a very sound plan, nor is it actually healthy. And today in particular, her house was so warm and the idea of sitting on the couch while he makes his famous omelettes and watching a feel-good movie with her daughter really did sound like a nice way to spend her evening. So no, she wasn’t actually planning on going to Granny’s.

The only problem is that she happens to have a very ambitious 6 year old who decided she was old enough and big enough to not just make dinner for herself, but also for the cat. And for some reason, she had concluded that cats must like Coco Pops. Only problem is that the Coco Pops are on the highest shelf, which she had climbed up to like it was the rigging on her father’s pirate ship. Only problem is that it isn’t, and Hope isn’t exactly blessed in the grace department. And as everyone knows, a panicked mini Saviour plus falling plus uncontrollable magic plus electronics nearby is a recipe for disaster.

Which is why she came knocking on Emma's bedroom door and explained from behind her hands that the oven was wasn’t working and, after some questioning, she may have sort of kind of accidentally sent a magic bolt heading straight for it. And as it turns out, that panicked her so much that everything else went with it. As was punctuated by the lightbulb in her room going off as Hope confessed everything and pleaded with her to believe that she didn’t really mean it.

Ah, Storybrooke. Never a dull moment.

Emma can’t be mad at Hope. Not really, since she was trying to impress her and it was something that can be easily fixed when they get home. She didn’t mean anything bad by it anyway. And… well, she gets some of Granny’s fries out of this deal. Even Killian agrees that their new home-cooked dinners can wait until Monday.

“Hey guys,” Ruby chirps, her dark hair pulled into a braid. Seeing her old friend is a bit of a surprise to Emma, and a welcome one. Not that Ruby never visits, but she’s dividing her time more unevenly lately, spending most of her time in Oz. “What can I get you?”

“Didn’t know you’d flown back in,” she comments.

“Ah well, Granny wants me to train up some new recruits,” she explains with a shrug. “Lots of kids looking part time jobs here, and since Granny’s going into retirement soon, she kind of needs all the help she can get.” She gestures to behind them, where some kids Emma recognises from the high school are milling around wearing Granny’s aprons, all with varying degrees of enthusiasm. She even spots Dorothy, a pencil tucked behind her ear, taking an order from the dwarves.

“Well look at that,” Emma mumbles. “Okay, so I’ll get cheeseburger, side of onion rings and a Coke.”

“And the grilled salmon, please. With a side of potato cakes if you don’t mind,” Killian adds. “Although if it weren’t for this one-” He pokes Hope in the belly. “We’d be eating our boiled mackerel, wouldn’t we?”

Emma hides her laugh behind her hands as Hope nods, pulling a face the moment Killian’s eyes leave hers.

“And I want a hot dog,” Hope adds. “With loads of fries. Please,” she adds after Killian gives her a look. He raises an eyebrow at her and she rolls her eyes. “And a fruit salad for dessert. Please.”

“I’ll see if I can cover the fruit in chocolate for you,” Ruby adds with a wink, swirling around before Killian can protest. One of the most important parts of parenting is knowing where to pick your battles, and one of the most amusing parts of parenting is watching Killian try to pick all of them and failing miserably. Who know that the dastardly Captain Hook, terror of the high seas, would have met his match in the form of a six year old?

Her point is proven when Hope slides one of the colouring pages in front of him, green eyes wide, and he can do nothing but grin and pick up a crayon. Emma smiles as she takes a sip of her freshly-delivered Coke, making a mental note to bring this up to Killian later. If they didn’t eat out, how do they get perfect family moments like that.

But, as with all things in Storybrooke, their perfect evening doesn’t last. Emma has barely finished her bacon when the door swings open, and the hairs on the back of her neck stand up even without turning around. She’s been in this diner enough to know that door, and to know that when it’s opened like that, it means trouble.

So she’s somewhat unsurprised when she turns to see Alice panting heavily and her eyes wide, her mouth moving a mile a minute.

“Emma! Thank goodness I caught you! You see Robin and I were walking home from work, and just as we were walking, a girl fell out in front of us! And she doesn’t look okay. She’s really, really confused I think. And scared. I think she was scared. All frowny face. But not quite angry frowning, I don’t think. I don’t know it was five whole minutes ago, I can’t remember. Point is; new girl in town appeared out of nowhere and we need help!”

“Okay,” Emma says, sifting through the load of information Alice just threw her way. “A girl? And you say she just fell out in front of you.”

“Yeah. Like one minute she wasn’t there and the next minute she was. Just appeared in the middle of the road.”

“Okay.” She eases herself off her chair and picks up her coat, despite Hope’s puppy eyes. “Could you lead me back there?”

“Uh-huh. Robin’s with her now anyway.” She sticks her hands in her pockets and rocks back and forth on her heels. “I don’t think she’s really bad. I think she’s scared.”

“Well I’ll be the judge of that.” She turns to Killian, a silent apology in her eyes. “You think you can hold down the fort while I play Sheriff?”

“Are you sure you’ll be alright?” he asks. “I know you can take care of yourself but-”

“I’ll be okay,” she replies. “Not like I’ll be alone. I’ll call my dad in too.”

“Okay,” he says. He gives her a small, one that feels made just for her. “I’ll make your order to go and heat it up later for you.”

“You’re a Saviour.” She pecks his lips quickly before moving to Hope, who doesn’t even bother hiding her scowl. “Hey, baby. I just need to go sort this out and then I’ll be right back, okay?” Her face doesn’t budge. If there’s one thing Hope took from both of them, it’s that petty stubbornness. Feeling Alice hovering behind her, Emma takes Hope’s hand softly, running her thumb over her knuckles. “Hey kid. I know we were meant to play today. I just need to go be Sheriff for five minutes and then you and me can play all night. Deal?”

Hope shifts at that, her eyes moving up to meet Emma’s.

“We can watch Super Bugs?” she asks.

There are few things Emma dislikes more than Super Bugs. It only has one redeeming factor; how much Hope loves it. And she really, really needs to go.

“All day long,” she promises. “Sound like a plan?”

Hope relents at that, the promise of Super Bugs winning her over, and Emma drops a kiss to her head before letting Alice lead her out of the diner, following her down to where this mysterious appearing girl is.

As she and Alice run through the streets and out of the main street, stores and bars slowly giving way to houses which grow fewer and further between. Emma has never been more grateful for the amount of running she’s done in the past years. Alice must have done her fair share too; the girl barely breaks a sweat as she leads her in the direction of the town line, the pavement giving way to the forest floor. It’s there that they come into view, Robin standing on the side of the road, her hands half extended towards a young, freaked out girl. More than freaked out, Emma thinks as she slows to a halt. She looks like she’s been to hell and back; her face streaked with thick black dust, her jacket torn open and from the look of it, she’s struggling to hold herself up. And that's not even mentioning her eyes, which hold far too much for someone her age.

“Who’s this?” she demands, her voice weak and unsteady. She can’t be more than eighteen. Up close, Emma sees the blood across her face, mixing with the dirt, and the way her shirt and jacket both seem badly torn and burned on the edges, and her heart clenches.

“This is Emma,” Robin says quietly. She’s handling it well enough, despite being completely out of her depth. “She can help, she’s a friend of ours.”

“She’s right kid,” Emma says. “Thanks girls, I’ve got it from here.” The girl doesn’t move as Alice and Robin leave, the two casting last looks at her and Alice mumbling thanks to Emma. Emma is ready to grab her in case she runs, but to her surprise, she doesn’t. She just stands there, arms wrapped around herself and her eyes darting everywhere. “Okay, kid. I take it you’re a little confused.”

“A little?” she asks. Her mouth opens and closes wordlessly, hunting for the right questions. “Where am I?”

“Good first question,” she says. “You’re in Storybrooke, Maine.”

“I’m in where?” she asks. She almost laughs. “How the hell am I in Maine?”

“This happens around here more often than you’d think.” She goes to ask her where she’s from, but a car pulling up behind her distracts her. Her dad gets out of the Sheriff’s car, looking to Emma for answers. Unfortunately for him, she’s yet to get anywhere. The girl on the other hand sees the car, probably taking in the word painted on the side, and tenses even more than she already is.

“You guys are cops?” she asks, her voice shooting up.

“Yeah, we’re cops,” Emma says, wincing. The girl’s eyes are wild and frantic as they meet hers, and Emma worries that she might snap and bolt in the other direction. “But it’s okay, you’re not in trouble. We just want to get you home.” She breathes in and takes another step towards her, and after a moment, moves to block her dad from her view. She lowers her voice and her fingers brush against the girl’s. She flinches at the touch, and Emma takes the message. “Hey, you can trust me, okay? I don’t know where you came from, but we can get you back there. I promise.” As the girl dips her head she does the same, trying to get a look at her. “But I can only do that if you co-operate with us here, okay?”

It’s either seconds or years before the girl nods and lets out a weak ‘okay’.

“Now we’re getting somewhere.” She looks over her shoulder, to where her dad is sitting on the hood of the car, his eyes not leaving Emma. She looks back at the girl, this fragile looking young girl whom she doesn’t know, but she knows she’s been through some shit. She can’t even imagine everything that led her here, but she can imagine how she must be feeling. “Do you have a name? Cause I’d like to call you something other than kid.”

She nods and lifts her head so that her eyes meet Emma’s.

“It’s Veronica,” she says. “Veronica Sawyer.”

And Emma grins.

“Good to meet you, Veronica Sawyer.”

Veronica doesn’t say a word to either of them the whole ride to the station. But she isn’t rude. She’s not like other teenagers Emma has picked up, who sit in the back with their arms tightly folded glaring daggers into the back of Emma’s head, nor is she throwing out sarcastic remarks in the hopes that one or both eventually snaps. Instead, she’s quiet, sitting there with her eyes trained on one particular spot, her grip on herself not once slipping or loosening. More than anything else she looks exhausted; the kind of exhaustion that seeps into your bones and stays there and the kind you can’t get rid of with a quick power nap or a cup of coffee. An ache builds in Emma’s chest the more she looks at her, past memories flickering up against the present, and so she tears her own eyes off her and looks out at the road instead, not feeling settled until Storybrooke Main Street is in sight.

As they pull up outside the Sheriff Station, Veronica visibly pales; her already white skin turning practically translucent. Her legs barely hold her up as she stumbles out of the car, her knuckles white as she grips the door, yet she flinches away from Emma’s hand when she reaches for her.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Emma tells her softly. She doesn’t move any closer, not when Veronica looks so damn scared, but she tries to reassure her anyway. “No one’s going to hurt you. I promise. We just want to get you back home as soon as we can. Wherever home is.” Veronica doesn’t budge, her eyes trained on the station. The worst part of all this is Emma can’t blame her. It would be so much easier if she could. “You can hold my gun if it makes you-”

“No!” That has to be the strongest Emma has heard the girl’s voice since they met. There’s so much force in it that it actually takes her back a little.

