#i was listening to concept of love on repeat while drawing this mess

[laugtherhyena]

Weird Beni thing i won't finish

[veenxys]

「Being highschool sweethearts with BNHA Boys」

⤷ Bakugou

reaches over to tap on your table or forehead when he sees you dozing off in the middle of the lesson so that you don’t get scolded by the teacher.

he packs your things for you at the end of school day, saying that you look like a sloth .

he really tries to be discreet as he whispers or shows you the answer when the teacher asks you in class.

he pulls one earbud out of his ear and places it in yours when you ask him what he’s listening to during lunch or when the class gets boring.

he playfully calls you a dumbass but also explains the problem when you don’t understand.

⤷ Deku

he likes to play with your hair while studying or when you try to teach him something.

he likes to hold your hand or plays footsies with you under the table during lunch or when he can't pay attention to the class.

he always lets you borrow his stationery when you need it; and he doesn't show it, but het gets sulky if you uses someone else’s.

he cheers for you a lot on sports day, even if you're not on the same team (and you have to remind him of that)

he drags a chair close to your table and sits by your side at recess while laughing together at your friends’ silly antics.

he loves to draw cute little hearts on your hand or arm, and then lets you do the same with him; so that you two have the same tattoos

⤷ Kirishima

he softly kicks your chair from the back when he wants your attention and simply says hi with a gleeful smile when you finally look at him.

he saunters over to your table and claims you as his partner when the teacher says you have to work in pairs

he offers to walk you home after school then drags you to local cafés or arcades where you can have some fun together.

he calls you in the middle of the night just to revise for the finals.

he always shares you his food during lunch and even calls to make sure that you’re eating well on weekends when you can’t meet up.

he sits in your seat whenever he gets to school earlier than you and demands a kiss on the cheek when you ask him to get up.

⤷ Todoroki

he always takes extra notes in case you need them

he always waits for you to go to lunch together.

he calms you down before the test; kissing you on the forehead and telling you it's going to be okay, and that you can do it.

he lets you wear his hoodie when you get cold in class.

he hushes your classmates if they talk over you during group projects.

he always keeps an extra snack for you, even if you don't want it.

⤷ Denki

he loves to gives you high-fives and messes your hair up when he passes by in the hallway.

he runs up to you during p.e to share his water bottle and to remind you to be careful.

he loves sneakily passing you notes in class with bad flirts or jokes; and he keeps the ones from you in a little box at home so that he can read them back.

he claims he doesn’t understand a certain question just to listen to you explain; and you can spend all day teaching him something, he always use the same excuse "can you repeat? i didn't understand very well...."

brings you that day’s notes and silly school gossips to make you laugh when you missed school.

he bribes your best-friend so that he can sit beside you on the bus on school trips

⤷ Tamaki

he waits for you near your house or the bus station everyday so that you can go to school together.

he leaves a milkbox or juicebox on your desk when you’re out of the class with your friends.

he gives you his lucky pen (and a kiss on the forehead) when you’re anxious about an exam.

he glances at you in class to see if you understand when the teacher has explained a difficult concept.

your family adores and treats as their own son; and he always invites you for hangouts and study sessions at his house after school.

⤷ Shinsou

he happily carries your bag or books before and after school.

he messages you cute texts in class and glances to see your reaction and smiles like an idiot for the whole day when he sees you smile or blush.

he still keeps that one pencil you gave him when you started dating in his stationery case.

he always rushes over to you so that he can wish you ‘good luck’ and give a small, encouraging peck on your lips before every test.

he suggests café dates with the excuse to study but he just wants to spend time with you during weekends.

[duskholland]

No Control || Frat!Tom Smut

summary ↠ tom can’t stop thinking about harrison’s girl, and it’s starting to become a problem. — in love with your best friend’s girl au. warnings ↠ this is fifty shades of morally-ambiguous grey, but I wouldn’t say it’s /too/ out there..?¿ there’s no actual infidelity but because of the au, there are themes of cheating, so avoid this if it’s a touchy subject for you. cw: a lot of alcohol, a ton of jealousy/possessiveness, heavy swearing, ongoing frat/party/bet culture, tom being a bad friend, harrison being a bad boyfriend, y/n being a bad girlfriend, and nsfw content. this contains smut! 18+ minors dni. word count↠ 17.6k. a/n ↠ please don’t do this irl, this is just fantasy !!!! y/n, tom and harrison are all flawed people, so please don’t go into this expecting them to all be perfect !!!! this was almost twenty thousand times more debased and fucked up, but I reeled it in last minute :’) that being said, this was still so much fun to write lmao. I listened to your girlfriend by blossoms + jessie’s girl pretty much on repeat as I wrote this! title is from 1d’s classic banger, which apparently influenced this more than I’d thought. thanks to all the anons who sent in ideas for this the other week!! a lot of them made it into this fic, so if you sent in a concept—thank you so much <3 I messed around with the pov so it flips halfway through! it should be obvious but I’m flagging it so you don’t think I went mad. hasn’t happened yet my lovelies but frat!tom does test me ! :’)) enjoy !!! <3

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

extended warnings ↠ masturbating (male), oral + fingering (fem receiving), protected mxf sex. possessiveness in the dirty talk. again, there is no infidelity but there is a lot of bad behaviour + boundary pushing <3

✧ *:･ﾟNo Control･ﾟ:*✧

Tom has seen a lot of pretty girls in his life, but tonight, he thinks that he’s seen an angel.

The frat is loud. The crowd is so thick he can barely breeze, and the fog machine has left a deep grey smog smothering the living room. Flashing strobe lights and the deep drums of bass cut through the air, but despite the way Tom’s head hurts, everything irritating fades as he looks across the room and sees a girl. You. You’re standing in the open doorway, leaning against one of the beams, a solo cup in one hand with the other resting on your waist.

He instantly knows that he wants you.

You’re in a red dress, with the flattering material clinging to your waist and shoulders. It draws Tom’s attention, but that’s quick to shift to your face as he watches you laugh at a joke made by one of your friends. He recognises a few of the people that you’re with from one of his lectures, but he’s almost certain he’s never seen you before. He’d definitely remember.

“Bro? What’s up?” Harrison is behind him, Tom’s best mate. They’ve been friends since high school, and when Tom had decided to up sticks and move across the ocean to a college in America, Harrison had followed. He’s good like that. “You’re just staring at the wall. Look like a proper tosser.”

Tom scowls as he drags his eyes away from you, directing all of his most scathing anger at Harrison. The blond is smirking. Perched on top of his head is a black SnapBack, printed with the frat’s logo. It matches the one that Tom’s wearing, just Tom has it pulled on backwards. He’s the only member of the frat that wears it like that, and it’s become an unofficial declaration of his status.

For the last year, Tom has held the revered position of president of the frat. It’s a lot harder than he’d thought it’d be, but it comes with perks. Several perks.

“I’m looking,” Tom replies, crossing his arms.

“At what?”

Discreetly, Tom brings his cup to his lips and uses his index finger to sneakily point across the room. He leads Harrison to you.

“That girl,” he says slowly. “Do you know who she is? Who invited her?”

Tom prides himself on knowing most people on campus—or, at least, anyone he needs to know. Anyone involved in Greek life or the party scene at his college has a face burned to his memory, and he prides himself on recognising matching names too. A lot of power comes with being able to immediately recognise someone. It makes him likeable, and he feels good knowing that someone feels appreciated by him.

“Dunno,” Haz mutters. He squints his eyes as he looks at you too. “She’s with Tyra. Maybe they’re friends?”

Tom scoffs. “Well, I’d guess that, yeah.”

“Are you going to do anything, or continue to stare like a creep?”

After taking a final swig of his drink, Tom pushes the empty plastic cup into Harrison’s hands. His mate thumps him on the back.

“I’ll be back,” he mutters. Then Tom pauses and throws out an easy smile. “Or not. Depends.”

Harrison rolls his eyes. “Go on.”

“See ya, mate.”

As Tom walks across the crowded room, he tries to hold himself a little straighter. He’s dressed simply tonight, in an all-black combination of t-shirt and jeans, but the gold chain he has around his neck adds a little depth. Around his wrist is his watch, and it glints as Tom reaches up to briefly whip off his hat and tousle his hair. His eyes are fixed firmly on you, and he finds himself grinning when you see him.

You’re even more radiant up close. Your eyes are a beautiful shade, and they fill with curiosity as you look Tom up and down. An expression of intrigue passes over your features as you mutter something to a friend and push away from the doorframe, being pulled to Tom as if by an unseen gravitational force.

“Hi, darling,” Tom leads with, keeping his voice cool. When you step closer, he meets you, easily and lightly pressing his hands to your waist as he kisses your cheek. “I’m Tom.”

You give him a wry smile. “I know who you are,” you reply. Your eyes are fluttering all over his face, and your hips feel soft beneath his hands. “Y/N.”

Tom likes how your voice sounds.

“Beautiful name for a beautiful woman,” he responds easily. He crosses his arms, angling them in a way that makes his muscles bulge. “I’ve not seen you around here before.”

There’s a shyness to your gaze that makes Tom smile wider, and he watches as you fiddle with your hair and tentatively meet his gaze.

“Do you know everyone that comes to your parties, Tom?”

“Yeah.” Tom slips his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. “Or, at least, I try to. I know I’d definitely remember someone like you.”

“Someone like me?” You’re speaking louder now, emboldened by how fully Tom’s giving you his attention. All around you, there are people looking, people whispering. Everywhere Tom goes, he garners attention.

Tom offers you an easy smile, tilting his head to the side as he nods. Sometimes he likes to play it cool and keep his cards close to his chest, but he doesn’t think you’d like that. He doesn’t think the chase is necessary. You’re looking at him with round, inquisitive eyes, and your gaze keeps circling back to his mouth.

“You’re stunning, love,” he says. “Do you want to dance with me?”

You reach out and take his hand, and Tom feels a jolt of warmth trail up his spine. It confuses him. He’s pursued a lot of girls in his life, and he’s felt attraction plenty of times before, but he’s never had his heart ache quite like that from just one touch. As you run your thumb over the back of his hand, you look up at him from beneath your lashes.

“A dance? With the president of the frat?” you tease. As Tom chuckles, you smile cheekily. “I dunno. What can you give me in return, if I give you what you want?”

“Oh, a businesswoman,” he teases. “I see how it is.”

You smirk. “Business major,” you supply.

Tom arches his brows. “I’m a business major.”

“I know. We’re in the same class.”

For a few minutes, you slip into conversation about your course. Tom learns that you share the same 9am every Monday morning—a class that he only managed to make it to the first week of term. You don’t linger on the topic of academics for too long, though. It doesn’t take much before Tom’s got you in the back corner of the room where it’s quieter, listening to you reel off your first impressions of the frat. You keep your hands on his shoulders, slowly but purposefully rolling your fingers over his shirt, keeping him on his feet as he catches a whiff of your peach perfume every time you move closer.

He almost gets his dance, but then there’s a tap on his shoulder, and it’s one of his brothers, whispering about an incident on the patio involving a table and the pool. Tom grimaces and reluctantly casts his eyes back to you.

“I need to go and sort this out,” he mutters, frustrated. You shrug, biting your lip as you rock back on your heels. “Will I see you later?”

“I don’t know. Will you?”

Tom smiles. “I will,” he promises. Wanting to give a lasting impression, he easily swoops his hand up to cup your cheek. When he receives a nod of approval, he leans in and deposits a lingering kiss to your forehead, inhaling a deep breath of your shampoo and feeling the tip of his nose tingle in response. You cling to his arms a little tighter, and when Tom goes to pull away, he isn’t able to until you’ve kissed his cheek.

“Have fun,” you say, stepping back.

“Thanks, darling.” Tom gives you a final look, his insides debating whether or not he really needs to go deal with the issue. When there’s a loud shout from out on the patio, he sighs. “Take care.”

Even when he’s out on the terrace, you stay on Tom’s mind. As he oversees two of the guys pulling the table out of the pool, he replays his interaction, mind swirling over your face, your figure, your voice. He finds himself scratching at his chin, not entirely present. After a while, he ends up back in the house, huddled with a group of the guys, and it isn’t until someone pushes Harrison forward that Tom truly comes back into the room.

“How long has it been, man?” Jacob, one of the guys, and one of Tom’s American friends, is grinning at Harrison. The man is standing in the middle of the group, bashful cheeks a light pink.

“Eh… a couple weeks,” Harrison supplies.

“Bullshit,” Tom adds, chuckling when Harrison flips him off. “Haz hasn’t got laid in months.”

“Fuck off,” Harrison mutters. “Not all of us are as...promiscuous as you, Tom.”

Tom shrugs. “Well, what are you going to do about it?”

Harrison pauses, stroking his chin. “Dunno,” he finally decides.

Tom rolls his eyes. “We’ll wingman you,” he decides. He looks around at a few of the other guys and doesn’t stop until they’re all nodding and making similar sounds of agreement. “Anyone you like the look of tonight?”

Haz hesitates but eventually shakes his head. “Nah. Haven’t seen who’s around.”

“Alright.” Tom presses his palms together, an idea forming. “Next girl that walks into the room, we’ll set you up with.”

Harrison hesitates. “But what if she’s taken?”

Jacob steps forward, smirking. “The next single girl who walks into this room,” he clarifies. He holds out a hand and raises a brow. “Bet?”

Harrison looks down at Jacob’s hand. A bet, like the one he’s referring to, may as well be as binding as a contract. There’s no going back. He looks to Tom, a little nervous, but the fear vanishes when Tom nods.

“Alright.” Harrison does the frat handshake, and the guys around them all holler. Tom makes his own loud sound of support, grinning widely. “We’ll do it.”

They have to wait for a while. The first few girls that walk in are all accompanied by partners. Tom’s starting to get tetchy and he knows Harrison is too, but as soon as that thought crosses his mind, the universe decides to throw a curveball right into his face.