“Okay,” she replies after a while. “Not a fan of guns. Me neither.”

“S-sorry,” she mumbles. She takes a shaky step out and closes the door behind her, swallowing thickly. “I just…. Sorry.”

“It’s okay kid.” Veronica nods, the gesture tiny. Emma takes in a deep breath, looking back over at the station, her father already inside. Veronica must be thinking the same thing she is because she takes a step closer to her and waves in that direction.

“I guess we don’t have all day, do we?”

Just like in the car, the sight of Veronica sitting at the table in the station brings back memories Emma would rather forget. Maybe she’s younger than Emma thought she was, because she looks so vulnerable just sitting there, so lost. She wonders for a second if she might have to excuse herself from this and leave her dad to deal with her. He’s got all that charming warmth anyway. Less prickly than she is. He’s probably better suited to the task than Emma is.

But something in her freaks out at that idea. Somehow she just knows she wouldn’t be able to sleep at night if she left this girl’s side, even if it was with her father.

“Okay, here’s your coffee,” she says, placing the cup in front of her.

“Thank you,” she says, her voice breaking. As she sits down across from her, Emma shares a look with her dad, glad to see that they’re at least on the same page here. “Okay… so getting the obvious out of the way, you aren’t from here.”

“No,” she replies with a shake of her head. “I-I mean you said I was in Maine, right? We’re in Maine? But I was in Ohio! How did I get from Ohio to Maine?”

“Ohio?” Charming echoes, realisation dawning on him in time with Emma. “You mean you’re from-you’re from America? From here?”

“I-yes?” she replies, blinking helplessly. “Is…. Is that optional?” David takes Emma’s arm and turns them both around, glancing at Veronica with anxiety evident in his eyes.

“Emma she’s from here,” he states quietly. “From here. Not the Enchanted Forest or Neverland or anywhere else. She’s from this realm.”

“Not from the where now?” Veronica asks. She looks from Emma to David, hoping one can give her an answer. Her mouth hangs open like she’s on the verge of laughing. “Did you just say the Enchanted Forest?”

“You really need to work on your subterfuge,” Emma mutters to him. She leans on the table, looking over at Veronica, trying to find some way to put all this. It’s one thing she just appeared in Storybrooke, but if she’s from the Land Without Magic, that means she has no idea about other realms. And there’s only so much a person can take. “It’s a long story. And it’s not important right now. What’s important is getting you home.”

“Do you remember what you were doing before you got here?” David asks. “Anything at all?”

Veronica lets out a long, ragged breath, her fingers tapping noiselessly on the table. Just as Emma wonders if she should ask again, she speaks, her voice impossibly far away.

“Yeah, I do,” she answers. She takes a long drink of her coffee and squares her shoulders, taking a deep breath in. Emma clenches her fist under the table. She doesn’t know what version of events they’re about to hear, but she’d wager there’s some ugliness that she isn’t going to share. Maybe it has something to do with the dust and blood smeared across her face. “I was at the school. We were having a pep rally. And I had been talking to my friends and then I just had to go… be by myself for a little bit. So I was going home. Then the rain got really heavy and… and I couldn’t see for a minute. I think I tripped over something- no I stepped in a puddle. Then next thing I know… I’m here. And those two girls are talking to me.” Her shoulders shake, her hand presses to her mouth as a whimper escapes her, and Emma is overcome with an urge to go and sit with her and hold her. It’s not maternal or anything close. It’s something else; something that comes from deep within her.

“And… all that?” David asks gently. “Did you get all that just from coming here?”

“What?” she asks before realising. She looks down at herself, like she’s seeing the torn clothes for the first time and reaches up to touch her face, looking at her fingers coming away stained black. “Yeah. Must have been from coming here.”

She’s lying. Emma can tell. But she can also tell she has good reason to do so, so she decides not to press.

“But you’ve never heard of this place before?” David asks her. “Ever?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “No offence but what kind of town is called Storybrooke?”

“We’re not on most maps,” Emma says before leaning back in her chair. This is a tricky one. Everyone else who’s shown up here in the past has done so with some chunk of their memories missing and being from a fairy-tale. Sometimes needing help, sometimes with a plan to destroy them. But Veronica doesn’t fit into any of those categories. She’s from this realm, she remembers how she got here, and while she could be wrong, Emma doesn’t think she’s here to hurt any of them. So where do they go from here? Maybe it is as simple as her getting in the bug and driving her back home, but that doesn’t sit right with Emma. How could someone from the Land Without Magic get here? What-or who-could have sent her here?

Her phone buzzing interrupts Emma’s thoughts, cutting it off before she can go full Sherlock Holmes. Maybe in this case, having Sherlock Holmes around wouldn’t be such a bad thing, but they’re unfortunately yet to come across him. She pulls out her phone, finding only two texts from Killian; one showing a picture of her wrapped up dinner and the other asking if she’s okay.

“Who’s that?”

“It’s just Killian,” Emma explains, sending a quick ‘I’ll fill you in later’ as a reply.

“What is that?” Veronica asks. Emma’s head snaps up, having not expected her to say anything. Little rude of her maybe, but she didn’t exactly strike her as the chatty type, at least not in the current circumstances. Veronica presses her fist into her hand, nodding at Emma’s phone. “Sorry. I’ve just never seen something like that before.”

“This?” Emma asks. “It’s just my phone.”

“That’s a phone?” she asks, eyes going wide. This is the closest to a normal teenager she’s sounded since Emma met her. Far less broken. Less scared. There’s even a hint of a smile on her face. “But it’s tiny. There’s no antenna. I didn’t know they made phones that small! Where are the buttons on it?”

With every new word, Emma’s mouth falls open more and more, and she turns to David to see him come to the same realisation. Like with most things in Storybrooke, this might be a bit more complicated than she thought.

“Veronica,” she begins slowly. “What year is it?”

“What?” the other girls asks.

“Humour me,” Emma says. “What’s the date? Before you got here, what date was it?”

Veronica looks from Emma to David as though she’s expecting one or the other to laugh and say it’s a joke. When neither one says it, she tells him, confusion creasing her face even more than it had before.

“November 25th,” she says. “1989.”

                                                                                               ******

Emma calls it a night not long after that, in part due to her own helplessness and partly due to Veronica’s. She has no idea what the poor girl went through before she came here, but she does know that having her sit in a police station with questions she can’t answer isn’t helping. Anyone can see how shattered she is; the shadows under her eyes becoming more pronounced and her eyes getting heavier no matter how much she tries to hide it. What she needs is a nap, a shower, and a good breakfast. So Emma stands up, puts her jacket on and instructs Veronica to do the same, despite her father’s mild, hushed protests.

“Emma,” he whispers as he follows her to the door. “Are you sure about this, I mean we still know nothing about her.”

“Yeah and she know nothing about us,” she tells him firmly, taking a look back at her. “She clearly has no idea how she got here or what happened. Plus, look at her. Leaving it a few hours won’t hurt anyone.” David’s eyes follow hers, his face softening almost as soon as he looks over at her. Maybe there’s something in her that reminds him of what he once was; lost and running and scared, stuck in an unfamiliar place. Or maybe she reminds him of what Emma was too. Or maybe he’s just kind. Whatever the reason, he nods at her.

“Okay,” he says. “You’re right. But the question is now what do we do with her?”

“Don’t worry,” she replies, grabbing the car keys. “I have the whole thing worked out.”

The Sheriff’s car pulls up outside Granny’s inn, Veronica sitting in the backseat. Just as she asked, Killian is already sitting on the front steps, although she doesn’t remember asking him to bring their daughter. Nevertheless, Hope jumps up the minute she sees the car, Killian’s hand around her waist the only thing stopping her from fully jumping on Emma.

“Well hello little miss,” she says as she approaches. “Surely at this point you should at least have your PJs on.”

“I heard you were going to Granny’s,” she says, her smile soft and warm and all butter-wouldn’t-melt. “And I missed you tonight.” Emma shakes her head and looks at Killian, who only offers a helpless shrug.

“She can be very persuasive when she wants to be, love,” he tells her.

“I’m sure she can.” Killian’s eyes move behind her, as do Hope’s, and Emma turns too, holding her hand out. After a moment’s hesitation, Veronica steps forwards, although her hands remain to herself. Emma relates. “Killian, this is Veronica. She’s going to be hanging around town for a while. Veronica, this is my husband Killian, and my daughter Hope.”

“Hi,” she says quietly, shifting nervously on her feet.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, love,” Killian tells her. “Come on in. They’ve got your room all ready for you.”

“My-my room?” Veronica asks.

“Yeah, your room,” Emma explains. “You think we were just going to let you sleep in the woods? Or the Sheriff station? No way, kid. We pulled some strings and put you up at Granny’s until we can send you back home.”

“Oh,” she says. She shakes her head slightly, the movement swift and sharp. “No, no that’s okay. I mean really, you don’t have to go all out for me. I can find somewhere else.”

“Oh yeah with what money?” Emma asks, and that stops her in her tracks. She takes another step closer to her then, her hand slowly and gently coming to rest on her arm. Veronica stiffens, but she doesn’t pull away. “It’s okay, Veronica. You need a place to stay for a while and I’d feel a lot safer with you being here than anywhere else. And it’s a really nice place too. Granny will take good care of you.” She still looks unsure though, her hand fidgeting at her side. “Besides, it’s not like we’re paying. I’m the Sheriff, so this is coming out of taxpayer dollars, okay?” She runs her hand up and down her arm. “It’s just for a while until we get you back home.”

Emma holds her breath and after what feels like a lifetime, Veronica nods.

The gruffness they’ve come to expect from Granny is completely gone when she greets Veronica; acting more like her fairy-tale counterpart than the Granny she knows and loves. She’s all rosy cheeked smiles and gentle eyes, welcoming her like she’s one of their own.

Actually, scratch that. She wouldn’t be so polite to her own family.

Emma follows them as she leads Veronica to her room, Killian and Hope in tow. The latter seems more than a little disappointed that the attention is focussed on someone else for a change but manages to keep it to herself. Killian is a great distraction for her anyway and Emma does have a sneaking suspicion that her promise of Super Bugs is still in Hope’s mind.

“And here we are,” Granny says, unlocking the door. It’s a very nice room; double bed, fresh sheets, bathroom attached, cookies on the table and a view of the sea just to name a few. It’s lovely, and she’s glad of it, but it’s also far more extravagant than what she paid for. So much so that she has to take the old woman by the elbow and pull her aside.

“Granny,” she says in a low voice. “This is…. I only paid for a single room. I told Killian to-”

“Now you stop right there,” she tells her strongly. She looks back over at Veronica, engaged in some sort of conversation with Killian, and there’s a faraway look in her eyes that Emma can’t place. “I heard what you told Hook about that girl, and from the looks of her, a big bed and some treats is the least we can do. Besides,” she adds with a shrug. “Not like anyone was using it.”

“Granny. You’re an angel,” Emma sighs before crossing back over to Veronica. She keeps looking around the place, her gaze never stopping on one thing, like she’s expecting everything to blink out of existence. Emma nods at her and places her hand on her shoulder. “This okay for you, kid?”

“Yeah, it’s great. Thank you, Emma,” she says. “Thank you for… you know, all of this, you didn’t have to-”

“No problem,” she says. “You get some rest. Tomorrow we’ll meet up with everyone and try to work all this out.” She nods, but her face falls as she does so, what little light there was fading from her eyes, and Emma gives her shoulder a squeeze. “Hey, don’t worry. We’ll get you back home before you know it. Trust me, it’s what we do here.”

She doesn’t get an answer, at least not in the traditional sense. Veronica doesn’t give her a response or anything like that. All she gets is a nod and, after a pause, she reaches out and squeezes her hand. And that means more than anything she could say.

After getting Veronica settled and another two confirmations that she’ll be okay, plus another thank you to Granny, Emma heads home, a tired Hope on her hip and Killian’s arm around her waist.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Killian asks when they’re home, handing her a coffee. She sits on the couch, Hope sprawled across her lap and fast asleep with Emma running her fingers gently through her dark hair.

“Well, she’s not from the Enchanted Forest,” Emma says. “Or the Wish Realm. Or Neverland or anywhere like that. She’s from Ohio.” He frowns slightly, unused to her map, and she has to grin. “That’s sixteen hours from here. Not factoring in bathroom breaks.”

“She’s from the Land Without Magic?” he asks, his eyes widening. “How can she have gotten here without magic?”

“That’s not the only thing,” she says. She half turns towards him, mindful of Hope on her lap. “She thought it was 1989, Killian. She might be from this world but she’s not from this time.”

“You think she time travelled here?”

“I don’t know,” she sighs. “That’s the thing… I don’t know. I don’t know how or why she could have come here.” She runs her finger around Hope’s back, tracing invisible patterns, and lets out a sigh. “She seemed really scared, Killian.” He hums in agreement, his hand wound tightly around his mug.

“You like her.” he asks. States. It takes Emma by surprise either way; her head snapping up. It’s so much that she accidentally jostles Hope; the little girl shifts on her lap and murmurs something incoherent before settling back down, her breath ruffling her hair.

“What?” is all she can say.

“Just… a mysterious girl shows up out of nowhere, we have no idea who she is, and your gut reaction is to put her up in a nice room at Granny’s and pay for her meals,” he says. “Just seems like you care for her.”

“I barely know her,” Emma mumbles in a reply, before her lips turn up into a smirk. “Anyway, it was the honourable thing to do, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, it was.” He presses a kiss to her hair, causing a faint warmth to spread over her cheeks. He plays with her hair, eyeing her knowingly. Open book, of course. “There’s something else, isn’t there? Something else about Veronica?”

Emma sighs, looking into her coffee. Of course there is. She felt it the minute she looked at Veronica. She may be older than Emma was, and she may look different, but when Emma saw her in the woods, in the back of their car, at the station, all she could see was herself. The look she saw in Veronica’s eyes is one she knows all too well. The look you have when you’re let down, badly. When you were floating on cloud nine one minute ago but now you’re laying on the concrete, broken and bleeding in ways no-one can see but you. She knows it. She’s had it. They might look different, and Veronica may be a little older than she was, but that was her, years and years ago. Standing in a train station, hearing that Neal was gone, taking the future they had planned with him. She doesn’t know what Veronica’s story is, but she’d bet there’s overlap there. And looking at her, she felt every moment of that heartbreak all over again. The second Emma saw Veronica’s eyes, a connection was forged for her, one she can’t shake even if she wanted to. Because even trying to walk away feels like she’s not better than everyone else who let her down in her life. And she’d rather die than be that person.

But she doesn’t feel like saying all of that right now. And Killian knows anyway, he always knows. So she takes a deep breath and says,

“She’s just a kid. And she needs someone to help.” She blinks then, only to find fresh tears in her eyes. “How can I resist?” Killian nods, all understanding eyes and gentle smiles, and kisses her again before offering to carry Hope up to bed, agreeing to meet Emma in their room once he's done. She dumps her coffee down the sink and leans against the counter, her eyes closed tightly as her mind once again drifts to Veronica. Her hand twitches for a moment, reaching for the phone to call her, but she stops herself just in time. She might be the Sheriff and the Saviour, but one thing she isn't her mother, so she'll have to dampen that instinct and focus on the task at hand; getting Veronica Sawyer home.

Veronica Sawyer. While she can't place it, there's something so familiar about that name.

[babypinkboobear]

Stars Who Listen

Chapter 4: They Listen to Friendships

The food in Bright Moon was so much better than the ration bars Catra ate when she was in the Horde. They had these things called “Chocolate covered Croissants” which were quite possibly the best thing Catra had ever tasted. For some reason she was only allowed to eat them in the morning though, Adora said she didn't get why either. Catra mostly just liked food that didnt come out of a package though. Which meant anytime there was food in front of her, Catra ate, as much as she could. Adora too. It's like they were scared the food would disappear.

“Guys, slow down! The food is not going to disappear if you take more than five minutes to clear your plate,” Glimmer said, clearly exasperated that her friends hadn't broken this habit yet. 

“Glimmers right,” Bow said, laughing, “It's not going anywhere”. They both knew that neither Catra or Adora had any plans to break this habit, ever. Adora had eaten like this when she first came to Bright Moon, so they assumed it was some kind of leftover Horde training. 

Catra glanced up, mismatched eyes flickering between Glimmer and Bow as she finished chewing what was in her mouth. “You don't know that, Arrow Bow. It could disappear at any moment or Sparkles could poof out of the room and cover it in glitter and ruin it,” She laughed as she said this though. Adora had missed Catra’s laugh.

 Of course Catra knew this was bullshit. Her and Adora both remembered the days when they wouldn’t quite eat fast enough and the older kids would steal their rations. They went hungry a lot when they were younger. Adora always used to share her rations with Catra if hers got stolen. Adoras rations only got stolen a few times, and the kids who stole hers always ended up in the medbay for a few days. They had been attacked by some animal with sharp claws. 

Catra had no clue what may have done it. It definitely wasn't her though. Nope, definitely not... Okay so maybe it was her, but she’d never do that now. Of course she wouldn't, she was a better person now, a kind, forgiving person. Didn't mean she regretted it though. They had stolen from her best friend. 

“ Ha I finished first, I win Catra!” Adora said, standing up, “and on that note, I have to head out to help Adare, Glimmer mind teleporting me there? We can go out into the hall so we don't ruin Catra’s food with your glitter” she said, before leaning down to kiss Catra goodbye.

“I love you, Catra. I should be home around dinner.” 

“I love you too, be careful”

“Always am”

“Promise?” Catra whispered.

“I promise” and Adora walked out into the hall, Glimmer on her heels.

Catra returned to her food. She didn't like being away from Adora, especially so soon after such an uncomfortable conversation. Hopefully, she got to stay with Glimmer and Bow. or maybe she would go hide in her and Adoras room with Melog. 

Out in the hallway, Adora was telling Glimmer about her and Catras conversation. It's quick and to the point. Adora asks Glimmer for one favor. 

“Don't leave Catra alone. She needs you and Bow to be there for her.”

~

Catra finished eating before Glimmer came back. She didn’t know if she should stay or leave, but when she stood up Melog basically slammed her back into her chair. She figured she should stay. Bow glanced up when that happened, laughing.

“Are you okay?” he asked, still fucking giggling.

“I'm fine Arrow Boy,” Catra replied, pseudo-irritation in her voice. She broke soon after, giggling along with him. “I guess Melog wants to hang out with you and Glimmer.” 

“Yeah I’m sure it's Melog who wants to hang out with us, ms. I-think-they-react-to-my- emotions.” Bow said, taking another bite of his food. He glanced at the door, clearly wondering what was taking Glimmer so long. He glanced back at Catra, “How much you wanna bet she got lost?” 

Glimmer poofed into the room. “Sorry guys, I got lost!”

Bow winked at Catra, and she had to cover her mouth to hide the giggles. Apparently it did jack shit all because Glimmer immediately said, “hey what's so funny” but she was clearly not in the slightest upset at Catra laughing. Her and Bow shared Adoras love of Catras laugh, it was nice to see her laughing so freely.

“Whatever, Bow do you mind coming with me to my room for a few minutes. Catra why don't you go change, we were thinking of going swimming. Sound good? We’ll grab you on our way back down.” Then she grabbed Bows arm and poofed out. A very common occurrence with Glimmer.

“Don't spend too long making out!” Catra said to the empty room, standing up and beginning the too long trek back to her room. Oddly she didn't mind swimming. Its water sprays she hates, and deep deep water. She stuck to the shallower end of pools, but she did enjoy them. Catra had grown used to Glimmer's bossy-ness, she didn't mean to be rude, she's just really hyper and gets excited easily. She felt lighter walking to her room, she was honestly happy that Adora had confronted her. It felt nice not to lie. Like a massive weight had been lifted off her chest. She just hoped there weren't many other princesses at the pool. She wanted some alone time with Glimmer and Bow. She wasn't sure when she had gone from merely tolerating their presence to actually enjoying spending time with them, but she was very glad she had. They were some of the best friends a girl could ask for. They had seen her at her worst and still came back, and she didn't feel like she owed them as much. Like with the other princesses she had to pretend to be happy-go-lucky like the rest of the rainbow squad, but Glimmer and Bow knew she was a bitch and still stuck around. It was nice.

Melog nudged her, and she blinked herself back into the real world. She had been doing that a lot, getting lost in her thoughts. She didn't remember the walk to her room, but here she was, in front of those absurdly ornate doors. She walked in, grabbing a bathing suit that was basically a sports bra and spandex bottoms, but it was white and gold. Adoras colors. She had been wearing Adoras colors a lot lately. It was like being surrounded by the woman she loved all the time, she loved it. She also grabbed a pool cover, a lacy thing that served no purpose, but Glimmer said she just had to have one. It was white and gold and it was Adoras. Hers was dirty actually because she had been swimming pretty often, which was funny considering before coming here the only time she would swim was during those awful training scenarios. They forced the horde kids to almost drown for hours at a time. Those were Catras least favorite training ‘simulations’. They were not simulations, they were very real. She had watched kids have to be given CPR and taken to the medbay on multiple occasions, so no not simulations. 

A massive poof of glitter brought Catra out of her thoughts. She had done it again, disappeared into her head. She had no clue how long she had been staring out the window.

“Are you ready to go swim! I'm so excited!” Glimmer was bouncing off the walls as usual. She had relaxed a ton since the war ended. If she wasn't actively doing her ‘Queenly Duties’ she let herself have fun. Catra was happy to see her happy (so was Bow of course, but he's her boyfriend so it's expected). And Catra actually was excited to swim.