You walk in.

“Oh, shit,” Jacob says. He elbows Harrison. “There you go.”

Harrison immediately looks at Tom. “Uh… Isn’t she…?”

Tom sucks in a hard breath, the sound sticking behind his teeth. “Yep.” He looks at Harrison, who’s looking particularly deflated.

For a moment, Tom thinks about Haz and everything that he’s done to support him. Harrison flew across oceans to stay with Tom, moved into the frat with him, operates as his right-hand man. He’s his golf buddy, his gym partner, his best mate. For Haz to go back on such a public bet would be the same as resigning himself to social humiliation, and Tom would be a terrible friend for making him do that. Tom can give him this.

Right?

“I don’t need to—”

“Nah.” Tom decides to step up. “It’s a bet. It’s fine.”

Harrison grimaces. “Are you sure?”

Tom feels like a petulant child. Now he’s agreed to it, he feels his stomach rebelling. You find yourself at the centre of his attention again as he looks back over, instantly regretting it as the action connects your eyes with his. His breathing catches as your lips pull into an eager smile.

But Tom pushes through it. He looks away and stares at the floor as he nods, strengthening his attitude as he reaches out to smack Harrison on the back.

“Yep. Go for it.”

“Thanks, bro.”

He can barely watch as his guys approach you, and Tom decides to stay back in the corner of the room. It’s clear that you’re confused at first, but through quick discreet glances, Tom watches as you start to talk with Harrison. When Tom gets approached by another girl, you start to speak with Haz more freely, and he assumes that you’ve forgotten all about your conversation from earlier. When Jacob and the others split off, leaving you and Harrison alone in the back corner, Tom has to leave the room.

For a while, Tom drinks. He does a couple of shots out on the patio and chats with a few girls, and eventually, he’s pulled back inside the house. He ends up in the large living room, where the main party is happening, and it seems that you and Harrison have taken it to the next level in his absence.

Tom’s lips curve into a scowl as he looks across the room and sees you, wrapped up in Harrison. The blond’s hands roam all over you, moving from your cheeks, shifting back into your hair before curving down your figure. Tom can barely keep watching as Harrison’s palms curl around your waist and go down to squeeze your ass, and he swears he can almost hear the breathless moan you deposit into the air in response.

He looks away when Harrison starts to nibble at your neck and you toss your head back in pleasure, but Tom can’t stop himself from stealing quick glances every few seconds. In the pit of his stomach lies a terrible beast, acidic and possessive, clawing at his heart. There’s a tenseness to his jaw that he can’t quite shake, even when Tom tosses the remnants of the shit beer down his throat. There are easily a hundred people in the room with him, but he doesn’t care about a single one of them. The only one he cares about is you.

After a few moments of his eyes dissecting the contours of your face, Tom feels someone wrap their arms around his waist. He stiffens, turning his head and looking around until he finds himself staring at the face of a girl from his accounting course. She’s pretty, wearing silver eyeshadow, and Tom thinks that her name is Sasha.

“Hey, Tommy,” she greets. Her perfume smells overpowering and it makes Tom grimace. “Wanna dance with me?”

Tom looks back across the room, his stomach turning as he sees Harrison has pulled you down onto a sofa with him. As you straddle his lips and continue to kiss him, his blood runs hot.

“Fuck yeah, darling,” he mutters. Tom reaches out and wraps an arm around the girl, pulling her closer and letting his eyes fall shut as her lips find their way to his neck. “Let’s dance.”

He doesn’t need you. He barely fucking knows you. Tom has met a thousand girls, and it feels as though he’s kissed as many. The only things he knows about you are inconsequential—who cares if you smell like peaches and wear a glossy lip balm? Who gives a fuck that your voice sounds like a pretty wind-chime. Not Tom, that’s for sure. Tom’s got another girl kissing him and tugging on his hair. He doesn’t need you.

So why can’t he stop thinking about you?

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The pillow that Tom has wedged over his head makes his ears ache and does nothing to obscure the sounds drifting into his room, so after a few moments of failed silence, he throws it aside. A loud huff passes by his lips.

It’s been a month since the party, and every Sunday morning since, without fail, he’s been woken by the sounds of your moans. Harrison’s room is right next door, and though he’d always complained to Tom that the walls are thin, Tom had never been the one on the receiving end like this. It’s always been Tom having lazy post-party sex with a random girl, or Tom taking a girl into the shower room and locking out his brothers all morning. Now it’s Harrison, making noise with you, and suddenly it’s not just the fact that he’s not had sex in four weeks that’s getting on his nerves.

Your moans are loud as they catch in the back of your throat, and they make Tom hard. He grumbles as he reaches down, hands dipping beneath the covers as he pushes a palm beneath his boxers. A softened groan passes past his lips as he pulls out his cock, pausing only to bring his hand back to his lips and spit on it before he starts to jerk off.

Tom had gotten over the guilt of getting off to you without your knowledge two weeks ago. For all he knows, you know that he can hear you, and you’re being so loud for him. He’s learnt that you’re cheeky like that, and the thought makes Tom tug his cock a little harder. Harrison’s bed is squeaky, and he can only imagine that you’re riding him. Tom bites back a moan as he imagines how pretty you must look on top.

He’s spent more time with you now, since that party, and it hasn’t helped his predicament at all. Every time he runs into you, you seem to grow hotter, and his attraction for you only burns brighter when he sees Haz grab your hand or kiss your lips. What had started as a bet for one night together has escalated, and now you’re both dating. Tom doesn’t think that he’s a bad person, nor would he ever say he’s a bad friend, but you’ve become his forbidden fruit.

Maybe it’s the fact that he can’t have you that makes Tom so incensed. He’s never been denied like this—been blocked so unscrupulously and irritatingly. Whilst you aren’t official with Harrison, Tom knows that his mate likes you. Hell, he can hear how much he likes you, right now, as Haz’s bed continues to squeak and your moans rise in volume.

Tom thinks he could get you to moan louder.

It takes an embarrassing two-minute window before Tom’s biting back a yell of your name, cumming in sync with a set of particularly loud whines that you emit next-door. He falls back onto the mattress, his clean hand going up to card through his curls as he tries to catch his breath. For a few moments, he lays there, scowling up at the ceiling as he tries to bathe in the afterglow of release, but it goes crashing down again when he hears your light giggles followed by Harrison’s deep guffaws.

Tom practically storms out of bed, wiping at his hand with some tissues before he stamps into a pair of grey joggers and leaves his room, slamming the door loudly in his wake. He hopes the sound scares Harrison so much he falls off his fucking bed.

The bad mood continues, even after Tom’s leapt through the shower and scrubbed at his ears. He ends up in the frat’s kitchen, the wide space still partially littered with solo cups and discarded bags of crisps from the party the night before. There are a few junior members of the frat hobbling around with black bin bags, looking pale and peaky. When they see Tom, they try and pretend they’re not hungover, and their act of skittish admiration is enough to make him feel a little better.

He’s just starting to assemble a protein shake when the air in the kitchen changes. Tom finds his eyes drifting towards the door, just in time to watch you walk in. The sun seems to follow you as you stroll into the kitchen, one hand at your side as the other plays with the tips of your hair, a relaxed smile on your face. As you look around the room and take stock of the several fratboys sitting on random pieces of furniture, your smile draws shyer, and Tom watches you glance down at your feet as you hurry towards the counters to where he is. You catch his eye, a blinding smile unfurling across your lips as you raise a hand in greeting.

As you sweep close, Tom blinks himself out of his stupor. He swallows down the lump in his throat as he steps forward to kiss your cheek, his hands falling onto your shoulders. When you step away, he takes in your outfit. Your legs are mostly bare, but you’re in a pair of shorts with an oversized grey t-shirt slouched on top of you. Tom’s eager eyes dip down, caressing your chest until they find the pointed tips of your nipples, straining against the fabric.

He clears his throat as he feels his cock prick to life.

“Morning, darling,” he manages, immediately turning around and facing the counter. He uses the smoothie as a pretence, but really he doesn’t want you to see the building bulge between his legs.

You seem to be oblivious, and Tom sucks in a breath as you step close. You place your chin on his shoulder and peer over it, comfortably leaning into him, and he swears he can feel your tits brushing up against his bare spine.

“Morning, Tom,” you greet, voice raspy and pure. “How’s your hangover?”

Tom chuckles, focusing very intently on ignoring the way your minty breath fans out across his cheek. You’ve got your arms wrapped loosely around him, hugging him easily and comfortably. He’d never complain that you’re at ease around him, but it doesn’t help his boner.

“Fine,” he responds, playing it cool. “I’m a pro at this, darling. Can’t remember the last time I had a hangover.”

You snort, and despite the loud volume, Tom thinks it’s a beautiful sound.

“You’re so fucking cocky,” you murmur, voice vibrating straight into his ear. “I feel like I’m going to die. Head’s killing me.”

Tom coos. He spends a moment violently mixing some green protein powder into the rest of his smoothie, then reaches up and rummages through a cupboard. When he procures a packet of painkillers, you release a deep sound of relief and finally step back.

“There you go, love,” he mutters. He makes sure to brush your hand with his as he passes it to you, smirking slightly when you jump. A lot of the time, Tom thinks his attraction to you is one-sided, but then something like this happens and casts doubt on that assessment. Neither of you has mentioned the night that you met, and sometimes he wonders if he should bring it up.

Tired and slightly delirious, Tom decides to test the waters. Just for fun, because he can, and because he likes the thought of making you flustered. He knows that his reputation precedes him and that you probably buy into the idea that he’s a flirt as much as everyone else does. If you respond badly, he’ll just blame it on his naturally charming disposition, and if Haz takes issue with it, well… Tom will just bring up the many red marks on his ledger.

“Thanks, Tom,” you say. He watches you rummage through a cupboard and pull out a glass, and his eyes follow your legs as you lean over the sink to get water and the hem of the shirt rides up.

“You know you’re fucking stunning, yeah?” Tom says before he can second-guess his plan.

You freeze, the waterline in your glass threatening to spill as you try to process his words. When you look back, there’s an expression of curious bewilderment on your face.

“What?”

Tom, his boner finally soft again, turns around to face you properly. He brings his arms over his chest, smirking wider as he watches you look at the curves of his biceps. He’s shirtless, and he knows the hours he’s spent in the yard doing weights with Haz shows in the firm definition of his abs and pecs. You seem to enjoy looking at him.

“You look hot.” Tom watches your face very carefully, not wanting to cross too many lines. “I bet Harrison told you that though, this morning.”

Something shifts on your face, and you bite your lip. “Well…”

“Well?”

“Harrison doesn’t say much in the mornings. Or, well, ever.” You pause, a deep line carving between your troubled brows. “He isn’t very vocal.”

Tom hums, stepping a little closer. “Harrison is good at a lot of things, but he has certain shortcomings.”

You lick your lower lip, and Tom’s gaze lingers on the glistening trail of your saliva.

“Like what?”

Tom makes a non-committal noise and pauses to take a sip of his smoothie.

“Well, you know. He’s very intense. He doesn’t always see what’s right in front of him.”

You raise an amused eyebrow. “Aren’t you supposed to be friends?”

“We are. He’s my best mate. But that doesn’t mean I can’t criticise him for acting carelessly.” Tom drops his voice, letting you see the way he checks you out. “I just think that he doesn’t appreciate how lucky he is sometimes.”

You turn away, breaking eye contact as you take your pills. As you hum a soft tune, you pick up the kettle and fill it up, only looking back to Tom when it’s been plugged in and starting to boil.

“Alright, I’ll bite,” you reply, voice curious. You step closer until you’re standing in front of Tom, your eyes again going to his bare chest. “What does Harrison have that you don’t think he appreciates enough?” The suggestive look in your eyes matches the seductive inflexion in your voice, and Tom feels a shiver pass down his spine.

He plays it off coolly, shrugging slightly. “I’m just saying, darling, that if I had the honour of waking up beside someone as beautiful as you, I wouldn’t let you out of my sights all morning.” Tom reaches out slowly, gently letting his fingers bridge the gap between you as he toys with the hem of your shirt. You move closer, subtly encouraging him to continue, so Tom lets his hands shift up to hold your waist, feeling your curious eyes on him the whole time. “What was he thinking, eh? Letting such a lovely lady leave his bed. Crazy.”

You chuckle, a bashful smile on your face as you gnaw your lower lip. “Well, he wanted tea.”

Tom hums. “And I think that that’s bullshit.” He pauses suddenly, eyebrows raising as he finally looks away from your face and finds his gaze sticking on an emblem branded to your big t-shirt. A deep chuckle vibrates through his chest. Of fucking course. “You know what this is, love?” he asks, tugging at your shirt. When you shake your head, he grins. “Boyfriend material.”

Your reaction is immediate: soft frown, arched brows, confused stare.

“Harrison is not my boyfriend,” you say.

Tom clicks his tongue. “Never said he was.” He rolls his hands up your sides, gently caressing your warm figure. Though he wants to run his palms higher to your chest, he stops himself. “This is my shirt, babe. Laundry gets them mixed up all the time, but it’s mine.”

Your lips part and you look between Tom and your shirt with horror in your eyes. “Oh, fuck,” you murmur. Immediately, your hands fly down to the hem. “Do you want me to take it off?”

He shakes his head. “Nah,” he says. “As much as I’m sure I’d like that, there are too many other people in here.” He feels jealous again just thinking about it.

You nod, pausing the movement after a second as your eyes narrow. “Wait, how do you even know? It’s just a plain t-shirt?”

“What, you think I’m making this up?” Tom’s smirking again, and it widens as you fluster. “‘S alright, love.” He reaches up and points at the emblem which marks an event from rush week last year. “Logo,” he states. “And… I think you’ll find if we take a look at the label on the back, it’s got my name on it.”