Glimmer's suit was a pink and purple bikini with hearts all over it. Clearly a nod to Bows classic crop top. Bow was in swim trunks and when the sun hit them just right they glittered pink and purple, again with the whole wearing the significant others' clothing/colors. Catra was learning that it was a tradition in Etheria, one she hadn't been exposed to in the horde but one she loved nonetheless.

Glimmer moved to teleport Catra and Bow to the pool, but as she was about to grab Catras wrist she stopped, one hand hovering over Catra’s wrist, her other holding Bow's hand. “Actually let's walk” She said, and Catras heart filled with happiness. This is why these were her best friends.

The walk to the pool was slow and peaceful. She felt light as air, like she could float away into the stars and die peacefully. She loved it here, knowing her girlfriend loved her and was safe, knowing she had friends who cared for her even after everything. They chatted about everything and nothing all at once. And Catra was happy.

~

“So I looked at the guard and said how did the picture end up in jail?” Bow said, clearly containing his laughter, “It was framed!” 

Glimmer visibly cringed, glancing at Catra with a look that screamed this is the man I have chosen to be with. Catra giggled, jokes weren't really a thing in the Horde, unless it was at the expense of someone else. She actually really liked Bows jokes, she always laughed at them, and at glimmers face when he told them.

“What? It's funny,” Bow said, a tad bit insulted. He really thought Glimmer would laugh at that one. 

“Nothing babe. It was totally funny. Catra laughed!” Glimmer said, laughing at Bows offended face. He really was the cutest.

“Yeah but i wanted to make you laugh,” Bow said, pouting. Glimmer kissed him in sympathy.

“Gross guys, seriously do you really need to do that right now?” Catra groaned, splashing water at the two. She missed Adora and they didn't need to rub in the fact that her girlfriend was off being She-ra and not here holding Catra. She quickly realized that splashing those two was not a good idea, because Glimmer and Bow decided to splash her back. “Hey, two on one isnt fair!”

“You started it,” Glimmer said.

“What are you, 12” Catra said, “You started it, blah blah blah, you run Etheria with that childish attitude?” Catra knew she was being snarky, but they had splashed her, which she fucking hated. 

“Break it up ladies,” Bow said, nudging Catra, “you did start it though”. 

Catra was about to absolutely destroy her best friends in a splash battle as revenge when Perfuma and Scorpia walked in. Catra sank until only her nose and eyes were above water. She loved scorpia but things had been so awkward between them ever since their falling out in the horde. She’d just make herself as small and unnoticeable as possible, so she wouldn't have to deal with it. If they just stayed on the other side of the pool-

“Hello Glimmer, Bow, Catra,” Perfuma said, with her stupid voice that managed to sound like flowers speaking, how can something sound like flowers speaking that doesnt even make sense. “How are you all on this fine afternoon?” She asked.

Catra didn't understand why she sounded so formal all the time. It made her feel… weird. Nobody in the horde spoke that way.

“ We’re good! How are you?” Glimmer said, sounding way too happy to have someone join their little group. Catra didn't want her friends to be stolen away by Princesses who didn't even like her.

“ I am doing well,” Perfuma said. 

Scorpia sat down on the edge of the pool, Perfuma between her legs, back leaning on the side of the pool. Catra stayed silent as their conversation carried on. She heard Scorpia say hi to the group. Sounding far happier than she ever did with Catra, which is no surprise. Hopefully they just didn't interact with her. She could just stay quiet till they left, and not have to talk-

“Catra! How have you been?” It was Scorpia, of course it was Scorpia. The stars must hate her today. Adora’s not here and now she has to talk to all these princesses and deal with Scorpia, who she loves and hurt so much in the past. And her chest is tightening, fuck, not here please not here. She can't breathe, She needs to get it together, she can't do this in front of them. Her eyes are watering, she's crying, she can't breathe. Fuck. 

“Catra are you okay?”

“What happened?”

She didn't know who was saying what.

“Is she okay?”

“Catra, what's going on”

“She is having a panic attack.” 

That was Perfuma. Her voice was distinct. Someone was grabbing her hands. Pulling her into their chest. Another was stroking her hair. 

“Catra, sweetheart, I need you to focus on me okay? We are going to breathe in for 5 seconds, hold our breath for 5 seconds, and breathe out for 7 seconds okay. We are going to do it together. I will count for you alright?” It was Perfuma talking again. She was the one stroking her hair. So that means either Glimmer or Scorpia was hugging her. Fuck.

“Breath in for me okay? 1,2,3,4,5 and hold. 1,2,3,4,5. Now exhale, 1,2,3,4,5,6,7. Again”

She didn't know how long this continued for. Eventually her tears dried and she could breathe again, she could speak again. And then the apologies came. One right after the other. They were barely understandable, mumbled into the chest of whoever was hugging her. And then she tried to pull away, to run, like she always did, because she's a coward and everyone would be better off without her. She’d leave and they could go back to their happy conversations and, and, and, fuck! Someone was behind her. 

She glanced up and around, trying to make sense of where everyone was. Trying to find an escape route. Glimmer was hugging her, Scorpia on her left, Perfuma on her right, that left Bow behind her. She was boxed in. She couldn't get away. Fuck. 

“Im fine guys. I don't know what happened. I'm sorry,” Catra was trying to deflect. Everyone knew this. 

“Its okay if you aren't fine though Catra. You can talk to us. We love you and we hate to see you sad,” Glimmer said softly. Scorpia and perfuma nodded in agreement. 

Bow rubbed her back lightly, “She's right Catra, you can always talk to us. You aren’t a bother”. 

How the fuck did they know exactaly what she wanted to hear. But they must be lying. She hurt them so much.

“We have forgiven you Catra. Nobody is angry with you. We all think you are amazing” was this bitch a mindreader. How the fuck did Perfuma know what Catra was thinking. She couldn't do this. She needed to get away.  She was pushing past them. Fuck, she should stay. Listen, but she can't, they must hate her. They have too, because if they don't hate her then.. She must be the only one who hates herself. And she couldn't deal with that. So she was going to leave before she started to believe their lies.

She managed to get past Glimmer, hopping out of the pool and grabbing her towel. “I think I’m going to head to my room guys. I'll see you at dinner”. And she was walking out. 

Perfuma is the one who made chase, she grabbed Catras wrist and pulled her to a stop. “Catra, if you would like to talk sometime, about what you are going through or why you were upset, I am always here”.

“I appreciate that Perfuma, but I’m fine. Really. I think I’m probably just tired”. Catra tugged her wrist out of Perfuma’s grip and definitely did not run away. No she walked calmly, because she was just tired. 

Glimmer glanced at Bow, Scorpia, and Perfuma. Catra was too far away to hear the plan they made to make Catra accept their help and love. And also to make her talk to them.

(2700)

[ratedbangtann]

𝐃𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐌𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡 | 𝙆𝙞𝙢 𝙉𝙖𝙢𝙟𝙤𝙤𝙣 𝙭 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 

𝘕𝘢𝘮𝘫𝘰𝘰𝘯 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘮. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘱𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘦...

                                          Pairing: Namjoon/F Reader Word count: 2.4k Warnings: angry joon, daddy kink, cum play, cum eating, throat fucking, oral (m+f), unprotected sex

a/n: hi so um this is unedited and probs littered with typos but i hope you enjoy angry joon the way i do. 

                                          "What the hell did you go and say that for, y/n?" his anger was evident, his jaw clenching like it usually did when he was pissed off; it was his way of trying to stop himself from lashing out, losing his temper completely.

"I-I didn't think it was such a big deal, Joonie. Girls tell each other these things. It's just kind of... girl talk?" You tried to reason with him, but he wasn't having any of it.

"If this leaks anywhere..." he shakes his head as he looks down at the floor, while you hang your coat up on the pegs in the hallway. "All it takes is ONE of those girls to go to the press."

You wonder back into the living room, exhausted by the conversation. He'd been like this the whole ride home from the bar, his hands clutching the steering wheel so tight you thought he might pull it off.

"They wouldn't, they're my best friends. I don't know why you're so mad, you've probably told the boys what we get up to..."

"i don't tell them your fucking kinks, y/n. That shit stays between us."

"But Joon, so many guys love being called Daddy, it's no big deal..." You tried to diffuse things, but he was getting more and more irate.

"And the cum play? You think that's something they're not gonna laugh at me about? Jesus y/n, I can't fucking believe you."

You had met up with your two best friends that night, and you'd all been sharing some rather risqué pillow talk over a few drinks. Joon came to pick you up, and all in good spirits, they had giggled and made their jokes. He was not amused.

"Namjoon, it's fine. You should have heard some of the things they were telling me. Oh god, there's this one guy that Abigail was sleeping with a few months back, and he-" Namjoon cut you short by grabbing your wrist and pinning you to the wall beside where you were stood.

"Do you think this is funny?" His lips were inches from yours, his eyes boring down into your own with anger flooding them. The normal hazelnut brown had deepened to a menacing dark chocolate, and he still ground his jaw the same way he had been all evening.

"Joon, I-"

"Shut up. You wanna spill secrets like that, huh? Should I tell the boys some of yours?"

He took both your wrists in his, pinning them to the wall above your head.

"Should I tell them that you love to wear leather?" He lowered his lips to your neck, ever so gently letting them graze the skin. "Should I tell them how your nipples are so sensitive, I can make you squirm with one little touch?" As he spoke, he lowered his right hand, using his finger tip to trace the spot over your breast where your nipple had already stood to attention. "Should I tell them that you love it when I spank that ass of yours?"

Suddenly his hand is down between your legs, pushing your skirt up to your hips and with a quick movement, he slaps harshly at your clothed pussy.

"And that you love it even more when I spank your cunt?" Your core ached for him, a gush of wetness staining your panties at the pure rush of pain and pleasure.

"J-Joon, I..." The hand he had used to spank your pussy shot up to your mouth, covering it to silence you.

"That mouth has done too much damage tonight already, sweetie. I think you should stay quiet until daddy tells you to speak, don't you?" You nod under his grip, deep breaths having to come through your nose. "Get down, on your knees."

You obeyed immediately. You knew not to argue with him. As soon as you were down, he undid his belt buckle and let his hands fall to his sides. He expected you to do the rest, you knew the drill.

You unzipped his trousers, pulling them and his underwear down in one quick motion. He was already semi-hard, the anger and your helplessness against his advances such a turn on.

Before making any kind of advancements to put your mouth to good use, you looked up at him through your long eyelashes, feigning innocence and trying to look as sorry as you could. He met your eyes and instantly felt a rush of blood to where he needed it most, his length hardening completely before you.

You lean your head forward slowly, tongue poking out past your lips slightly in order to land a small, teasing lick to the head of his cock, now leaking pre-cum at the sight of you so willing to submit for him.

"Don't tease me, you're already in enough trouble," he warns, leaning his hands against the wall behind you and looking down at you, clenching his jaw yet again. You do as you're told, taking his head completely in your mouth, using your tongue to lap at him. Joon groans at the contact, shutting his eyes tight and losing the fight against himself to keep his hips still. He thrusts them forward, almost his whole length sliding into your throat. You weren't prepared, spluttering and gagging at the intrusion.

He pulls his hips back, letting you breathe, before he pushes past your lips against.

"Good girl. Fuck, you take my cock so well. Relax your throat for me, baby. That's it," he praises as you take him back in his entirety, the tuft of his pubic hair tickling the end of your nose.

Now your throat is relaxed, he takes advantage of the slippery warmth of your mouth, sliding himself in an out and gaining pace as the pleasure rocks through him, leaning his weight against the wall to hold himself up. Your hands grip onto his thighs, the muscle in them so taught and thick you could barely get a grip, but you needed to steady yourself somehow...

"Gonna cum all in that pretty mouth, that mouth that let all that shit slip earlier. You wanted a dirty mouth, huh? You're gonna get one..."

You start to suck on him each time he thrusts back out of your mouth, hollowing your cheeks harshly against him. He grunts deeply, biting down on his lip.

"S-so close, keep sucking..." You don't stop, wanting to get him where he so clearly needed to be. "Touch yourself, rub that pussy for me." You follow your orders, sliding your hand between your thighs, your skirt still bunched up around your hips. Your fingers dip into the lace of your panties, surprised to find an unbearable amount of slick already gathered as your entrance and using it to lubricate your clit, rubbing fast little circles over it.

You start to moan, the sound coming out as hums with Joon still abusing your mouth. The vibrations send him to new levels of pleasure.

"Open wide, y/n. Tongue out," he warns. You oblige.

He takes his cock in his own hand, furiously pumping away with grunts and groans flowing freely from his mouth, until hot spurts of cum land on your tongue, not a drop spilled.

You sit still, like a good girl for daddy, your mouth filled to the brim with his cum. He loves the sight, his jaw hanging slack and head hanging down, watching you as you sit there.

"You look so pretty like this," he crouches down, hovering just above you. He dips his finger into your open mouth, covering it with his own cum and using it to create a gloss to spread over lips. He just loved to play with his cum... "Swallow the rest for me, sweetie."

Your lips close, your throat swallowing his cum so neatly but leaving the glossy layer on your lips. And quite unexpectedly, his own lips came crashing down to yours, tasting himself on them. His tongue licks up his own mess, sloppily cleaning you up with such urgency.

Satisfied with his work, he stands up, pulling you up by your hands.

"I'm not done with you yet, babygirl. Get on the couch, just how I like you."

You knew what that meant; you climbed onto the couch, taking your panties off in the process, leaning over the arm with your ass in the air for him. Perfect.

He stood beside you, his hand coming down to feel your sex; dripping wet for him. His middle finger slipped so easily through your folds, the feeling driving you crazy but he had told you to keep quiet right at the start; you fought hard to stay that way. But he could see the look on your face as you squeezed your eyes shut so tight. He could feel the way your thighs tightened, in turn tightening your pussy around his finger before he'd even slid inside you.

"So desperate for me, huh?" He chuckles, and suddenly another sharp slap to your bare folds has you lurching forward over the arm of the couch, whimpering at the pain. "Aw you tried to hard to stay quiet for me, huh? Too bad you couldn't keep fucking quiet with your friends." Another harsh slap to your pussy rocks through you, this time hitting your sensitive clit hard.

You bite on your lips to stop yourself from screaming out; you loved this so much.

"Is there something you want, sweetie? Use your words."

"P-Please... daddy please. I- I need you," you begged, immediately losing the will to stay quiet as soon as he gave you permission.

"You need me to what?" he teased.

"Please, I need your cock... I need you to fuck me."

"And why should I do that, huh? You've been so naughty tonight."

"I'm s-sorry... I'm so sorry. Please, daddy... fuck me. Teach me a lesson." That was enough for him.

You felt the couch cushions dip behind you as he knelt in place, his hand pressing against the small of your back while the other spread your ass cheeks apart enough to just gape your pussy open, enticing him from behind.

"How can I deny that, hm?" He chuckles, sliding the head of his cock through your wetness before he lines himself up with your entrance, slowly pushing himself in and feeling your walls clenching so soon. You can't help the sharp moan that escapes as he bottoms out, filling you up so perfectly and already brushing that beautifully sensitive spot inside you.

"Fuck, you're always so fucking tight," he grits his teeth together, pushing the words out.

"Daddy..." you whine, willing him to move, to do something. "Don't whine at me, babygirl. Whining will get you nowhere. Speak."

"Daddy please, I need you to fuck me." He loves hearing you speak such filthy words to him.

"Good girl," he praises as he starts to piston his hips back and forth, gaining pace to find that perfect rhythm. The feeling of him fucking into you is euphoric, his pace absolutely relentless.

Leaning over your back, his hand slides up to your throat, fingers tightening around your airways in that way you love so much. He knows you love the feeling of him completely taking control of you.

Your pussy clenches around him, so tight it elicits the deepest growl from his chest that you've ever heard. His pace quickens, the grip on your throat tightening. You know he's close, but so are you. So, so close...

So close that when his hips start to lose rhythm, you can't help but feel disappointment knowing he was losing his control before you. You were so desperate, so needy for that orgasm... But he had already released himself inside you. He couldn't help himself. your needy little cunt had drained every last drop from him.  

"Daddy..." you whined as he slowly pulled out of you, breathing like he'd just ran a marathon. "I didn't finish," you said so miserably.

"I know, baby. I'm sorry. Don't worry, daddy isn't done with you yet..." You're not sure what he meant, but you could feel him moving from his spot behind you and changing his position, lying on his back. "Sit back, baby. Sit back onto my face."

And then it dawned on you. His cum play kink, it was kicking into overdrive.

He wanted to eat his cum out of your pussy...

You felt a gush of arousal at the idea, knowing that his cum was mixing and starting to drip out. Not wanting to waste a drop of it, you sat back against him, your pussy coming into contact with his lips.

He started to lap up the mess, the sweetness of your juices mixed with his own salty taste  were just perfect together, and the feeling of his tongue invading you in this way was heavenly.

"Daddy, don't stop..." You start to rock your hips on his face, riding him. You couldn't help it, you felt so good. He didn't stop you, but simply raised his hands up to find your hips, guiding you and keeping you close to him.

Satisfied he'd cleaned up the cum, he redirected his assault to your clit, sucking it between his lips harshly and letting it go again with a pop. The little bundle screamed with pleasure, almost immediately bringing you back to the edge you were on a few minutes ago. You were so worked up, so ready to cum...

"I'm gonna cum, daddy. I can't stop it," you panted, your thighs tightening around his head. The pleasure was getting too much, a tightness in your abdomen getting tighter and tighter, building and building until suddenly, it all got too much.

Your breath hitched in your throat as your orgasm erupted inside you, spilling out onto Namjoon's tongue and chin. Your thighs shook around him, muscles convulsing involuntarily and your head throwing itself back as inhuman squeals left your lips.

You fell forward, catching yourself on your hands as you came down. Namjoon continued to use his tongue skilfully to bring you down again, only letting up once you were too sensitive for any more contact.

He shuffled out from underneath you, sitting with his back against the couch as his t-shirt he never took off stuck to his chest with sweat. He tugged on your wrists to manoeuvre you towards him, pulling you against his side so the two of you could catch your breath together.

"See? That dirty mouth will get you in trouble, sweetie," he cooed, stroking your hair. You felt so vulnerable, pulling your skirt down past your hips to cover yourself again.

"After all that cum you tasted, I think you're the one with the dirty mouth, Joonie," you giggled. He grinned and shook his head, his dimples so endearing to you.

"I guess so..."

[camillemontespan]

ten years from now [AU. drake walker x camille montespan] [part eight: whiskey in williamsburg]

I’ve decided to pick random gifs to represent each chapter. This one seems very apt. On a slightly unrelated note, look at those back muscles. Damnnn.

Warnings: NSFW.

A/N: Please don’t hate Camille. That’s all I ask.

Master List Here! @moonlightgem7​​​​​ @jovialyouthmusic​​​​​ @mskaneko​​​​​ @ibldw-main​​​​​ @katedrakeohd​​​​​ @pug-bitch​​​​​ @gooddaykate​​​​​ @princessleac1​​​​​ @burnsoslow​​​​​  @loveellamae​​​​​  @pedudley​​​​​ @oofchoices​​​​​ @emichelle​​​​​ @simplymissjulia​​​​​ @dcbbw​​​​​ @sirbeepsalot​​​​​ @rainbowsinthestorm​​​​​ @notoriouscs​​​​​ @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore​​​​​ @addictedtodrakefanfic​​​​​ @marshmallowsaremyfavorite​​​​​ @nomadics-stuff​​​  @gardeningourmet​ @marshmallowsandfire​ ***********************************************************************

It was late evening. The sun was setting, casting a golden glow over Texas. The air smelled of peaches, filtering in through the open window. Camille zipped her suitcase and sighed, relieved that she had managed to fit everything inside it without any issue. 

Camille and Liam were due to leave Texas tomorrow morning. They had spent two weeks back in Camille's hometown, two weeks that had been full of social events and confusion. 

Confusion for Camille. 

She had visited Texas feeling secure in her personal life. She was leaving Texas feeling as if she was floating, suspended in the air, unable to return to earth. 

She couldn't think like that though. She was with Liam. Liam, her fiancée. She had been with him for a year. They lived together. He treated her right. He was a kind man. 

But she couldn't help but think of her former best friend and boyfriend, Drake Walker. Their history wasn't so easily erased. He was making her feel things again, heated things, confusing things.. 

Camille hadn't seen Drake since their kiss in the maze at Applefest. She had been busy with Liam arranging more of the wedding and helping her grandma plant more flowers. Camille had been distracted which she knew was a good thing. 

She was good at masking her feelings. When she was with Liam, she focused on him. She kissed him more, paid him extra attention. She kept telling herself that he deserved love but she knew deep down that it was crushing guilt that was making her treat him like a king. 

But when the mask was off, Camille thought of Drake. He took up every thought in her head. When she thought of him, she felt her body react in confusing ways. His name in her head made her feel as if she was on fire. Drake had ignited something within her soul. 

When Drake asked her what she wanted, Camille had answered honestly. She didn't know what she wanted but she knew that she didn't want him to step away and leave her life again. 

Camille thought ten years had been enough time to no longer feel something when she thought of his name. But time made no difference in the end. 

Which was why she made the decision to go down to the jetty where no doubt Drake would be. She had to see him before she went back to New York. 