You let him manhandle you, melting back into his hold as Tom stands forward and turns you around. He brushes your hair out of the way and reaches up, gracing his fingers over your spine as he delicately pulls out the back label. You won’t be able to see it, but it fills him with smugness to see his initials stained stark against the label: TSH.

“Well… I’m sorry, anyway.” Your voice is hoarse, light and feathery as if you’re holding your breath. Tom lets his hand rest on your shoulder after he’s tucked the label back. He’d move away, but you’re leaning into him completely, your hands grasping at the palm that he has curled around your stomach. “I promise it won’t happen again.”

Tom leans down, and in a bold move, very gently kisses the base of your neck. Your skin is soft and warm beneath his lips, and the breathless gasp you release is just as sweet.

“It’s okay,” he rumbles. He pauses, eyes fluttering shut as he inhales your peachy scent. “Feel free to use it any time you’d like.”

Not wanting to push too hard, Tom leaves a final, wetter kiss to the bottom of your neck before moving back, unwrapping his arm from around your waist and repositioning his hands back on the counter. He leans against the wooden cabinets, wondering if you’d been able to feel his hard-on that’d peskily bounced back when he’d heard your whimper.

If you feel anything, you don’t say anything. In fact, you’re quiet as you step to the side and pour out the boiled water into two mugs. “Thanks,” you say, speaking through the steam. You glance back to Tom, and he swears your eyes are darker. “It’s soft.”

Tom sips his smoothie, eyeing you over the brim as you poke at a tea bag with a metal teaspoon.

“Fabric softener,” he says, nodding slightly. His brain is running slow, still caught up on how nice it’d felt to kiss your neck. “It suits you.”

You throw him another shy smile. “How does Haz take his tea again? No sugar, yeah?”

Tom bites his lip. “Wrong,” he lies. “Haz likes three sugars. Don’t be afraid to put in a little more, though.”

You eye him sceptically. “I don’t think that’s right.”

“He is my best friend, love,” Tom says. He hides his mischievous grin behind his smoothie, and he watches you roll your eyes. “Listen, if he’s got a problem with it, he can take it up with me or he can come and make his own cup of sodding tea. Lazy bastard.”

You snort, and Tom feels his stomach turn as he watches you spoon three teaspoons into Haz’s mug.

“Well, I’ll let you know what he says,” you mutter. Finally, you pick up the mugs in your hands and walk forward, pausing in front of Tom. Your eyes skim his figure again, briefly zeroing in on his chest before caressing the fine lines of his lips. “Thanks for keeping me company. This was fun.”

Tom nods and steps forward to kiss your cheek. He hopes you can feel how desperately he wants to press his lips to yours.

“Any time, darling,” he assures. “If you ever need anything, you know where I am, yeah?” He lets his teeth brush your earlobe as he pulls back slowly, smiling to himself when he sees you shiver.

“Yeah,” you murmur. You swallow deeply, and your eyes hold his gaze for one moment longer before you tear them away. “Have a nice morning, Tom.”

Tom watches you walk across the kitchen, almost stumbling when you get distracted trying to look over your shoulder back at him. He smirks, raising a few fingers in a lazy wave.

“See ya!” he calls back.

His blood doesn’t stop pumping until you’re all the way out of sight, and even after that, he knows the only way he’ll be able to properly shake you is by attending to his hard-on. Again.

You’re like a shadow that won’t stop chasing him.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The party is in full swing, and Tom feels like a king.

There are several benefits to parading the title of president of the frat. Tom gets the largest room in the house, along with an ensuite. He’s able to prioritise himself on the gym schedule and the cleaning rota. Every party, he’s looked up to, treated like royalty, his every wish and command carried out by his brothers. If he doesn’t like a song, it’s changed. All it takes is one arched brow in the direction of a partygoer, and they’re ejected from the house. The beer is his favourite make, and everyone loves him.

Tom has the whole world in his hands, which is why it’s incredibly infuriating that his kingdom tonight isn’t ordered how he’d like it.

It’s two months into the semester, and the buzz that’d characterised earlier parties has faded. Finals are coming up soon, so maybe that’s why Tom feels unsettled. Or, maybe it’s the fact that the music isn’t hitting quite as well as usual. It could be that he hasn’t tied his shoes as tightly as he normally does, or maybe that the vibe within the house is just...off.

But Tom knows exactly what the problem is if he brings himself to think about it. He’s tried drowning his ugly feelings in cheap beer, but there’s no denying it: his mood had taken a significant plummet when he’d glanced across the room and seen Harrison with his hands all over you, your lips locked together. The shard of jealousy that had lodged itself in the warm precipice of his heart is unshakeable, and there’s a horrible bitter taste on his tongue.

Tom is so fucking jealous that he’s about two seconds away from pointing at the couple and getting someone to kick you out.

“Bro. Bro. The fuck is wrong with you, man?”

It’s probably a good thing that Tom’s been interrupted, as he’s fairly sure there’s enough poison in his gaze to burn off a large patch of Harrison’s hair. He shakes a grimace over his lips as he looks to the side, eyes falling to his friend, Jacob. Jacob’s in a loose Hawaiian shirt, the red and white pattern glowing under the luminescence of the UV lights.

“What?” Tom says, playing it cool. He takes another drink, shuddering slightly as he lets the alcohol ease him.

“You look like you want to beat someone up.” Jacob squints, trying to look in the direction that Tom knows he’d been staring in. “I only see Haz. Are you guys, like… Good?”

Tom releases a short bark. “‘Course, man,” he says, voice lifting lighter. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

Jacob scoffs. It’s loud in the crowded living room, but Tom can feel the undertones. “Uh, we all know about the bet. We all also know that you’d had your eyes on Y/N before Haz pulled her.” He pauses, wiggling his brows until Tom punches his arm and scowls. “I’m just sayin’... Seems like you have some unresolved shit going on.”

Tom doesn’t deem him with a response, not knowing where to start with that. It’s Saturday night. The last thing he wants to do is talk about this. He already drives himself mad every other day of the week as he ponders this particular puzzle.

“We need to get the energy up,” Tom mutters. He spins around, beckoning over a few of his friends with his hands. Someone gives him a shot, and he downs it before looking back at Jacob. “We’ll do a game or something. Get people. We’ll do it on the patio.”

Ten minutes later, there’s an assembly of partygoers on the terrace at the back of the house. It’s a mix of sorority girls, jocks, and fratbros, but Tom doesn’t pay them much attention as he claims his spot on a rickety canvas camping chair and sits back. He lets Jacob take the lead, doing another two shots when he sees you and Haz join the circle.

You’re in a black dress tonight, the material skimming just above your knees. As you walk out onto the patio, the midnight breeze swishes the hem up a little, and Tom watches as you giggle and drop Haz’s hand to smooth it down. Harrison presses an easy kiss to your cheek, and the smile on your face builds. It freezes when you spot Tom, your eyes darkening as your teeth dig into the pink flesh of your lower lip. Tom raises a brow, watching you stand a little straighter as your gaze runs over his form, lingering on the golden chain he’d pulled on earlier.

The spell breaks when Harrison sits on a chair and tugs you down with him, an expression of irritation briefly souring your angelic face before you smooth it back. Tom doesn’t look away until Jacob starts to speak.

“Spin the bottle,” Jacob announces, looking around at each person. There are a few groans, but they’re drowned out by the cheers. Tom just rolls his eyes, sitting back and briefly surveying the circle. He’s pretty sure he’s pulled at least five of the girls already, and the rest of them seem fine, too. Obviously, there’s only one person he’d want the spin to land on, but he’s already accepted that the universe isn’t on his side when it comes to you.

A few rounds pass. Tom isn’t really paying attention until the neck of the bottle lands on him and he has to kiss a girl from his psychology class. It’s a quick kiss, and her lip gloss makes his mouth tingle, but Tom only realises how hammered he is when he has to sit up from his chair and lean over to spin the bottle.

Tom looks around the circle as his fingers ponder the glass, grasping the attention of the group like he’s holding court. He looks at you and finds you looking at him, your lower lip held between your teeth as Harrison rubs your arm. Haz has you in his lap, your legs thrown across his thighs as you sit on him sideways. Harrison’s blond curls rest up against the side of your face, and Tom has to look away as he grimaces.

The bottle spins. It clatters quickly over the paving stone, hurtling with an angry force that Tom hadn’t entirely intended to use. He holds his breath, his eyes widening as it stops. Pointing at you.

“Looks like that’s Y/N,” Jacob announces.

Tom sits back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as he looks at Harrison. His mate’s eyes have lost their charm, a deep frown settled on his face. Tom thinks he looks exactly like the tough-faced models from Vogue with that mardy scowl on his face. He raises a brow, as if to say, up to you, and watches as you turn in Harrison’s lap and whisper something into his ear.

A moment passes, and Tom’s surprised when Haz nods and pushes you up from his lap. He meets Tom’s eyes, giving him another smaller nod, and Tom sits back, pleasantly resigned to the fact that Harrison isn’t going to ruin the game.

“Hi,” you greet as you approach him, smiling.

Tom reaches out, offering you his hands as you finish treading over the collection of limbs and shoes that crowd the patio. Your fingers are so soft in his.

“Hi, darling,” he responds. Tom feels hot, everywhere, and he hopes his cheeks aren’t as red as they feel. “You look stunning,” he adds, voice quieter.

“Thanks.”

You hesitate, eyeing him up and down as if trying to assess the best way to kiss him. The girl he’d just kissed had bent over to press her lips to his, and as Tom remembers this, he drops one of your hands and reaches up and wipes his mouth again, trying to eradicate all traces of her lips. When he’s achieved this, he tentatively reaches up and presses the palm to your waist. Respectfully, of course. There are a lot of people watching.

You seem to be less reluctant to indulge, and Tom feels his eyes widen as you step forward and sink into his lap, your knees bending as you press your shins into the canvas of the camping chair on either side of Tom’s thighs. Suddenly your face is hanging in front of his, warm breath coming out over his face, and Tom has just enough time to wonder why your breath smells of pineapples before you’re leaning in.

He kisses you, and for a few seconds, he’s frozen. Everything that he’s learnt at the frat and over the course of his college life goes flying out the window, and he’s left feeling like a kid again. The background noise filters out, and all he can focus on is the weight of your body pressing into his legs and the feeling of your lips, soft and silky, moving over his. When you reach up to weave a hand into his hair, he comes back around, the roar of the party filling his ears as an adrenaline rush floods his chest.

Tom knows this will probably be his only chance to kiss you, so he leaves nothing behind. He brings both hands to your waist, urging you closer as he recovers his charm and kisses you properly. His tongue works into your open mouth, pressing against you and exploring the sweet space of your lips as you moan into him. He feels your fingers drift down, one of your hands staying bedded in his curls as the other plays with his chain. Never before has Tom felt so consumed by a kiss, and if the circumstances were different, he wouldn’t hesitate to reach around and grab handfuls of your skin, wouldn’t hold back his kisses, or his moans, or his coos of praising endearment. He’d give you everything.

When you pull back, your nose brushes up against his, and it feels like the two of you are the only ones in the world.

“How was that?” you ask, voice quiet. There’s a shyness to your disposition, a nervousness as you meet his eyes.

Tom reaches up, holding your cheek and brushing his thumb across your chin. He tidies up your smudged lipstick as he squeezes your waist.

“Perfect,” he replies, voice low. He can feel Harrison staring at him, but he doesn’t give a fuck. “You’re… You’re incredible, darling.”

You sit a little taller, looking proud of yourself. “Well, now I understand what all the hype is about,” you mutter. “You’re a good kisser. A really good kisser.” You pause as a shiver works its way down your spine, and Tom glances at your bare arms.

“Here,” he mutters. When you stand from his lap, he’s glad his jeans have some wiggle room so his raging boner is less obvious. Tom’s quick to shrug off his jacket, and he passes it up to you without a second thought. “Don’t freeze,” he says, wagging a finger at you.

“Tom, I couldn’t—”

“Yeah, you can.”

You bite your lip. “Won’t you be cold?”

Tom just flexes his biceps, smirking again as he sees you checking out his muscles. “Got these bad boys to keep me warm,” he teases, pointing at his guns. He softens, just for a moment. “It’s fine. Said you could always use my stuff, didn’t I?”

You look flustered, opening and then immediately closing your mouth before turning around and making your way back over to Harrison. Tom sits back in his chair, trying halfheartedly to suppress the smirk that continues to hold his lips as he admires how nice his jacket looks draped loosely across your shoulders. You always wear his clothes so well.

Tom looks at Jacob, who shakes his head in response. Then he looks at Harrison, and he can’t stop himself from laughing. Harrison’s a shade of salmon pink, and it only softens out a little bit when you settle back into his lap and kiss his cheek. Tom watches Harrison flip him off then pull you closer and kiss you harshly, and messily. You don’t seem as into it as you’d been with Tom, he realises. You’re holding back, grimacing slightly as Harrison pulls back a triumphant moment later.

The game concludes a while later, but Tom stays out on the patio, feeling dizzier by the second. The camping chair is comfortable, and the chill in the air helps him feel soberer. Whilst Tom doesn’t regret the multiple cups of beer and several shots, he does consider that he might’ve gone a little too far in his efforts to forget about you.

You’re gone, now. Out of sight, back in the party. Tom’s making light conversation with a few of the guys still left in the circle, but they clear out when a shadowy presence falls across the patio. It doesn’t take long for Tom to realise it’s Harrison, and he tries his best to sit up straight and look less smug as Harrison drags a chair over and places it opposite Tom.

Harrison stares at him, hard. He’s in a matching snapback and a loose white t-shirt, his ring glinting as he crosses his fingers and examines Tom’s face.

“So…” Tom starts, disliking how charged the air is. “Y’alright, Haz?”