*********************************

She was right. Drake was sat on the jetty, looking out at the water. The sky was painted navy with the silver shimmer of the stars winking down at him. 

He looked up when he heard her footsteps. His eyes widened when he saw her. 'Camille?' 

She smiled weakly and settled down beside him. 'Hey,' she said. 

Drake cleared his throat. 'What are you doing here?' 

Camille wrung her hands together. 'I wanted to see you before I leave tomorrow.' 

Drake took a sharp intake of breath. 'Right,' he said quietly. 'You're leaving tomorrow.' 

Camille nodded. 'I am.' 

There was a long silence. Camille didn't like how silences were becoming a common occurrence between her and Drake. It made her feel sad. 

'I'll miss you,' Drake muttered, keeping his eyes fixed straight ahead. 

Camille bit her lip nervously before speaking, keeping her voice steady. 'I'll miss you too.' 

Another silence. 

Drake had so many things he wanted to tell her. So many questions he wanted to ask her. Did she love Liam? Did she want to marry Liam? Was she regretting kissing Drake? Was she regretting fucking him? 

But the question that left his lips wasn’t any of those. Instead, he asked, his voice cracking, 'Can I see you again?' 

Camille whipped around to stare at him. Drake kept his eyes on the lake, refusing to look at her. She couldn't work out what he was thinking. His walls were up. 

She was about to respond but was stopped by Drake who let out a heavy sigh. 

'Ignore me,' he said. 'I'm being an asshole. I don't mean to make it more confusing for you. Go back to New York. Organise your wedding. You have so much on your mind, you don't need me to make everything worse -' 

She grabbed his hand, making him stop talking instantly. He looked at her now. She could see the pain in his eyes. 

'I'll see you again,' she told him softly. 'We're not leaving it so long this time.'

Drake chuckled, surprised. He shook his head and squeezed her hand. 'We could meet for a drink or something,' he said hopefully. 

Camille smiled. 'I know a great whiskey bar in Williamsburg that you would love.' 

Drake grinned. 'Sounds like a plan, Montespan.' 

Camille blushed. Drake smiled and gently pulled her into his side so he could wrap his arm around her shoulder. Camille snuggled into him, inhaling his scent. She felt a flash of guilt sear through her chest as she did so. 

'I'm so confused,' she whispered. 

Drake squeezed her shoulder. 'I know, Camille. I am too.' 

He pressed a kiss on top of her head. Camille closed her eyes, holding back tears. She wouldn't cry. She wasn't going to ruin her last night with Drake. 

'It's okay, Camille,' he murmured in her ear. 'I've got you.' 

Camille sniffled and rubbed her eyes harshly. 'You always do, Drake,' she croaked, looking up at him. 'Always.' 

Drake leaned down to brush her lips with his. It was a soft kiss, a gentle one. A kiss that made her feel safe. 

*************************

Liam was perusing the duty free section of the airport wearing a look of intense concentration on his face. 

'Darling, do you want another bottle of your favourite Chanel perfume?' he asked Camille. 'A little treat for my fiancé?' 

Camille smiled and kissed Liam on the cheek. 'You're so sweet!' she said. 'But it's alright, I have enough Chanel back home.' 

Liam widened his eyes in mock surprise. 'Shh, there is no such thing as enough Chanel!' he gasped. 

Camille giggled and wandered to the chocolate stand. She jumped when Liam appeared quickly behind her. 'Or perhaps the lady requires a Toblerone?!' he cried. 

Camille rolled her eyes. Liam was in a particularly giddy mood this morning due to wedding excitement. Not long now. 

'Fine, let's have Toblerone,' Camille said. 

Liam wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled into her neck. 'What my fiancée wants, she gets,' he murmured in her ear. 

He picked up a Toblerone and took it to the counter. Camille continued to look at the rest of the chocolates on sale until her mobile buzzed in her pocket. 

She took it out to see that Drake had messaged her. 

Have a safe flight. See you in Williamsburg for that whiskey soon. D x 

Camille bit her lip. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. She quickly stole a glance over at Liam who was chatting enthusiastically to the check out girl. Camille read Drake's text again before quickly typing a reply. 

Let me know when you're able to visit and I'll meet you. One glass or two? Xx

She put her phone back in her pocket. It buzzed instantly. 

I'm free next Saturday. Flight isn't too expensive. And what do you take me for, an amateur? We're getting a bottle. D xxx

Camille giggled despite herself. 

You're unbelievable xxx

Drake replied.

Name of my sex tape. D xxx

Camille held in laughter at the Brooklyn 99 reference as she typed back, her eyes flicking up every so often to track Liam's movements. He was still talking to check out girl who was giving him heart eyes, like everyone he met did.

That's an apt title. Suits you. Xxx

He replied a moment later. 

You would know. D xxx

'Darling, let's go to the wine bar near the gate!' Liam called out. 'We can feast on Toblerone and have a glass! How does that sound?' 

Camille shoved her phone back into her pocket and gave Liam a wide smile. 'Sounds perfect.' 

****************************

The texting continued for the next few days. As Camille readjusted to New York life, she would be brought back to Texas whenever Drake texted her. 

He sent her photos of Lone Star. She sent him goofy selfies. One night when she sat down for dinner with Liam, Drake sent her a photo of the jetty and a bottle of whiskey. 

All that's missing is good company, he had captioned it. 

Camille couldn't reply to that one. Not in front of Liam. 

She could try and kid herself that this was just friendly banter but deep down, she knew it wasn't. Too much had happened between them. They were more than just banter. 

Camille went to work and turned her phone off so she could focus on her job. She worked on new cases, gossiped with Olivia and made Hana cups of green tea. 

When she returned home, she would eat with Liam before settling down to watch a box set. Sometimes, cuddles on the sofa turned into naked fumbles. 

She acted normal in her everyday life. 

Camille went about her business, acting like nothing was unusual. On Saturday, when Liam asked where she was going, she said she was meeting Olivia for a liquid lunch. The lie left her lips easily. She took the subway to Williamsburg and waited for Drake to arrive at the whiskey bar, keeping her head down. 

Because Camille acted like nothing was different, Liam was none the wiser. 

****************************

Drake was relieved that Camille had suggested a bar in Williamsburg. The area seemed much more his style; more laidback, a little rough and ready.  He had booked into a cheap hotel for the weekend and had dumped his suitcase quickly before heading out to meet Camille. 

He didn't know what he was doing. He didn't know what he was expecting. He had toyed with the idea of cancelling, but the thought of doing that made him falter. If he cancelled, then she may just assume he never wanted to see her at all. And Drake couldn't have that. He needed to see her. He needed to have her back in his life, even if was just little fragments of her.

They shared a bottle of whiskey. In the dimly lit bar, they sat in a booth in the corner and talked about everything. They talked about Camille's job and her friends. They talked about Bianca and Savannah. They talked about Jackson. 

As the amber liquid burned their throats, they opened up more. 

'I think I've never had a long term relationship that's lasted more than six months because I always compare the girls to you,' Drake admitted. 'No girl compares.' 

Camille reddened and sipped her whiskey. 'Poor Kiara,' she said dryly. 

Drake smirked, making Camille giggle. 

'It took me a long time to accept that we were over,' Camille told him softly. 'Because we never got closure, I guess I was always left hoping.. Hoping that one day, you would come back into my life.' 

Drake took a long sip of whiskey before answering. 'I'm here now.'

Camille smiled weakly. 'You are, aren't you? Just like that.' 

Their eyes locked. Drake tore his away after a long moment, looking at the now empty bottle of whiskey. 

'We're out of whiskey,' he said. 

Camille sighed. 'That was a good bottle. Oh well.' She looked at her watch. 'I better get going -' 

'I've got a bottle in my room,' Drake suddenly said, unable to stop the words tumbling out. Camille looked at him with surprise etched on her face. 

Drake swallowed, regretting the suggestion. Camille looked quickly around the bar, her eyes darting nervously before she formed a reply. 

'Would be a shame for you to have to drink it all alone,' she said softly. Her eyes met his. 'Whiskey deserves company.' 

Drake's eyes darkened. 'I couldn't agree more.' 

********************************************

The hotel room door burst open and Drake and Camille crashed through it. Drake pushed Camille up against the wall roughly, making her gasp. Their lips caught,  fire igniting from their touch. Drake raked his hands through her hair, grabbing tendrils of it in his fists. 

Camille groaned and reached out to unbutton his denim shirt. Her fingers made quick work, eager to strip him. Drake returned the favour, pulling her shirt off and casting it to the floor. His hands cupped her breasts, kneading her skin through her black lace bra. Camille’s head fell back against the wall, her mouth slightly open as she focused on the sensations. 

‘You’re so fucking beautiful,’ Drake growled, pressing a hot kiss on her lips. Camille reached out to unbuckle his belt, making him hiss at the touch of her fingers against his skin as she pulled his jeans and boxers down.

Drake picked her up and carried her over to the bed, throwing her down onto the cotton sheets. Camille liked that he didn’t treat her like fine china. 

His lips trailed like a river down her chest to her stomach, remaining on her bellybutton as his fingers undid her jeans and pulled them off.

‘Drake..’ she groaned, her pupils large and dark as she watched him hook his fingers through her lace thong and pulled it down too. He was on a mission here. He knew what he wanted. 

Camille arched her back as she felt his tongue slip between her folds. ‘Jesus Christ..’ he groaned against her skin, lapping as much as he could take. His tongue circled and twisted, making Camille’s cries increase in volume. 

She could feel her body reacting in the most delicious way. 

‘Fuck me,’ she breathed. ‘Please.’

Drake didn’t need to be asked twice. He was working on adrenaline here; he didn’t have time to consider the consequences. There was no point. She was in his room. She was naked. The time to think about the consequences was over.

For the second time in ten years, Drake did what Camille wanted. He did what he wanted. He took Camille, he took her hard, and he didn’t think about anything else other than making her cry out his name. 

[im-a-goner-foryou]

The fic where Mysterio takes advantage of a grieving Peter + a little twist :)

Warnings: slight dub con, manipulation

Peter’s well aware, on some swaying level of self-consciousness, that what he’s getting himself into will lead to nothing but trouble. It’s certainly not the wisest decision he’s ever made— might possibly even be his worst one, actually— and is the exact sort that will undoubtedly earn him one of Mr Stark’s disapproving looks.

Then again, it’s not like he’s here.

And that’s precisely the problem that’s landed him in this situation in the first place, isn’t it?

“Oh, don’t cry,” that warm baritone soothes into his ear, smooth yet gravelly all at once; Peter whines wordlessly in response, unable to form words around the clumsiness of his tongue. “Shh, shh… careful now, you’re gonna spill that all over yourself.”

Tightening his grip onto the mug in his hand, Peter weakly bats Quentin away with his other, bringing the drink up to his trembling lips and only wincing slightly at the cool burn of whisky down his throat this time round; he’s already taking it much better, considering his first sip at the bar just hours ago had him spluttering and sent him into a coughing fit. Quentin had only laughed fondly then, advising him to take it slow on the hard liquor; but the man’s not smiling now, concern reflected plainly in those deep blue eyes of his. It’s enough to make Peter tear up again— most things are, these days.

“Peter,” the man says, clearly alarmed. “Hey, sweetheart, we’ve talked about this, remember? If you want to stop at any time, just say the word—”

“Please don’t,” Peter hiccups, almost in a blind panic; because that’s the last thing he wants, damn bad decisions to hell. Mr Stark’s not here anymore, but Quentin is, with those always-warm hands large enough to completely engulf his own and to brush his tears away so tenderly, calloused touch and gravelly voice all so achingly familiar as it is even without the illusions.

Illusions, Peter reminds himself, trying his best at steadying his shallow breaths— because that’s all they are. Everything seems so real it’s frighteningly easy to forget; especially with a level of alcohol in his system so high it would’ve knocked him out if it weren’t for his accelerated metabolism, and the indescribable feeling of being held in Tony’s arms once more. He has to lean back against the pillows now as the drinks begin to fully take effect, the words that leave his throat a slurred, “p-please don’t stop now, I’m okay, really, t-that is… if you are too.”

“Of course,” Quentin smiles down at him all rugged and handsome, plucking the now empty mug from his grip and setting it on the bedside table. “Why wouldn’t I be? I mean, just look at you,” he sighs appreciatively, tenderly brushing back the stray curls off his sweat-matted forehead, gaze dragging down his body in a way that makes Peter feel desired again, like he hasn’t been since—

Choking back yet another sob, he squeezes his eyes shut and welcomes the now familiar wave of dizziness that courses through him, making everything all floaty and blissfully numb. A rough palm caresses his cheek; Peter nods his assent to the silent query, blood thudding in his ears and heart racing with anticipation, and when his eyes flutter open the next time he’s met with deep-set, chocolate brown ones that belong to none other than Tony Stark— a soft moan slips out against his will, Peter lunging forward to wrap his arms around broad shoulders, chest so tangible and solid and real against the side of his cheek; he buries himself in the comforting steadiness as the room seems to dip and sway around him.

“I— I,” he gasps out, blinking back the haze of tears, pulling away with tremendous effort to drink in that warm smile so familiar even the alcohol isn’t enough to dull the ache of his chest. It’s so real, the way Quentin’s holding onto his quivering chin with a thumb and forefinger, even the way those eyes cling onto him almost greedily– the likeliness is too much to bear, and those same lips that he hasn’t felt against his in forever are right there; so with a needy whimper Peter closes the distance between them to crash their mouths together in a messy kiss, noses bumping and teeth clashing in his blind rush. Evidently caught off guard from his sudden movement, Ton—no, Quentin stiffens against him, but catches on quick enough with a low grunt; easily taking over by a clawed hand tangling in his messy locks and a bruising grip on his waist.

Swallowing Peter’s squeak of surprise, the man presses their chests flush to deepen the kiss, then pins him bodily down into the mattress, mouth moving against his firmly the whole while— Peter can only lay breathless underneath the solid weight caging him in, lips parting willingly when a tongue swipes firmly against him to demand entrance. “Oh, oh god,” he gasps as sharp teeth dig into his bottom lip, the domineering control enough to shut down his rational mind and reducing him to a puddle of need. “Been so long- please—"

“Christ, Pete,” Quentin growls, and Peter whines at the husky rasp of Mr Stark’s voice against the nape of his neck, canines scraping along the dip in his collarbone and sending electrifying pain-pleasure up his spine. “You’re so fucking gorgeous— and I bet all of you is this pretty, hmm? C’mon, let me see you, sweetheart, don’t be shy.” The greedy hands dragging along the length of his body pauses at the hem of his shirt to slip underneath the material, rough skin burning into his side and Peter’s already a mess, so painfully hard and leaking in his jeans he’s sure there’s a damp spot where their legs tangle under the duvets. He feels himself burn hot red to the tips of his ears as inches of his skin are laid bare under those hungry eyes, dark and indiscernible like a wild animal’s; Peter’s never felt as much as prey as in this moment, but then a string of curses fall hot and wet over his exposed chest and the need for more drowns out any ringing of alarm bells in his mind. “Fuckin’ hell, look at you. Those pretty little nipples are so stiff for me already, doll.”

Without warning, the rough pad of a thumb flicks against him, ripping a squeal of “Mr Stark!” from his throat; it’s only seconds too late does he realize his mistake, biting down harshly on his lips to stifle the babble of whines that threaten to spill out, embarrassment flushing over him. “N- I mean…”

The man chuckles, mouth hovering directly over his right nipple so the warm huff of laughter raises goosebumps across his skin.

“It’s alright, sweetheart, you know who’s making you feel this good, don’t you?” A large hand slides down to grope at his ass, hauling their hips together and urging him to rut against the thigh pressed in between his legs; Peter’s stifled mewl only earns him a sneer. “Oh, don’t you dare think about hiding those pretty noises of yours from me now.” Calloused fingers circle teasingly around the stiff peaks at his chest, a not-so-playful nip at his earlobe. “Go on then, scream out my name, baby boy, you know you want to. Scream for me.”

Wet heat closes over his nipple then, tearing the wail of “o-h god, Mr Stark!” from his throat; head lolling back from the overwhelming sensations, Peter tears at the bedsheets, hips snatching up to grind his leaking cock against solid muscle. Now that he’s finally given in, the words spill in an endless stream of pleads from his hanging mouth; wrecked cries of “Mr Stark!” and “ah, please, please-” rising in pitch and fervor until he’s sobbing, “f-feels so good, please Sir, I gotta-!”

“Fuck yeah, that’s a good boy,” Mr Stark growls, the animalistic tone enough to make Peter’s head spin and back arch off the mattress. Shifting their hips even closer, the man begins to rut forward without rhythm; and then Peter feels it, the slightest brush of a thick length against his weeping cock through the rough material of their jeans, the unmistakable tent pressing hot and insistent into his thigh like a promise– just like that he’s coming undone, crying out shamelessly into his pillow as he makes a mess of himself, toes curling eyes rolling to the back of his head from the force of his release. Mr Stark cradles him through it, hushing his hiccuping whimpers as Peter falls apart in his arms, vision turning to black for a few moments.

When Peter finally comes back to full consciousness, Tony is still clutching onto him— and rocking his hips forward to grind his stiff cock into the cleft of his ass, groaning low into his shoulder. “Mr Stark,” Peter mumbles weakly, eyes fluttering shut from the bombardment of sensations; the burning scrape of coarse stubble against his cheek, the too-hot panting of breath across his over sensitized skin, all building up until he’s crying out from the overstimulation, struggling to get away. “Please, ’s too much–” he gasps, attempting to push the man off him, only to find his limbs weak from exertion and his mind still cloudy through the haze of liquor.

Confused, alcohol dulling the edges of building fear, Peter stares up into brown eyes that somehow look less familiar than before. His lips tremble around a weak sob.

“Shh, don’t cry,” Quentin says once more, only now in an almost deprecating coo; Peter’s stomach flips with unease as he struggles uselessly under the man’s heavy weight. Tears rapidly fill his eyes at the distinctly cruel laugh into his ear. “Actually, on second thought—you do look so pretty when you do…”

“Quentin, what—what’re you—”

“You poor thing,” Quentin breathes, cutting off his stutter and brushing another stray curl away from his now damp eyes. Peter shoves the offending hand away—or at least, attempts to, the older man deftly grabbing hold of his wrist, grip tight and unyielding. Chest shuddering from hitched breaths, Peter can only sob under the mercy of this man he only now realizes he barely knows; dread fills every bone of his body, even as he stares up into a dark glinting gaze that could never belong to his Tony. “You poor, pathetic little thing… honestly, you’re making it much too easy for me. Not that I’m complaining, of course.” Another cold smile, terrifying in the way it curls around Tony’s lips. “It’s a shame, really, to ruin that pretty head of yours, but I’m afraid I don’t have much choice.”

“Please,” Peter sniffles, despite knowing deep in his heart that there’s no getting out of this. “Please let me go, I promise I won’t t-tell.”

“Oh, you better not. I don’t think he’ll like that.”

“H-he?” Peter starts weakly, interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps; through the cloudy daze of his mind, his delayed senses warn him of the new presence in the room. Whimpers beginning anew, he yanks against Quentin’s death grip around his wrists, body twisting until he’s facing—

“Mr Stark,” the name falls unbidden from his lips, pained, confusion overtaking him—but then the towering figure steps fully out of the shadows, and any sense of familiarity leaves Peter’s mind to be replaced with cold fear.

The man smiles wolfishly at him, Tony Stark in every way but also not. His ice blue eyes flash in the dark, sending chills down Peter’s spine as he leans in to purr into his ear.

“Oh, you just keep getting prettier and prettier, don’t you Pete? We’re going to have so much fun.”

[summahsunlight]

We Belong to the Stars, Ch.22

Rating: Mature (18+ only)

Word Count: 2623

Pairings: Poe/Skywalker!OC

Characters: Poe Dameron, Leia Organa, BB-8, Kaleb Skywalker (OC), Evelyn Skywalker (OC), Karé Kun, Iolo Arana, Snap Wexley, Jessika Pava, BB-8

Masterlist / Read on AO3

A/N: We earn that rating again in this chapter peeps ;) Likes and reblogs are always appreciated :)

Poe flexed the hand that had just landed a devastating punch to Jas Dane's face.  He'd known there was a reason why he didn't like the possessive look in Jas' eyes and when he saw Jas closing in on an unsuspecting Evelyn, Poe had moved from his spot on the beach towards her. Unfortunately, he hadn't been as quick as he'd like to have been, having to weave his way through the crowd of people. By the time he'd gotten to her, Jas had a death grip on her wrist... she was begging him to let go of her... and Poe had taken his shot, fueled by rage and perhaps by a lot of alcohol.

Jas glared at him, blood dripping from his nose.  It was clearly broken and if Evelyn was right about Jas' vanity, well, Poe knew that the spy wasn't going to be happy in the morning... he wasn't happy now as he clenched his fists and threatened that Poe was going to pay for punching him.

Instead of backing away, Poe stood his ground.  "Oh, I highly doubt that," he snarked as he threw his thumb over his shoulder at Black Squadron hovering just behind him.  "You see, you hurt one of us, you hurt all of us, Dane."

"So, you're going to take the coward's way out, Dameron, and hide behind your pilots."

"Actually, I'm not hiding behind them at all... I'm standing in front of them."

Poe just managed to get out of the way of Jas taking a swing at him; the spy landed the punch into his hip.  Cursing, Poe stumbled but held his hand up to stop Snap and Jess from going on the attack. He really didn't want to start a huge fight.  "Come on," he said to his squad, "let's go."  