“Shut the fuck up, Tom,” Harrison says instead. When Tom pulls a face, he sharpens his gaze. “What’s wrong with you?”

Tom chuckles. He’s feeling drunk and annoying. “Well, that’s a bit of an unspecific question, Harrison. There are many things that you might say are wrong with me—”

“You know what I’m talking about.” Harrison breaks off, sighing loudly as he flops back in his chair and runs a hand through his hair. He looks smaller, nervous. “Do you have a thing for my girl?”

Instinctively, Tom shakes his head. “Y/N?” he says dumbly. When Harrison nods, Tom hums. “Is she your girl?”

Harrison flounders for a moment. “I mean… Technically no, but we’ve been hooking up for two months.” He pauses, grimacing. “Look, mate. I know I fucked it when we met her. I knew you wanted her, and I still took on the bet. But I really fucking like her now, and… And…”

“And?”

“If you decide that you want her, you’ll get her. You always do.” Harrison grumbles as he crosses his arms. “Can I not have one thing? Just one.”

“You do know that Y/N is perfectly capable of making her own decisions, yeah?” Tom says, only slurring slightly.

“Oh, yeah. Of course, of course.” Harrison’s bobbing his head almost comically. “But still… Do you know what I mean?”

Tom closes his eyes for a few moments, the patio spinning. He speaks through gritted teeth. “Haz, I love you, man. You know what I’m like. I’m a flirt.” He cracks open an eye and gives Harrison a dopey smile, and the next words he speaks are the truth. “I wouldn’t seriously try to steal your girl, alright? I wouldn’t sleep with her if you guys have a thing. We were just playing the game.”

Harrison releases a deep breath. “Thanks, man, I—”

“Wait.” Tom feels bolder. “You do need to tell her, though.”

“Tell her what?”

Tom narrows his eyes. “You know what,” he says, speaking to a very sheepish-looking Harrison. “She’d want to know that your relationship is built from a bet. If you… If you seriously think that you’re g’nna have a fucking relationship with her, she needs honesty.” Just the thought of you and Harrison going official makes him feel sick.

“No way.” Harrison’s curls go flying as he shakes his head. “Fuck that. Are you mad? She’d break it off.”

Tom grimaces and looks away from Harrison. “I’m just saying,” he mutters. “You shouldn’t lie to the people you care about.”

It’s rich coming from him, but Tom knows that nothing he’s said has been a lie. He won’t sleep with you if you’re still with Haz. Maybe he’d try to break you both up, but he wouldn’t purposefully sleep with someone in a relationship. Logistically, he doesn’t think he’d be able to, even if he wanted to, because despite the tantalising banter he’s able to carry out with you, you’re a good person. You’d never cheat on Harrison.

“Yeah.” Harrison looks guilty now. “I guess.” His eyes shift away from Tom, falling to someone else. Tom startles when he feels two hands come down to rest on his shoulders, and glances down, only relaxing when he recognises the silver rings curled around your fingers.

As if a deity, you’ve appeared, just when Tom was thinking about you. He wonders if it’ll always work like this.

“Hi,” you greet, looking first to Harrison, then Tom. “What are you guys talking about?”

You’re standing behind his chair, perfume light and peachy. When Tom cranes his head back, your perfect face blurs.

“Nothin’,” he murmurs, a sleepy grin on his lips.

You chuckle. “How drunk are you right now?” you ask.

Tom makes a non-committal sound. “I don’t want to stand up and find out,” he admits. “So I’m just going to stay here until I get sober.”

“What if it rains?”

“Well, I guess I’ll get wet.” He reaches back and grabs lightly at his jacket, still covering your upper half. “Some thief ran off with my jacket.”

You snort, then pat his shoulders before walking around to the front of his chair. You offer him your hands, and Tom takes them easily.

“Babe?” Harrison pipes up. “What are you doing?”

With ease, you help Tom up from the chair. He fakes it a little, exaggerating just how woozy he is so that you have to wrap your arms around his waist. He hides his mischievous smirk in the crook of your neck, suppressing his guilt. He wasn’t lying to Harrison—he will stay in his lane. But old habits die hard, and you’re very warm, and he’s very drunk, especially with the blood rushing to his head.

“Putting him to bed,” you respond. “He’s tired.”

Suddenly, Tom finds himself yawning. He leans into you, pouting softly at Harrison as he tries to look as exhausted as possible. He’s always been a convincing actor, and his friend buys it completely.

“Alright,” Harrison says. “Do you need help?”

You shake your head. “Nah,” you respond. “I’ll be fine.” You squeeze Tom’s waist. “He’s just a big teddy bear.”

Tom doesn’t think he likes that (if anything, he’s a lion), but it seems to ease Harrison. The man presses forward, kissing your cheek before giving Tom a firm pat on his shoulder.

“Right, then,” he says. “I’ll be inside.” Harrison glances at Tom, reluctance filling his blue eyes before fading slowly. “Sweet dreams, bro.”

“Thanks, Hazzy.”

“Don’t ever fucking call me that again.”

Tom’s still chuckling as you lead him back inside, and he knows that you’re trying not to giggle too.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Tom already knows that you’re cute, but as you help him up the staircase and get him ready for bed, your adorableness really comes through.

“Drink this,” you announce, walking back into his bedroom with a glass of water in your hands. Tom admires the way that you walk, glad he’s already in bed and hiding beneath the covers. Your hair is a little wild, and he knows that’s probably his fault—Tom’s cheeky, and he’s especially persistent when he’s hammered, and he might’ve been a bit mischievous in the bathroom when you’d tried to convince him to brush his teeth, refusing until you’d had to physically push the brush into his mouth. You’d rolled your eyes, and he’d been distracted by watching you in the mirror.

“What is it?” he asks annoyingly. Now Tom is almost naked, clad only in his boxers, and he does a deliberately long stretch of his arms above his head, smirking as the duvet falls down to expose his toned torso.

You roll your eyes again as you sit on the edge of his bed, pushing the glass into his hands. “Water,” you supply. You stare at him, raising a brow. “Probably won’t help with the hangover, but I feel like I need to try.”

Tom takes a few sips, looking at you over the rim of the glass. You look tired, up close. Still glowing, and beautiful, and gorgeous, but tired. Your lipstick is faded, and he can see the shadows of your dark circles peeking through your makeup.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

You glance at him, chuckling shortly before looking down at your hands. You play around with a few of your rings, sighing.

“Just tired,” you respond. You manage a forced smile. “Doesn’t matter.”

He frowns. “It does.” Tom obediently downs the entire glass, wanting to coax a smile to your face. “Why’d you come out if you’re tired?”

“Haz wanted me to.” You bring your eyes back to Tom. “I wanted to come and support you, too.”

Tom blinks. “Me?”

“Yeah.”

“Aww.”

You scrunch up the end of your nose as you stand from his bed, smoothing down your dress with your hands. “Well, I do care about you, Tom. I know there’s a lot of pressure on you to make the parties good.”

Warmth bursts through Tom’s chest. “That’s so cute,” he mutters. He looks up at you, the light being cast from the ceiling light cascading over your shoulders like a halo. “You’re cute.”

“And you’re plastered,” you respond, smiling. You walk closer, running a hand over the top of the duvet until you reach Tom. When you’re standing up by his head, you tentatively reach down to push his shoulders. “Lie down,” you coax. “Bedtime.”

Tom sinks into his mattress with ease, smiling when you gently pick up his head and plump the pillows. You reach down and pull the duvet up to his chin, tucking it in around his chest firmly, your tongue held between your teeth as you go. You’re very attentive, and the sight of you looking after him so well doesn’t help his predicament at all.

“Thanks, darling,” Tom murmurs. He sighs contentedly. “So comfy,” he whines. “Why don’t you stay with me if you’re tired?” He cracks open an eye just in time to see the expression of shock on your face fade to one of amusement.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you respond. “Can you imagine how confused you’d be waking up in the morning?”

“Would be a good kind of confusion, though.” Tom rounds out his eyes, trying to look as soft and unassuming as possible. “I’m a great bed partner, babe. I won’t kick you. I’ll give you space. Or, if you want, I’ll cuddle you. I’m great at cuddling people.”

You just laugh, your face vibrant and light. “You’re so funny,” you say. “I wonder if you’ll remember this tomorrow.”

Tom scowls, grumpily snuggling further into bed. “I invite a pretty girl into my bed and she rejects me,” he grumbles. “Your loss, baby.”

“You sound more and more like a fratboy every time we speak.” You stand back, crossing your arms over your chest as you look him up and down. “Right. I left painkillers on the side, and there’s more water too. Sweet dreams, Tom.”

You turn to leave, but Tom makes a noise of objection. You pause, raising a brow in question.

“Goodnight kiss,” Tom begs. “Please?”

You laugh again but step back towards him. You bend over, necklace dangling in Tom’s face as your hands smooth up to rest in his hair. He’s overwhelmed by the scent of your perfume and the close proximity, and for a moment, he thinks you’re going to imitate the breathtaking kiss from earlier. But then you move up. You kiss his forehead, gently, stroking a few strands of his hair as your lips linger against his skin for a moment longer than necessary. When you pull back, Tom has a dumb expression on his face, and he’s glad that you follow up the kiss by turning off his lamp.

“Night, Tom,” you say, walking across the room. There’s a single shard of light, peeking into his room through the open door, and it illuminates your silhouette as you pause there.

“Night, Y/N,” he responds, voice slightly thick.

You gently close the door behind you and leave Tom alone, with nothing but his thoughts and his fantasies to entertain him. He grumbles as he turns over, a very prominent and selfish thought pushing to the front of his mind:

Tom loves Harrison, but he’s fed up. He can’t carry on like this, yearning incessantly. He doesn’t want to stay in his lane, he wants you to be his girl. Desperately.

Tom has to do something. He has to make you his.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You think that whoever scheduled Intro to International Business for 9am on a Monday hates all college students.

It’s dreary as you make the hungover trek to campus. The ache in the front of your skull rattles with each sombre step, and you never get used to the chill of November’s dark mornings despite having plenty of experience with them now. You’re bundled up in a hoodie, a jacket, and a scarf, yet the flecks of grey raindrops still manage to soak you. By the time you reach the lecture theatre, you’re grouchy and regretting ever leaving your bed.

At the time, going to the frat party the night before had seemed like a great idea—Harrison hadn’t stopped blowing up your phone about it all weekend, and you’d felt compelled to keep him company. There were other factors that made you eager to go, too.

It’s all a blur now. Spin the bottle, disrupting Harrison’s tense conversation with Tom, taking the latter upstairs. You think about the sight of Tom bundled up in bed, duvet pulled to his pouting lips, and your entire body bursts into flame, rippling with an unrestrained desire that makes you feel guilty for just existing. You’d been so affected by the events of the night before that you’d had to go home, too overwhelmed to stay with Harrison in the room beside Tom’s.

Most of the seats around you are empty. You’re early despite rolling out of bed after sleeping through your first alarm. As you settle into the back of the theatre, you begrudgingly pull out a pad of paper and a pen, wishing you’d thought to bring sunglasses. This is the class that you supposedly share with Tom and Harrison—also business majors—yet they’ve never made an appearance beyond a half-assed attempt in the first week. Sometimes you wonder how they’re both able to pass a class they never show face in.

“Fuckin’ hell, love. Who the fuck scheduled this so early? They’re taking the piss.”

You startle as a grouchy voice enters your space, and your eyes snap up just in time to see a dark figure drop down into the open seat beside you. The deep navy blue hoodie is pulled above his head, and he immediately crosses his arms, but you know without a doubt who it is.

“Tom?” you ask, voice full of shock. You sit forward, reaching out to place a hand on his arm as you peer at him. When you meet his pale face and see the thick sunglasses covering his eyes, your eyebrows raise. “Since when do you come to class?”

Tom clicks his tongue, lips curving into a smirk. It’s a little disconcerting that you can’t see his eyes, but you can tell they’re dark and seductive. They always are.

“What d’you mean?” he teases. “I’m always here.”

“As if.”

He shrugs and breaks off for a moment to yawn. “Thought I should start being a good student, ‘n all,” he mutters. “Finals next month, and everything.”

“And how’s your hangover?”

Tom pulls a face. All of a sudden, he leans over, rummaging through his bag with loud actions until he procures a bottle of water and a bag of mixed nuts. When he sits back up, he pushes down his hood and jerks off his sunglasses, exposing the damage. You wince as you take in the deep bags beneath his eyes and the way his brown irises are marred with red. He still manages to smile, though, and after ripping open his snack, crunches a couple in quick succession.

“I’ll be fine,” he says. “I don’t get hungover, but if I do, it clears pretty fast. I’m built differently.”

You snort. “Yeah right,” you mutter. You find yourself looking at his lips, and briefly, you’re transported to how incredible they felt last night when you’d straddled him and kissed him. Quick to shake that off, you find yourself blinking as you stare at him. “You were trashed last night. I had to take you to bed. Do you remember?”

Tom gives a hapless shrug, not quite looking into your eyes. You wonder, not for the first time, what thoughts are running through his mind. He confuses you immensely.

The night you’d met, you’d been convinced you’d end up sleeping with him. He’d swaggered over to you, dripping charm, looking incredibly hot in an all-black ensemble, chain, and cap, then he’d kissed your forehead and promised to see you later. Just, you hadn’t seen him later—instead, his friends had not-so-subtly set you up with Harrison as Tom had stood across the room, watching. A part of you had felt side-lined by him, but Harrison is attractive, so you’d jumped on him the moment you could.

Harrison is nice. He’s kind. Dependable. He’s the kind of boy that you could easily take home to your mother and hear nothing but kind words about. He isn’t always the most attentive, but he’s funny, and he cares for you, so it’s fine.

Tom is… Tom is an entirely different ballpark. There are no words to describe Tom Holland. You’d thought you knew enough about him before meeting him at the party, but the man you’ve come to know since doesn’t match up to the reputation that surrounds him. Tom is cheeky—it’s obvious in his flirtatious jokes, and his lingering touches, and his habit of kissing your cheek every single time he sees you. He’s funny too, but his sense of humour isn’t mean or callous like most of the lads in his house. Beneath the hardy exterior lies someone who genuinely cares, and looks out for the people he loves.

He makes you feel alive, each one of your cells burning and sizzling every time he’s around. Tom makes you feel the pounding rhythm of your heartbeat everywhere—in your ears, in your chest, between your legs. He gives you everything, whilst giving you nothing at all. It’s entirely perplexing.

You need to stop comparing them. It’s not a competition. You’re seeing Harrison, and Tom has no genuine interest in you. You’re friends, and he’s flirty, but that’s it. You’re friends, and you shared the best kiss of your life last night, but that doesn’t mean a thing. It doesn’t matter that Tom fires you up the right way, because it’s one-sided, and you’re with Haz.

Tom ignores your question about the night before and instead tips his bag of nuts towards you.

“Care for a nut?”

You snort as you pick out a cashew, crunching it softly as he watches. Tom’s deep brown eyes linger on your lower lip as you slowly lick the salt from it.

“Delicious,” you say, earning a loud cackle from your companion.

“Dirty girl,” he mutters, grinning wickedly.

“No, you just have your mind in the gutter. Not everything has to be an innuendo, Tom.”

“Wrong. Everything can be and is an innuendo if you try hard enough. You should know this by now, darling. You’ve spent enough time with me.”

“Maybe, but not all of us share your immature sense of humour, Tom.”

He gasps, eyebrows sliding up his forehead in mock shock. “Are you calling me a child?”

“Childish,” you clarify, smirking as he shoots daggers at you. “You’re such a boy.”

Tom sits back, blinking a few times in quick succession before clearing his throat. His eyes seem to darken as he leans in closer, bringing a hand up to rest on your shoulder. His fingers are warm as he pushes the hair from your face and gently tucks it behind your ear, leaning across the seat until he’s able to whisper gently.

“I am not a boy,” he coos, voice soft. “I’ve just never broken out the proper charm on you, darling.”

Your throat runs dry as his hot breath fans out across the side of your face, minty fresh.

“And what is this proper charm?”

Tom opens his mouth to speak, but it fades a moment later. He pulls back, appearing to lose his cool last minute as his cheeks flush.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he mutters instead. He shifts around in his seat, looking back at you for a split-second before glancing away. Tom’s reluctant to meet your eyes, and you watch, confused, as he chugs about half his bottle of water before pulling off his hoodie. He’s still flushed—face warmer and more alive than it’s been all morning.

Your brows furrow as you look at Tom’s shirt. “Hey, is that the one I borrowed the other week?” you ask, speaking before you have time to process the words.

Tom chuckles, regaining his charm as he throws his hoodie on top of his bag and turns to face you, a hand lodging in his hair. It’s longer than it’d been at the start of the semester, a few strands dangling over his forehead.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Smells of you.” Something crosses over Tom’s face, and he flashes you the tips of his pearly teeth as he smirks. “Smells of us, darling.”

Your reaction is immediate and uncontrollable. A hot flush, moving through your entire body, forming in your centre and rolling across your figure from the inside out. You hope that you can play it off by pulling your notebook into your lap. The back of your mouth is dry, but you manage a weak, quipping response of, “you should wash that,” before you spiral too far.

It’s in the small things. His comments. His lingering touches. His smirks. Tom drives you crazy.

The lecture starts, but you don’t pay it much attention. Instead, you stay huddled up in the back with Tom, killing time as he shows you a collection of photos from the night before. After flicking through the snapshots from a very blurry night, Tom moves on to a different folder in his phone, nimble fingers swiping across the screen and showing off some of his favourite memes. You end up almost crying from laughter, clutching to his arm as you bend over in your seat and try to pass by undetected by the notoriously strict professor. Tom’s hand soothes over your back, and you briefly wonder if you should dissolve into laughter more often just so he can bring you back down.

When the class finishes, Tom throws his arm across your shoulders and walks you across campus. It’s only when you’re halfway towards the car park that you realise where he’s taking you.

“Wait— I can walk back home.”

“Nah. It’s fine.”

“It’s out of the way, though.”

Tom squeezes your side. “‘S alright. You’re my best mate’s girl. ‘Least I can do.” He pauses, apparently oblivious to the sour expression you pull in response to those words. “Plus, you looked after me last night, so… I kinda owe you.”

Deciding to just accept it, you hum in agreement. “Okay. Thank you.”

“No problem, love.”

He’s very warm and his cologne smells like a forest breeze. You enjoy strolling across campus with him, especially when he kisses your temple as you separate at his car. It’s a battered old thing, and you’ve been in it a few times before. You’re fairly sure that Haz owns it too, but the way Tom settles into the driver’s seat and keys the ignition makes him look like the proper owner. Tom commands any space he inhabits with poise and elegance.

“You’re out near Sarah, aren’t you?” Tom asks as he jerkily reverses from his parking space.

“Yeah.”

“Nice area,” he comments, which makes you laugh. Tom glances at you, raising a brow. “What?”

“Small talk?”

“Mmm. Well, is there anything else you’d like to talk about, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart. Fuck, you can’t handle the way that sounds dripping from his lips.

“Nope.” You stretch your hands out in front of you, yawning. “Too hungover to think.”

“Fair enough.” Tom drums his fingers over the wheel, and you find yourself watching the lines of his slender digits. He has very pretty hands. “Good party though, eh?”

“Oh yeah. Crazy. Did you have fun?”

Tom releases a noise of reluctant agreement. “It was alright. Not the most successful night for me.” He risks a brief glance at you, chuckling. “Isn’t really the best look to get escorted to bed.” You aren’t sure if you should feel guilty for that, but Tom’s quick to add, “not that I don’t appreciate it. I do. I just shouldn’t have been so eager.”

“Why were you?” you ask. “It seemed like you were trying really hard to get drunk. Did something happen?”

Tom cackles, the sound so loud and quivering so precisely that it makes you jump. “God, if you only knew…”

“Eh?”

“Nothing. It was nothing.”

You’re intrigued now. “What?” you press, reaching across the console to pat his thigh. You’re over halfway back to yours now, and like a bloodhound, you want to know answers. “Was it a girl? I’ve not seen you with anyone since… Well, ever.” You furrow your brows. “Did someone reject you?”

Tom’s face clouds over immediately, and you shift uncomfortably in your seat as you watch his jaw set into a hard line.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he snaps, his easy demeanour gone.

“Woah,” you mutter. “Sorry.”

Tom cards a frustrated hand through his hair, his eyes glinting dark. “Not that it’s any of your business, but no. I was not rejected.” The way his voice quivers makes it sound like a lie.

You pull a face as you cross your arms over your chest, your hangover exacerbating your rapidly falling mood.

“Aren’t we friends?” you ask.

He sucks in a fast breath. “Yep,” he replies, speaking through tight lips.

Something has changed. It’s as if you’ve crossed an invisible boundary that you hadn’t seen, tripped a trick wire only visible to him. The air between you is thick, and Tom doesn’t say another word until he’s turned down your street and pulled into a space outside your house.

“Well… Thanks, I guess,” you mutter. You reach into the footwell and pull up your bag, your eyebrows furrowed as you turn back to face him. For a few moments you bounce between jumping out of the car or staying, but you hate leaving things tense like this. Not with him. “Are we… good?”

Tom turns off the engine. For a moment he stares at his hands on the steering wheel, but then he brings his gaze up to you. His eyes are sad and raw, and it makes your heart hurt.

“We’re fine, Y/N,” he says, voice softer. “Sorry. It’s the, uh… The hangover. Makin’ me act like a twat. I’m sorry.”

You release a sigh of relief. “It’s okay, Tom.” A light chuckle slips by your lips. “I was worried I pissed you off for a moment there.”

Tom’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You? Never, darling.” He drums his hands over his thighs, and you remember the circumstances.

“Oh, sorry. I’ll get out of your hair,” you say. You hasten to undo your seatbelt and reach towards the car door, only to pause when Tom reaches out suddenly to touch your arm. “Yeah?”

“I, uh…” Tom’s close, leaning over the console. Your eyes drift over the freckles of his face, and you get distracted by how warm his brown orbs are, like glinting pools of honey. “I really am sorry,” he adds. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

You tilt your head to the side. “It’s fine.” You glance down to where he’s softly caressing your arm, his eyes fixed firmly on your skin. His hand feels nice. Soothing. He soothes you. He always does. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Tom nods. “Yeah. I’m great.”

You don’t quite believe him, but you’re willing to accept that the hangover has knocked him.

“Well, thank you,” you say. You turn back to face him. “For the lift. And the nuts.”

Tom finally smiles again, and the sight makes your heart soar. “No worries, babe,” he says. He winks. “Any time.”

You lean over the console and kiss his cheek, your mouth hitting a spot of skin closer to his lips than the side of his face. If Tom notices how flustered it makes you, he doesn’t say a thing. You’re still shaking as you pull your bag over your back and hobble from the car, shouting back a tight, “bye!”

Tom raises his hand through the open window and winks again as he pulls away from the curb, leaving your body throbbing persistently and your heart more confused than it’s ever been.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Two weeks pass. You don’t see Harrison much, but Tom continues to come to class. Life goes on, nothing unchanged, and finals come and go with ease. Before you know it, it’s the final mixer of the semester.

Harrison’s going to miss it. He tells you as much when you turn up at the frat two hours before kickoff to find him stuffing shirts into a bag. He looks guilty as you walk into his room, question written all over your face.

“You remember Rory, yeah? From UPenn? He invited me to their party. Apparently, they’ve got Travis Scott. It’s gonna be lit, so… I’m going.”

“Overnight?” you ask, looking at his heavy bag. Harrison nods, running a hand through his hair.

“Yeah. Sorry… I probably should’ve told you.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah.” You glance down at your hands and swallow the irritation that festers in your chest. Harrison has never been great at communication. Throughout the duration of your arrangement—whether you’re just dating, or just hooking up—he’s kept his cards close to his chest. He confuses you.

When you’d first spent the night with him, Harrison had acted like he’d wanted something more with you. You’d been on a few dates, he’d brought your flowers, the works. But with time, it’s as if he’s tired of you. The spark has slipped away, and if he wasn’t on his way across state, you’d sit him down and have a discussion about the direction of your entanglement. But he is, and you have no time, so you display your irritation by crossing your arms.

“I’m sorry,” he adds. He finishes zipping up his bag and throws it over his shoulders before stepping towards you. With warm hands, he cups your cheeks and brings you in for a deep, passionate kiss. “You can always come if you want.”

You grimace as you shake your head. “I told Tom I’d help him here,” you say. “It’s fine. Just… Have fun, alright?”

A shadow of jealousy briefly flitters across Harrison’s face, but it’s quick to smooth away when he clears his throat. “‘Course,” he says. He takes your hand and leads you from his room. “What are you guys doing?”

“Hm?”

“Tom. What are you doing with him?”

“Oh. Just hanging up banners, and stuff. He wanted me to help him with the drinks too.”

“Nice.”

The air between you is stale, and you’re glad when Harrison pulls you down the corridor and pauses outside Tom’s room. There’s loud music coming from the room, so Harrison has to rap loudly several times, an act that makes you cringe.

“Come in!” yells Tom. Harrison does just that, pulling you in after him with a firm grip. “Oh, hey guys?”

You instantly wrench your hand from Harrison’s, not wanting him to feel your palm grow hot as your eyes fall onto Tom. You’ve caught him mid-workout, perched on the edge of his bed, shirtless and doing curls with a hand weight. There’s a healthy red flush to his face, and his bicep bulges as he flexes with the weight. All across his chest are lines of thick muscle, and you find yourself staring.

“Hey, dude,” Harrison says. “I’m just on my way out.” He turns to look at you, an easy smile on his face. “Y/N told me you guys have plans tonight, so… I guess, I’m just wondering. Can you keep an eye on her? Look after my girl, y’know?” He pauses to chew on his lip, guilt at leaving reflected in his eyes. “Make sure she’s okay, ‘n all that.”

Tom stands from the bed, tossing the weight onto the mattress with ease before approaching you, smirking. “‘Course, Haz.” He wraps a very hot, slightly sweaty arm around you and pulls you into his side. “I’ll take care of her.” Tom glances at you, shrugging softly. “Take care of you,” he adds.

You don’t know what kind of dangers you might face tonight that warrant a personal guard, but you don’t think you mind it if your attendant is Tom. He’s hot and sweaty and he smells of man, but you burn for him.

“Thanks,” you respond, slightly breathless.

Harrison looks between you both, then shrugs. “Great.” He steps forward and briefly touches his lips to you. Tom freezes, holding you tighter in his arms the moment Harrison kisses you, and that action makes you feel perplexed. “Have a good time, guys.”

“You too, Haz,” Tom responds. You echo similar sentiments.

When the door closes behind Harrison, Tom doesn’t move. He simply holds you tighter, then drops his mouth down and presses a light kiss to the base of your neck. Your choked whimper travels into the air, and you flush as he steps away.

“We will have fun tonight, won’t we, Y/N?” he teases. His eyes are dark as they briefly skitter across your figure. After a moment, Tom walks across the room and picks up a towel and a fresh set of clothes. Tom pauses in front of you, tilting his head as he looks at you. He has to know how frazzled he makes you feel. He’s got to.

“Yeah,” you reply, voice high. “A lot of fun.”

“Mmm. Hope so.” Tom steps forward and cups your cheek in his hot palm, kissing your forehead before stepping back. “I’m going to shower. Make yourself comfortable, yeah? What’s mine is yours.”

A full-body shiver travels down your spine, but luckily it isn’t until he’s turned on his heel and strode over to the door.