Snap narrowed his eyes on Dane before turning to head back to their spot on the edge of the beach.  Jess followed behind him.  Poe found Evelyn's hand and gently led her away, figuring that this was the end of it--until Jas threw a derogatory slur at her that Poe had heard most often in the sleazy parts of the galaxy where women were treated like they were nothing.

Evelyn tried to hold him back, begged him to just forget it, but Poe couldn't let it go. Still holding onto her hand, as if he was trying to tell her that he wasn't about to get physical, Poe turned to glare at the spy.  "You wanna repeat that with the General present? Or would rather not let her know what you really think about her niece? Or just about women in general?"

Jas sized him up for a moment and the laughed, darkly. "Boy do they have you by the balls, Dameron. They're just women."

Poe clenched his jaw. He felt a hand on his shoulder, heard Snap tell him to let it go... but he couldn't let it go.  Leia had been someone he looked up to as a child, she had offered him comfort as a child when his mother had died... and Evelyn... she meant the galaxy to him... they weren't just women to him.. and while he was thinking about how to respond... Jas taunted him again, telling him to go off with his whore.

Snap let go of Poe and took a step back as the commander took Jas down with one swift kick.  In less than a second, the party atmosphere on the beach changed as the fight escalated, forcing people to scatter out the way so they couldn't get hurt. Poe was much more aggressive in this fight than he'd been at the cantina on Nar Shadda, and each blow he landed probably gave him too much satisfaction. No one was sure how long the altercation really lasted, until finally Kaleb and Iolo managed to get a hold of Poe and one of Major Ematt's ground troopers grabbed a hold of Jas.

"That's enough!" Kaleb yelled, throwing a glare at Snap. "Maybe it's time we all called it a night, Wexley."

"Sounds like a good idea," Snap affirmed, grabbing a hold of Poe and yanking him towards the path that would lead back to base.  "Start breaking everything down!"

Chatter struck up on the beach as the crowds dispersed and groups began to breakdown the makeshift tables and bar. Poe briefly made eye contact with Evelyn as Snap dragged him along, her eyes were filled with tears and he felt terrible... if he had just walked away and let it go...

Poe stumbled along the path with Snap.  This was not how he had imagined the night ending.  I definitely didn't picture Snap being the one to take me home...

Snap sighed, heavily. "Working with Dane is going to be a lot harder now."

“He was hurting her; she was begging him to let go,” Poe argued as Snap dragged him back to his quarters. “You saw that, right?”

“Yeah, yeah I saw,” Snap said as they moved down the corridors towards the officer’s quarters.

“And you heard what he called her, didn’t you? Disrespectful son of a bitch.”

“Yeah, I heard him Poe.  Why’d you think I let you go?”

Poe blinked. “Oh… I thought I broke free.”

Snap chuckled. “Dameron, you’re so intoxicated, I’m surprised you can stand let alone throw a punch. But it was because of Evie, so… wish you’d just tell her already.”

“Tell her what?” Poe asked, innocently.

“For kriff’s sake, Poe—that you love her,” Snap barked.

Poe didn't respond; any response he had would have been a lie... unless he told Snap the truth--that he had told Evelyn he loved her. "I just think... Force, Snap, she can do so much better than that son of a bitch."

Snap deposited Poe onto his bunk and placed his hands on his hips. "Listen, you weren't around when she was with Dane--a droid would be a step up from him."

"So if a droid is a step up, what would that make me, a prince?" Poe asked, a huge grin on his face.

"That maybe a little bit of a stretch," Snap countered. "But if we're comparing you to Dane--yeah, you're a prince, Dameron."

"My mother used to call me her little prince."

"Huh... wonder what she would think of her little prince now, having started not one, but two fights over the same woman."

Poe continued to grin and shrugged his shoulders. His mother had died when he was eight; everything he knew, remembered about her, suggested that she would have scolded her son publicly for the fighting, but would have pat him on the back in private for sticking up for someone he cared about. "I think she'd be proud of me."

Snap shook his head and threw some sleep clothes at the commander. "I'm not sure what your mother would have said, but I can imagine your dad wouldn't be too happy."

"My dad would have been right there in the thick of it with me if he knew what Dane called Evie," Poe replied. "She's like a daughter to him."

"Is that what you're going to say to the General?"

"What?"

Snap glared at him, slightly. "Come on, Poe. You know General Organa is going to hear about this.  What are you going to say to her?"

Poe sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "That I tried really hard not to hit him."

Before Snap could respond, there was a knock on the door.  Both pilots looked at one another, confused.  Who would be stopping by Poe's quarters this late at night?  Snap moved across the small room and slapped his hand on the keypad to open the door. His eyes shot up in surprise when he saw Evelyn. "Hey, Evie."

Evelyn took a little step back, just as surprised to see Snap as he was to see her. Timidly, her eyes flickered up to catch Poe's gaze from his bunk, and then she quickly looked away. "Hi... I just came... is Poe okay?"

"The prince?" Snap quipped with a little chuckle. "He's fine, drunk as hell, but fine."

"Hey!" Poe shouted from the bed, attempting to stand up. "I am not drunk!"

"Sure, your highness; you're totally sober."

"Oh, well, I wouldn't say I'm totally sober..."

Snap smiled and shook his head. "Good luck, Evie," he said, before stepping out of Poe's quarters. "See you two in the morning!"

Evelyn stepped into the room, shutting the door behind her. She engaged the locking unit and looked at him, biting on her lower lip.  Poe suddenly realized she hadn't come here just to check up on him...his heart skipped several beats at this realization and slowly he got to his feet.

Poe took a step towards her, reaching out he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. He let his fingers linger there, chocolate eyes drinking in the sight of her pretty face.  His other hand gripped her waist, drawing her in and then his lips brushed against hers… she felt fire spread across her skin as his soft lips caressed her own, enticing her to part hers, giving him full access to deepen their kiss.  

They broke apart only briefly to take a breath, and then his lips found hers again, tongues exploring each other’s mouth.   Her leg wrapped around his as the two desperately tried to get as close as possible… he was hard already, fully aroused by just her kiss... if he could have, he would have taken her standing right there in the middle of his room...

Hooking an arm underneath her legs, he easily lifted her off the floor and carried her to the bunk.  Gently, Poe laid her on top of the blankets before kicking his boots off and joining her.  Immediately his hands buried in her hair as he kissed her fervently. He chuckled against her lips when she pushed his jacket off. "You know... when I first arrived here... I remember someone telling me that we should take it slow..."

She couldn't resist playing with the one errant curl that fell across his forehead. Her eyes rested on his lips, slightly swollen from their kissing, and she let out a gentle breath. "We threw slow out the window on Scarif."

His lips quirked into a soft smile just before they pressed hers in a soft, languid kiss. "Actually, it was a tent we threw it out of... but semantics..."

Evelyn sighed as his lips brushed a kiss so soft on her neck that it felt more like a breath against her skin. She felt his stubble scrap against her jawline just before he captured her lips in another searing kiss. Maker, was he a good kisser. His hands gently explored her body, pushing the hem of her dress up to her stomach; her own hands got tangled up in his thick curls and at that moment she didn't care that she had spent all that time getting ready for the party.  

Poe pulled away from their kiss, softly biting her lower lip before he stood up. He moved across the room and went to dim the lights.  

"What are you doing?"

"You said you wanted to be romanced. I'm making it as romantic as possible with very little time to prepare."

Slowly, she got off the bunk and moved towards him, reaching behind her and unzipping her dress.  His brown eyes burned with lust as the dress fell from around her to the floor. He held his breath while she unbuttoned his shirt and then pushed it, gently off his shoulders.  Her palms ran down his toned chest while he shouldered his way out of the shirt, adding the garment to the dress already on the floor.

He wrapped an arm around her slim waist, drawing her to him, their bodies pressed tightly together.  The skin on skin contact caused both of them to hum in pleasure, adding to the pleasant buzz of alcohol. Poe slowly lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her, wanting to savor every little swipe of her tongue against his.

It was during this languid kiss that she found the buckle of his belt.  He continued to kiss her while she worked his pants down over his hips and his obvious arousal.  Stepping out of them, Poe guided her back towards the bunk.  He sat down on it, gazing up at her with love and desire in his brown eyes as she stood above him, playing with his hair.  

Poe pressed soft, affectionate kisses to her stomach, gripping her waist.  Gently, he drew her towards him, her legs wrapping around him as he rolled her underneath him. His breath hitched, at how beautiful she looked in the low light, hair spread out over the pillow—the only thing she was wearing was her pendant.  “Gods, Evie, you’re so beautiful.” He softly kissed a trail down her jawline to the hollow of her neck, and then moving lower, gently taking one of her breasts into his mouth.

Evelyn smiled and sighed as his tongue and lips tugged and pulled at her nipple, her fingers lazily moving across his broad shoulders.  He knew just where to touch her, what to do to ultimately satisfy her.  A jolt of electricity shot through her body as his nose pushed her legs apart and his tongue grazed the inside of her thigh just before he pushed it inside of her. Everything became fuzzy as he worked her clit, as he sent wave after wave of pleasure through her body...

She was still coming down from her first organism when his hands slid down the sides of her body and he thrust inside of her.  He let out a soft moan, his breath hot and moist against her neck.  And then his lips began to kiss her lips, she could taste herself on them, and he rocked his hips forward in a steady motion. Their bodies moved together, instantly working together to find their rhythm; their emotional connection to one another made their physical connection much more intense than any other they had with another lover. It didn't start out fast or urgent, it was passionate, intimate, with a feeling of tenderness.  The more entangled they got, the more urgent their movements. Her fingers dug slightly into his toned back, a pleasurable sigh escaping her lips as the cool metal from his dog tags brushed against her shoulder, moving with their efforts.

He wanted to make it last as long as possible, but already he could feel his body rebeling against his wishes as his the pace of his thrusts incased.  Both of them were taking gasping breathes now as their bodies crashed together over and over.

“I love you, Evelyn,” he whispered, feeling himself nearing his breaking point.

“I…I love you too,” she cried, softly.

This admission sent both soaring over the edge.  He collapsed next to her, struggling to catch his breath.  Carefully, he wrapped her into his arms and kissed her forehead, tasting the thin layer of sweat… For a moment all they did was lay there, listening to the rapid beats of their hearts, their heavy breathing, and then Poe chuckled. "And Snap bet that we were going to take things slow."

She laughed, hoarsely, and planted a kiss on his shoulder blade.  Nuzzling his chest, Evelyn sighed, "We could always tell him nothing happened."

He gently cupped the back of her head and raised her lips to his. "Now, see that would be a lie, sweetheart," Poe said, deepening their kiss, "because it's going to happen--again--and it's going to happen again, tonight."