“Have fun,” you call out. Tom turns back to wink, then disappears in a flash.

As the door closes behind him, you wonder if you really lost your spark for Harrison, or if the feelings you had for him just paled in comparison to the ones you harbour for his best friend.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The party picks up quickly. You split off from Tom a few hours in, being pulled away by one of your friends and staying with them for a while. You start to miss him, though, so you excuse yourself from a game of beer pong out on the patio and walk back into the large frat house, cringing slightly as you hear the loud music. You haven’t been drinking much tonight. Something tells you that you’ll need your sober brain.

It takes you a while to find Tom, the house busy and wild. He’s not in the kitchen, nor the hallway. Your adventures take you to the large living room, where they have the music and the drinks set up. As you wander inside, your eyes take a moment to acclimate to the dim lighting. When they settle, you see him, and the breath leaves your lungs.

Tom is standing in the middle of the dancefloor, talking with a girl. She’s draped in his arms, the tips of her fingers running through his hair as she chats to him. Tom is looking at her intently, paying rapt attention to what she’s saying, but the smile on his face doesn’t quite stretch to his eyes. When he spots you, his brows briefly raise, only for them to lower again as he smirks. He winks at you, then reaches for the girl, bringing her in closer and dropping his mouth so he can start to kiss her neck.

Jealousy consumes you. It burns through every other rational thought that you have. The sight of the girl wrapping herself around him as Tom kisses up her neck makes your fingers curl into fists at your sides, and you start to walk across the room before you can comprehend it. Tom sees you, continuing to make flirtatious eye contact with you as he deposits light, wet kisses to the girl’s shoulder. It feels targeted and provocative, and whatever game that he’s playing seems to work.

“Tom!” you call out when you’re just a few centimetres away. He leisurely pulls away from the girl, dark eyes twinkling mischievously as he looks up at you.

“Yes, Y/N?”

You grimace. Now you’re over here, on the receiving end of stares from Tom and his companion, you wonder why you’d responded so immediately and directly.

“You need to come with me. We have, uh… Things to do.”

Tom raises an eyebrow, stepping away from the girl as he crosses his biceps over his chest. He’s wearing his golden chain, the one that always drives you mad, and he looks so fucking handsome under the UV lights.

“And what would those things be, Y/N?” he asks. The girl at his side is looking between you both.

“You know,” you hiss.

The girl frowns, then huffs out a sigh and pushes at Tom’s arm. “Can we go upstairs?” she asks him. Tom glances at her, chewing his lower lip as he finds himself on the receiving end of her fluttering lashes.

“No, Jess,” he says, evening out the rejection with a soft smile. “I’m sorry. Have a good evening.” Before she can respond, Tom reaches out and takes your hand, pulling you with ease towards one of the corners of the room. You squeal as he tugs you, easily falling into his side and enjoying the press of his warm arm to yours. He drops his voice, pausing only when you’re on the edge of the dancefloor to spin you and press his hands to your waist. “Are you alright, darling?” he asks, smirking. “Looks to me like someone was a little jealous.”

Your body heats up, and you find yourself nibbling at your lower lip as you try to make sense of the situation. “Nope,” you lie. With ease, you reach up and rest your hands on Tom’s broad shoulders. “I was just… Thinking about the night we met. You said we could dance then, but we never did.” You tilt your head to the side, throwing out a convincing smile. “Do you want to change that?”

Tom growls, tugging you closer as he wraps his arms around you. The tips of his teeth brush up against the shell of your ear and you whimper as his hot breath fans out over the side of your face. “Fuck yeah, babe,” he murmurs.

You settle into it easily. Tom ends up pulling you so your back rests flush against his front, his arms skating around to hold your waist as you grind back against him. It’s close and hot, and it doesn’t take long for him to put his lips back where they belong—on your neck, kissing deeply. Everything that he does feels calculated and purposeful, but it’s only when he brings his kisses near your ear and whispers a low, “you’re so fucking hot, baby,” that you come back to earth.

“We… Shouldn’t,” you whimper. Tom kisses your lobe in response. “Harrison.”

“What about him?” he mutters. His voice is raspy and seductive, and the way he strokes his hands over your sides makes your eyes roll back. “He doesn’t care about you like I do, Y/N. You know he doesn’t.”

You close your eyes, focusing on the way Tom sucks deep bruises to the sensitive spot on your neck. Harrison had never been able to find it, had never even tried.

“He cares about me,” you say, voice hoarse.

“Yeah. But not enough.” Tom spins you in his arms, reaching up to cup your cheek in a hand. He peers at you, eyes wide and insistent. “He lies to you. Did he ever tell you about the night that you met?”

You quirk a brow. “No.”

A shadow of hesitation passes over Tom’s face, but he swallows it down. “He only came up to you as part of a… a fucking bet. That’s the only reason I didn’t come back to you that night.” He strokes his fingers over your cheekbone, soothing you when you frown. “You’re the prettiest fucking woman I’ve ever met in my life, and it’s been killing me to see you both together.”

You press your forehead to his, feeling his breath come out in hot pants over your face. “Do you like me, Tom?”

He chuckles. “You have no idea how much, babe.” Tom shifts his hands back to your hair and he cradles your face. “I’d be so good to you. I swear.” He’s speaking earnestly, his voice breaking softly as he looks at you. “I love Haz. He’s my best mate. But we all know that you’re not a good fit. He left you here tonight. He doesn’t satisfy you.” Tom drops his voice, tilting his head to the side as his voice drops lower. He brings his lips closer, kissing the side of your mouth as you shiver. “I could satisfy you properly.”

You release a breath you hadn’t realised you’d been holding. For a moment you stare at Tom, eyes swirling down to his lips, then, as if entranced, you reach down and pull your phone from your bra. Using one hand on the screen, you reach up to cup Tom’s face with the other, smiling softly when he instinctively tilts his lips and kisses the palm of your hand. You write out a short message, the guilt in your heart fading when you briefly check Harrison’s Instagram story and see him surrounded by a sea of girls at the party he hadn’t invited you to.

After sending the message, you tilt the screen towards Tom’s face, watching his skin glow white as he slowly reads the few words.

You: Haz, I’m sorry to do this over text, but it’s over. I think we both know that we’re better as friends.

Tom’s brows raise. “Did you..?”

“Yeah.” You bite your lip and slowly tuck your phone back against your chest. “It’s over.”

Tom kisses you immediately, both of his hands anchoring your cheeks. You could almost cry with how good it feels to have his mouth touching yours again. He parts his lips and slips his tongue into your mouth, and you moan as you wrap your arms around his neck. As he holds you tightly, his hands slip down to hold your waist, and though your teeth and noses collide and clash, you don’t care. It’s beautifully imperfect, and it’s so hot that it makes your whole body throb. Tom’s curls give you the perfect leverage to jerk him closer, and as you make out mercilessly on the edge of the dance floor, you feel a piece of you slot into place.

“Come upstairs with me,” he groans, voice thick as he speaks against your lips. Your mouth is wet with spit, but you don’t bother to wipe it clean when you pull back. Tom’s eyes glint with hunger, and he grabs at your hand when you nod.

The journey upstairs is fast and easy, full of your giggles as he runs his thumb over the back of your hand. The moment you’re in his room, Tom pushes you back against the door and flicks the lock, attaching his lips to your neck with ease.

“Tom,” you whine, running your hands all over his back as he sucks harshly against your skin.  

His hands skim lower and you curve your spine away from the door so he can grab handfuls of your ass, your moan mixing with his grunt when he pulls away from your neck to kiss your lips again. It’s as if he’s ravenous—unable to pick between your lips and your neck, your hips and your ass. Tom changes his position every few seconds, and the irregularity fills you with excitement.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he groans. Tom pulls back breathlessly, looking straight into your eyes. “Can I… Are you okay with this?” he clarifies, holding your gaze firmly until you nod.

“I’m more than okay with this,” you say.

“Good, good... Pretty baby.” Tom runs his index finger down your face, his knees bending as he slowly sinks down in front of you. He scatters two light kisses to each of your breasts before travelling down your navel, only stopping when he’s fully on his knees, gazing up at you from beneath his lashes. “Darling?”

“Hmm?” You’re light-headed but aroused, your dress feeling tight as you shuffle against the door.

“Can I taste your pussy, baby?”

Your breath catches in the back of your throat, and the first time you try to speak, only a moan comes out. Tom smirks, fingers easily pushing up the hem of your dress. As his fingertips stroke up your thighs to rest on your waistband, he pauses, tilting his head to the side in question. “Yeah,” you manage, voice a whisper. “I want that so badly.”

“Mmm, should’ve just said, darling.” Tom’s head dips, disappearing between your legs. You whimper as he rubs the front of two fingers down the front of your panties, the material wet and warm. “God…” He unhooks them easily and tugs them down your legs, pausing to allow you to kick them off. When he repositions, he holds your thighs further apart and presses a kiss to your soft flesh. “You’re fucking soaked, lovie.” His hot breath fans across your centre. “Pretty cunt’s just waiting for me, isn’t it?”

His cockiness turns you on, and you’ve barely gotten out a garbled moan before he’s delving in. Tom’s skilful tongue runs up your slit, light at first, gradually leading you into it. You cry out as he finds your clit, sucking softly around the bud before lapping his tip across it gently. You have to reach out and grab ahold of the nearby bookshelf as arcs of pleasure spread out from your centre, small whimpers and moans being pulled from your mouth as Tom continues his assault.

“Tastes like paradise,” he whines, speaking against your cunt. “So sweet, baby. I understand why Haz likes being with you so much.” Tom pauses, drawing a few more strokes across your clit as you whimper. “Mine now,” he murmurs, deep voice vibrating across your centre. “My pussy.”

“Tom,” you moan, legs shaking. He responds by bringing his right hand up, slowly curving two of his digits into your heat. As he starts to thrust his fingers, the sounds of your wet arousal fill the air, making you moan louder. “Feels so good,” you encourage, realising he works harder when you speak to him. The top of his curls brushes against your legs as his tongue continues to glide over your clit, merciless and pleasurable.

“You sound so pretty, love,” Tom says, pulling away slightly. The vibrations from the noise make you moan louder, and you glance down to see him staring at you, eyes blown wide with lust and his chin covered in your juices. He looks back between your legs, readjusting his fingers and curving them at different angles before he strikes gold. When you call out his name, his other hand goes up to your hips, holding you back against the door as he smirks. “I want you to cum for me, darling,” he coos. “Let me make you feel good. I want to hear those pretty little moans. Be loud for me.”

You don’t take much convincing, as once Tom’s got his mouth back on your clit, you’re arching your back as you fall over the edge. He laps your bud with his hot, firm tongue, his fingers continuing to stroke at your walls until you spasm into climax, reaching out to grab his hair as you moan and writhe against the door. He holds you up, even when you feel like falling, and it has to be the most intensely pleasurable orgasm that you’ve ever experienced in your life.

“Fuck,” you pant, only able to calm down when Tom pulls back. He sits on his shins, smacking his lips as he looks up at you, smirking. You’ve still got a hand on his head, so you fiddle with his hair as you recover. “That was so good.” A breathless smile finds your face. “So good. Thank you.”

“No problem, darling.” Tom clambers to his feet, and your eyes find themselves drawn to the bulge in his jeans. “Knew I could make you cum,” he says, speaking almost to himself. “Looked like an angel. Taste like one too.”

You swallow a moan and step forward, hands twisting behind your back to release your zipper. Tom’s eyes widen as you push down your dress, stepping out of it with ease.

“We’re not done yet, are we?” you ask, biting your lip as you look over to the bed. Tom shakes his head and offers you a hand after you’ve pulled your phone from your bra and placed it down on his desk.

“No way,” he agrees. Tom pushes you down onto the mattress but stays standing at the edge, nimble hands quickly releasing his belt and pulling off his jeans, then his shirt. You admire his Calvin Klein boxers, black with a white band skimming across the top, and he wiggles his eyebrows. “Fuck,” he adds. His eyes skim your figure, appreciation held in his gaze. “I can’t believe I’ve got you here.” He gets on the bed, pushing you down and climbing on top of you as he kisses his way up to your mouth. When he’s hovering above your face, he cups your cheeks. “Most beautiful girl in the whole world, love. Girl of my dreams.”

You kiss him, your hands finally able to learn the curves of his muscular back. Tom grinds down into you, his covered crotch meeting your bare pussy, and the friction to your clit makes you moan into the kiss. As you admire his form, you settle into his lips, your heart beating faster and more persistently against your ribcage.

“Tom,” you say, speaking against his mouth. He pulls back, lips red and puffy. “You’re so handsome. Have I ever told you that?”

Tom bites his lip, continuing to roll his hips down against yours. When you start to grind up to meet him, an expression of enjoyment darkens his face. “Thanks, love.”

You lick your lips as you wrap your arms around him, holding him closer as he continues to grind into you. “Every time I’d see you out doing weights or walking around shirtless, it’d turn me on,” you admit. You snake a hand between your bodies, managing to press your palm up and against the outline of his cock. Tom groans loudly, dropping his head into the crook of your neck and whining as he ruts against the pressure. “I want to feel you,” you whimper. “Properly. I want to feel how good it is to have you inside me... I can feel you. I know you’re big.” You bite your lip. “I’ve thought about it for weeks.”

Tom forces his face away from your neck and meets your eyes, his pupils completely dilated. “You are going to be the death of me, lovie,” he says seriously, drawing a chuckle from your lips. Tom leans up and kisses you, softer, but only for a moment. He reaches across his bed and rummages through his bedside table, procuring a condom a second later.

“Let me do it,” you offer. Tom nods, and you swap positions with ease. Tom settles on the mattress, raising his hips and watching as you tug his boxers down his legs. You feel yourself salivate slightly as you take sight of his cock, erect and flushed, pressing up against his lower stomach. Holding the open condom in one hand, you run your thumb over his tip with the other, gathering beads of his silver precum on your fingertip. You meet Tom’s eyes and sit back on his thighs as you push your finger into your mouth, exaggerating your moan as you lick it clean.

Tom tosses his head back, his hair fluffing up against the pillows. His cock twitches against his stomach. “Fuck, baby… You’re driving me crazy.” When you reach back and roll the condom over his length, he can barely keep still, rutting up and filling your hand the moment you’re done. “You know… every time you stayed the night with Haz, I could hear you guys,” he says, looking at you through hooded eyes. You give him a few pumps, biting your lip as you admire his member and try to imagine how good it’ll feel filling you to the brim. “Used to get off listening to your moans. Imagining it was me fucking you. Thinking… Thinking about how good it’d be to- fuck- to open you up on my cock.”

His words make you feel hot, and you speed up the rhythm of your hand as you watch his face flush with heat. “I know,” you admit. “I could hear you sometimes.” You lean up and press a kiss to his chest, feeling his hot skin between your lips. “You make the hottest noises, Tom.”

“For you,” he groans, jaw tensing. “It’s all for you.” He continues to rut into your hand, and you smirk as you feel him throb. As Tom grows more erratic, you feel your slick between your legs thicken and your core begin to throb.

“Can I ride you?” you ask.

Tom immediately bounces his head, eyes lighting up like you’ve spoken the only thing he’s ever wanted to hear. “Yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes—”

You bend over to kiss him, sliding up his body with ease. Tom reaches up your back, eager hands falling to a stop at your bra. He manages to unclasp it after a few attempts, grinning victoriously against your lips as it falls slack. Once you’ve thrown it aside, you sit back, watching as Tom’s hand goes down to guide his cock through your slit. One of his hands rests on your hip, palm hot and heavy, and he gives you a short squeeze as he presses his tip against your entrance.

Slowly, you sink down onto him, moaning loudly as his girth stretches your cunt. Your eyes squeeze shut as you adjust, breath hitching when Tom adds his thumb to your clit, the pleasure easing the stretch. When you’re completely seated, you find yourself shifting, Tom groaning when you clench and slowly start to ride him.

“Oh my god,” he moans. “Feels like heaven, darling. Actual heaven.” His jaw is tense as he tosses his head back, prying open an eye to watch as you bounce over him, moving faster as you find your rhythm. “So wet, sweetheart. So tight… So much better than I’d ever imagined.” He’s looking at you with pleasure screwed across his face, and the sight of him so desperate makes you feel powerful.

“Tom,” you whimper. “I can feel you so deep.” You’re starting to unravel, feeling him everywhere. With the thumb still rolling over your clit, his hand weighing down your hip, and the tip of his cock brushing deeper each time you come together, you can feel yourself on the verge already. “Can you… I can’t…”

“Y’wanna flip?”

“Yeah. Please.”

It happens easily, without Tom falling from you. A moment later, you’re resting over the warm mattress, wrapping your legs around Tom’s back and pulling him closer as he rails you into the bed. He’s faster than you’d been, and the new angle opens you up deeper, allowing his tip to press more pronouncedly against your g-spot. His chain dangles against your neck, the cool metal scorching against your flushed skin.

“Oh god,” Tom groans. The sounds of your bodies meeting as he roughly thrusts into you, again and again, fill the air. “You’re so perfect. Feels so good.” His eyes are dark as they meet with yours, swirling with unrestrained lust. “So wet, lovie. D’you like it when I fuck you? Yeah? Pussy’s squeezing me so tight. My pussy, isn’t it? You’re mine.”

“Yours,” you agree, liking how it sounds.

Tom grunts and drills into you faster. With each rotation of his hips against yours, his thick head reaches further, dragging across your g-spot with ease and causing sparks to race up your spine. His name falls from your lips like a prayer, and you clutch at his torso for purchase as you scramble to stay grounded. When you add a hand to your clit, you feel your cunt clench, squeezing his length and making him groan again.

‘I’m not gonna last, love. Shit. Feels too fucking good,” he whimpers.

You bring his lips back to yours, meeting them clumsily as you moan. Your skin is hot and sweaty, being smothered by the heat of his body bearing down on you. You wind your free hand into his hair. “It’s okay,” you get out, voice catching. “I’m so close, Tom. Fuck. Make me cum. Please.”

You ride the edge for a few moments more before Tom cries out, calling your name in a voice so exerted and broken that it pushes you over the edge too. As his cock pulses against your walls and his groans fall like music to your ears, you let everything go, basking in the pleasure that crashes over your figure in thick, consuming waves. Tom’s hands are slick as they grasp at your sides, but he’s holding you tightly in place and you like it.

When the air finally clears, Tom pulls out, collapsing onto the mattress beside you with a loud groan. You flip onto your side, quivering as your core pangs with pleasurable aftershocks, your tired eyes drifting up to meet his. He reaches out, sweaty palm drifting to your face as he cups your cheek and smiles at you.

“Well,” he starts, voice low. He pulls you closer, and you carefully curl yourself into his arms. Tom nuzzles his lips against your forehead and leaves three light kisses to your skin. “That was a heavenly experience.”

You snort, burying your face in his chest and feeling the cool metal of his chain press to your skin. “Heavenly?”

“Mhmm. Because you’re an angel. My angel.”

You smile into his front. “What a charmer,” you say.

Tom combs some fingers over your hair and softly coaxes you away from his chest. Both of you share a pillow, his deep brown eyes feel of inquisition as he looks at you.

“Darling,” he mumbles, speaking slowly, almost nervous. “I like you a lot. And… And I know the circumstances are messy and complicated, but… I don’t want this to be a one-time thing. I want this to be an every time thing. I want you to be my girl.”

“Your girl?”

“Yeah. My girlfriend.” Tom’s handsome eyes flutter over your face. “What do you say?”

You trace your index finger around the sculpted lines of his face, smiling softly as his lips pull into a grin. You think about how your life has changed since the first night you met him, and how your heart has slowly learnt to gravitate towards him. Tom’s right—it is messy, and maybe your union is complicated and a little wrong too, but it feels good. Him kissing your forehead and pulling you closer feels good. He feels good.

“Yeah,” you agree, speaking slowly. “I would really like that.”

Tom’s face splits into a smile, and he pushes in to kiss you. “Good,” he murmurs. “‘Cos I’m gonna woo you every single day of your life. I’ll bring you tea every morning, tuck you in at night. Make you moan louder than you’ve ever moaned in your life—”

“Alright, alright. You’ve already won me over, Tom, you can calm down—”

“Nope.” Tom’s grinning widely as he continues to peck your lips, unable to keep his hands off you. “I’ll keep charming you until I’ve won your heart, babe. This is just how it’s got to be.”

You kiss him, not knowing how to tell him that he’s already had your heart, firmly in the palm of his hand, since the very first night you met.

“Well,” you respond, voice quiet in the air. “I quite like the sound of that.”

Tom nuzzles his nose against you, lips brushing yours. “Yeah?”

You hum affirmatively and reach up to bury your hands back into his hair. “Yeah.”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ 

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ 

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

:D let me know what you think please !!! I would love to know if you have a favourite scene...?! I am torn between y/n putting tom to bed + the lecture theatre...lmk (if you want !!)

mlist + taglist are through the link in my bio <3 

thank you for reading!! <3<3

[thefanficmonster]

Falling Faceless

@itsminniekat

Corpse Husband x Reader (female) 

Warnings: None

Genre: Fluff

Summary: Some crushes don’t need anything visual to exist. Appearance is irrelevant when you know the true beauty of a soul and mind. Or basically, Reader and Corpse could not care less what the other looks like.

Requested: No

Y/N and Corpse have been friends ever since they began playing Among Us together. They were the ultimate power duo when imposters together, and each other’s angel guardians when both were crewmates. They had a silent pact to not kill the other if they were imposter and the other wasn’t. They promised not to snitch on each other. They had built a pretty steady system of a friendship.

But, as the whole lobby assumed, that friendship would only last a ‘just friendship’ for so long. The sarcastic comments progressively grew more flirtatious. Corpse got a lot more comfortable playing with people in the meantime, but it was obvious that he was a bit more tense whenever Y/N wasn’t there, which rarely happened. On Y/N’s part, the change was also apparent. She used to have to be begged to play Among Us. She didn’t understand the hype of the game, seeing as how the concept was old and just remade and redesigned. Now, after meeting Corpse, she began being the first in the lobby, often initiating the game herself, almost forgetting to invite anyone but Corpse in the process.

The Peanut Gallery, aka the rest of the players just stood aside and listened to the romantic comedy unfold in front of them. They had a title for it too: “Falling Faceless”. The term was formed after a lot of discussion in a discord call which Y/N and Corpse were not invited to.

Explanation: Falling Faceless - Falling in love with someone whose face you’ve never seen, therefore they’re faceless to you.

That’s one of the things her and Corpse had in common. They were both faceless to their audience. Y/N was a gamer and also helped out Jaiden, James and Adam with their animations every now and then. She covered songs and made remixes of existing tunes - all things she never had to reveal her face for.

Corpse was attracted almost immediately - like a moth to light. The faceless rep, the cool song remixes, sweet and kind personality, intelligence, positivity...he could go on. He never denied his feelings in front of himself but he was prepared to deny it to his grave in front of anyone else.

Y/N was different. Her attraction grew gradually. From the tiny details he remembered about her and brought up, to the jokes that never failed to make her laugh, she was just so whipped by him without even noticing. When the realization began to creep in, she was low-key terrified. She actually avoided playing Among Us for two full days just because she thought it would make her emotions cool down.

While he was ready to embrace his feelings, she was doing everything she could to push them away.

She threw herself into work, surprising her animators by finishing her animation parts far before the deadlines. Dropping a few covers a week and playing Among Us as little as she could without drawing any suspicion.

One day, in the middle of editing the footage of her playthrough of the game Neversong, her phone started blowing up with notifications. She had a strict ‘no texting while working’ rule, so she ignored it, turning the device on its screen and pushing it further than an arm’s reach away in case she got tempted.

She was doing a fairly good job blocking out the hurricane of notifications when her ringtone sliced through the bubble of focus she had built around herself. She straightened and reached for her phone, promising herself she wouldn’t take longer than necessary. 

That promise was thrown out the window the second she read the called ID. Corpse, written down as Lil Corpsy in her contacts, was calling.

“Have you watched the video yet?” he asked without even greeting her

Baffled, it took her about three seconds to reply, “What video?”

“So you haven’t.” He sighed, “My face reveal. Go watch it.”

The line went dead before she could even completely comprehend what he had said. Work all but forgotten, her finger tips hovered above the screen, hesitant about tapping the YouTube icon.

This isn’t right, Y/N. She told herself.

“Hey?” He picked up her call-back before the first ring was even over.   

“I still haven’t watched the video. But that can wait.“ She fussed, now up from her chair, pacing around her office. “I’m calling to tell you the most terrifying thing that has happened to me. I made a friend. He’s great. The most amazing human being ever. We make a great team. I love him. It took me a while to realize that I love love him. And it’s scary, cause it feels like I’m walking on thin ice of losing him if he finds out. Well, now he’s letting me on to what he looks like, I might as well let him on what my mess of a brain looks like. And now that I’ve done that, I also wanna mention that I’ve changed my mind. I’m not gonna watch the video. It will change nothing but his view count. I will still like him the same. So why bother watching him talk to a camera when I can listen to him talking to me, right?“ She breathed heavily and shakily, sinking to the floor despite having her chair to sit in. She was distressed and felt like the equivalent of a deflated balloon. But compared to the feeling of a balloon ready to explode, she was feeling great. “That was probably too fast to understand, but I’m not repeating it.”

The chuckle that reached her made her even more flustered, “There is no video, Y/N. I just needed you to go to my channel. But, I too have changed my mind.”

He hung up a second time, leaving her with mixed emotions. The uncertainty of weather she was just rejected or her feelings were being humored was killing her, bringing her to a brink of tearing up. Just as the first tear slid down her cheek, her phone rang. However, this time, the ringtone was different. It was a Facetime. From him.

Without realizing that this wasn’t going to be only his face reveal, but hers too, she picked up.

Suddenly, they were no longer falling faceless. They were just falling. Falling in each other’s eyes. Falling in love. Not all over again, but deeper. Deeper into the emotions that left them with no sleep. The emotions they both dealt so differently with.

“You were wrong, this will change something.” He spoke, “The girl in my dreams, the one I’ve been in love with since day one, is now not only a voice in my head. She’s real.”

“You’re real, too.” She chuckled, looking at the face she never thought she’d see. “This is real, isn’t it?”

“It’s always been real, Y/N. We just now have faces.” He laughed.

For the first time she not only heard, but saw the laugh, finding it as adorable as day one. 

[ghostofbambifanfiction]

Part 1 of ?????

Started writing this fic a while ago and then lost faith in it. Should I continue? Feel bad for not posting much lately so I thought I'd share this. Read on and weigh in.

COME OUT TONIGHT

NO

You don't have to fucking shout?

Said the pot to the kettle?

Oh you grandmother The caps were an accidental by-product of voice-to-text Blame Siri if you're going to blame anyone

You have a Samsung Galaxy S20.

HAD. It got smashed. Worst luck. Listen, come out with me tonight.

Urghhhhhhhhhhhhhh I'm tired!

https://www.boots.com/wellness/vitaminsandsupplements/vitamins-supplements-shop-by-ingredient/echinacea

Hah (indifferent)

Just come out with me! Isaac has to go see some godawful student performance of the Antigone in wherever the fuck Chichester is and it's Sirius's flatmate's birthday party so I have to go and I don't know any of his weird mates

You don't HAVE to go.

Have to/want to Semantics

I'm not in a birthday party mood. I'm having a stressful week. My arse has been tense since Tuesday.

I will wade into the deep and massage your arse if I have to, just come It's a swank pad in Belgravia! I bet they'll have all sorts of expensive nibbles!

I read that as expensive nipples.

Those too!

Partying it up with the children of wealthy Tories. Sounds super fun.

Just come out with me, for fuck I'll pick you up at 7 and we can steal their silverware if it's boring as the grave

URGH I'll go but I'm NOT dressing up!

You don't have to dress up!

FINE!

*

take the drawings down please i'm begging you i'm actually begging you

Nah mate

siriusssssssss pleeeeeease

Nah

PLEASE

Nah

PLEASE ffs it's MY birthday!!!! there are going to be PEOPLE there! standing around! AT EYE LEVEL

I don't see what the problem is.

EVERYONE will see what the problem is! they literally will not be able to IGNORE what the problem is!

Sounds like a recipe for lively discussion to me tbh

that is NOT what i want people talking about at my birthday!

If I take them down, I'll have to take all the nails out and that'll leave nail marks all over the walls. It would be unsightly.

MORE UNSIGHTLY THAN YOUR DICK, SIRIUS?

My dick is bewitching.

DIE

*

She walks in expecting to find herself the infiltrator of a Made in Chelsea/Royal Ascot/Henley Regatta netherworld, filled with a gaggle of giggling, SW-postcode socialites wielding suspiciously powder-edged Harrods Amex cards in the place of horses and boats, but that's not what actually greets her on the other side of the lacquered front door.

What greets her is really quite ordinary.

Aside from the naked drawings of Kingsley's mate, which aren't.

Otherwise, the whole affair is pretty relaxed. People her age are clustered in their small groups, swigging beers. There's a table of oven-heated party foods, salty snacks and rapidly depleting ramekins of guac. She spies more band shirts than there are dress shirts. There's a round of Fortnite in full swing on the TV.

It's all just...startlingly normal. A normal birthday party.

And that's sort of embarrassing, really.

Where are all the visible Tory toffs, she wonders? Where is the braying laughter? The Eton alumni reunion? The glimpse of hunting-happy tweed and shotgun barrels as a coat cupboard door swings shut? Where's the indelible air of sneering superiority, of "we're richer and more privileged and better than you, so fuck the NHS and death to foxes!" that she'd been expecting? There's a fucking Henry Hoover in the corner of the hall, for Christ's sake. Lily came here to smile through her teeth at them all, to listen to the champagne problems privilege that bubbled from their lips and tell herself that she was the one who knew better, who thought better. Her plain white tee and skinny jeans and scuff-toed, high-top trainers were supposed to be a statement, a subtle setting-apart, but she's not even the most underdressed person in the room.

She pre-judged a house full of people. What's that about?

There's a lesson to be found in this. Perhaps.

*

James covered all of the dicks in Paw Patrol stickers that he bought from the newsagent on his way home from his mum's, but Sirius peeled them all off while he was taking a soothing lavender bath, so what's the bloody point in birthdays anyway?

It's early in the evening, and he's wedged—against his will—between the dining room bar and Shane Ruttle, who has just pointed at one of the many lamentable dicks and asked, "Is this one of yours?" which James kind of wants to thump him for. It's bad enough that he looks like a madman who stuffed his house with naked drawings of his brother, now people are actually assuming that he drew the damn things, even though most of the compositions are appallingly far beneath his skill level. He's a professional illustrator, for the love of god, and Shane is really standing before him like the posturing prick he is, asking him if he's the one who drew Sirius with one arm disproportionately longer than the other.

He knows that he should cheer up.

It is his birthday. There is cake.

Good cake, too, not the kind that gets buried in too-thick fondant that he has to pick off before he can eat what's underneath.

The problem is, there's also a party, and his friends are his friends, Peter and Sirius included, and Peter and Sirius can both get drunk much faster than James can. When Peter and Sirius get drunk, serious injuries tend to follow, Remus tends to fuck off in a flash and James tends to be the one who calls for an ambulance or mothers them back to health—physical, mental or otherwise. He has just turned twenty-six, and these repeated, drunkenly dramatic medical emergency scenes are starting to wear a little thin.

Can't a man get comfortably drunk and have a laugh at his own birthday party?

No, he can't, because Peter's already halfway to trashed, wobbling unsteadily towards the French doors that lead to the terrace, wearing that look on his face that says I'm definitely going to vomit or maybe even shit myself like I did on that one night we all spent in Munich with the Belgian handball team and the creepy tour guide who couldn't keep his sleazy hands to himself. For the sake of sparing the lawn such a punishment, James hastily removes himself from Shane, grabs Peter by the collar, shoves him in the direction of the downstairs loo and retreats to the safety of the living room, where there are, at least, no naked drawings of Sirius gracing the walls.

Most of the people in here are transfixed by Saffy Stephens, who is down to the last three in her Fortnite game and cursing like a sailor, but there are a small pile of birthday cards on the end table where James and Sirius normally keep their keys. He perches on the sofa arm, sets his half-drunk beer bottle on the carpet, pushes his dark, disheveled hair away from his forehead and begins leafing through them. It's a necessity when one lives with Sirius, who thinks nothing of swiping gift cards when the mood strikes him and he's had enough to drink.

They're mostly from his female friends, and all pretty standard, until he reaches the middle of the pile and finds a card bearing a picture of a moustached tabby and the caption: Have a Purr-fect Birthday!

The inscription inside is written in a lovely, swirling hand.

To Jasper/Jack/Jason/maybe Ja Rule?/J-something idk

(see above: everything I've learned about you from the friend* I came here with, verbatim)

(*who can't remember your name)

Happy Birthday! Thank you for (not) specifically inviting me, a stranger, to your party to celebrate this momentous event in your life. Please enjoy this festive card/social nicety/convention from me to you. My friend brought rum which you may prefer.

I'll be around. Not that you'll know.

LE

James lowers the card and twists on the sofa arm at once, eyes darting around the room in search of its author, as if they might be laying in wait to watch him read it and see how he reacts. Nobody appears to have ducked behind the couch, however, so the situation merits further scrutiny.

Obviously, he needs to meet this person.

A mystery! At his birthday party!

He perks right up after that.

*

She's coming out of the downstairs loo when a short, blonde man in a garish Hawaiian shirt barrels past her and pukes all over the chequerboard tiled floor, narrowly missing her jeans.

"Oh no," he moans into his wet hands. "Oh no—"

"There there, mate," says Lily consolingly, never one to judge somebody for getting drunk early at a party. She pats him on the back before squeezing past him and rejoining Kingsley, who is standing in one of this meandering Georgian house's many hallways, chatting to a bloke in a houndstooth sweater vest and holding two glasses of something very, very sparkly that she must try at once.

"It's like...it's like everything and nothing at the same time," Houndstooth Bloke is saying when Lily draws close, gesturing to a huge canvas painting of a rain-soaked fairground at night.

"Is it?" Kingsley asks.

"Mmm. Very." Houndstooth shakes his shoulders like he's slipping out of a robe. "Meant to be esoteric, I suppose."

That sounds suspiciously like pretentious bullshit to Lily, who doesn't find the concept of a merry looking fairground all that difficult to absorb. Kingsley knows more about the art world than she does, but he must agree with her assessment because he grunts and shoves her glass into her hand when she stops beside him, and more roughly than she deserves, as if she's the one who landed him in this mess of a conversation to begin with.

Trust him to find himself stuck with the only dick (not etched by a 4B Steadtler graphite pencil) in the building, and trust her to be stuck with the person who got himself stuck with King.

"What are we talking about?" she asks brightly, just to fuck with him.

"Drink your champagne, there's a good little hen," King mutters, his teeth clenched together, hallway lights bouncing off the smoothly waxed dome of his bald head.

"We've been discussing this piece." Houndstooth nods to the painting, but his limpid eyes narrow on Lily's face. "Christ, you're very redheaded, aren't you?"

It's decided. She'll wait 'til Houndstooth is drunk and trip him up with Henry Hoover's hose.

"Ergo soulless, yes," she agrees.

"And you...enjoy that?" he asks, as if being redheaded is her profession.

"Very much, thanks."

"Hmmp. Well. I came here with Saffron," he announces, pronouncing it Sef-ron. As if Lily is supposed to know who that is. "Platonically, of course. Actually, we're some sort of cousins, I think. What do you think the artist is trying to convey?"

He's very pointedly asking her, so Lily blinks at the painting, her eyes on the outstretched arm of a child on the carousel.

"I like the pretty colours," she decides aloud.

"Right," says Houndstooth, "but that's not—"

"And the lights, too. The lights are really pretty."

"But—"

"I love funfairs, actually," she brightly continues, finding a strange satisfaction in playing dumb in front of Houndstooth and his overbleached fade. Although she does really like the colours. "Haven't been to one in years!"

"Yes, good, whatever, but what is the artist trying to convey?"

"What artist?" comes a voice from behind them.

Lily glances over her shoulder and finds herself looking up at the man whose penis she's spent the past thirty minutes avoiding eye contact with, though he is taller, better proportioned and infinitely more beautiful than any of those crudely drawn depictions could possibly convey. He is also beplumed and bejewelled like a pirate, wearing a sumptuous velvet jacket over a loose white shirt, numerous rings on his fingers and an assortment of silver chains around his slender neck, while his grey eyes and elegantly high-set cheekbones are framed by a tumble of black hair that genuinely looks like silk.

The man is so beautiful, in fact, that Lily immediately wonders why he's been taking sketches home from the life drawing class that he and Kingsley pose for—hence their acquaintance and Lily's presence at this party—when nothing she's seen tonight has done him any justice.

Most happily, his penis is tucked safely out of sight.

"Alright, Sirius?" says King.

"Alright, Marvel?" Sirius claps a hand to the taller man's massive shoulder. Kingley's muscles bulge in a way that cannot be hidden by modern habiliments. "What are we talking about?"

"Not much." Houndstooth looks put out by the arrival of yet another person. "We were just mesmerised by this piece."

Lily refrains from gesturing to the painting with both hands and a "ta-dah!" choosing instead to sip her champagne.

It's very good champagne. Mmm. Yes.

"Oh, yeah, it's really something," Sirius agrees. He brushes past Kingsley and runs a finger over the illegible squiggle of a signature on the canvas. His nails are beautifully manicured. "Local guy, young up-and-comer. I assume you've heard of Algernon?" he asks Houndstooth, fixing him with a steely-eyed stare.

"Er, yes." Houndstooth's gaze slides from Sirius to the painting. "I know him."

Sirius's eyebrows lift. "Know him personally?"

"Well—"

"That's so weird, I heard he never speaks to people."

Houndstooth chews on the inside of his cheek, weighing up the challenge. "How…funny."

"Funny?"

"Oh, nothing. It's just, I know I've spoken to him before, and since you've bought his painting I assumed that you'd have—"

"That is funny, actually," Sirius interrupts, "because the artist is my brother, and Algernon is the name of his cat."

Kingsley has been tugging on his earring and almost rips it out of his ear as his body convulses, champagne spraying from his nostrils, while an alarming red flush sweeps across Houndstooth's face and he begins to sputter on his own self-importance. Sirius has clearly decided that he's done with all of that noise, however, because he turns back to Lily instead, looking her up and down with great and sudden interest.

"Who's this then?" he asks Kingsley, cocking his head to one side. "James's present?"

The champagne glass swings down and Lily fixes him with a deadpan stare. "Excuse me?"

Sirius slants a grin at Kingsley, a quick flash of teeth. "This one's queenly, isn't she?"

Kingsley wipes his nose with the back of his hand and laughs again. "Hardly."

"This is Primark, mate," Lily retorts, tugging on her t-shirt.

"Queenliness is a state of mind," says Sirius, "not a state of wardrobe."

"You had me marked down as a prostitute not ten seconds ago."

"Oh, that. I was only joking," he sighs, and grips her arm at the elbow, his long fingers cool against her skin. "But still, you're far too attractive to stand here talking to this clown. Come with me and I'll find you someone better."

*

James's friends are useless.

And drunk. Useless and drunk—or sort of drunk, in Saffy's case. Remus is certainly already pissed, but Remus is on meds so often that he drinks but once in a blue moon. One cocktail is usually enough to set him off, and he's been hard at the gin since he turned up with Peter at six.

"I don't know anyone with those initials," Saffy declares, once she has read, examined and even sniffed the birthday card for clues. "Except for Lisa Edelstein."

"Who's Lisa Edelstein?"

"Cuddy from House," says Remus, lowering the negroni from which he has been drinking deeply.

James pulls a face. "What the fuck is a Cuddy?"

"Oh, actually, it could mean le?" Remus suggests.

"Yes!" Saffy points at him like he might be onto something. "Like the French word for the?"

"Exactly, like—"

"It doesn't mean that!" James interrupts, unwilling to allow such profanity in his home. "That doesn't make sense, why would somebody sign their name as the?"

"Now you're asking me to explain how French people think?" says Saffy derisively, adjusting her bra strap beneath that burnt orange waistcoat she loves, the one that makes her look like she's directing a pornographic movie in the 70s when she pairs it with her tortoiseshell-framed aviators. It clashes wildly with her electric blue buzz-cut. "Am nooooo drunk enough for that."

"They could be one of those one word moniker pop stars, I suppose," Remus pipes up, smiling slyly. "You know, like Madonna?"

They think James doesn't realise that they're taking the piss out of him, but neither of them are sober enough to attempt their gambit with any kind of subtlety or grace.

"You know that's actually her real Christian name?" says Saffy.

Remus turns towards her with interest. "What, Madonna?"

"Yeah!"

"Really?"

"Yeah!" Saffy repeats. "I thought it couldn't possibly be her real name because, I mean, Madonna, yeah? But then I looked it up and apparently that's the name her mummy gave her, just goes to show—"

"I'm sorry," James interrupts, "but is Madonna relevant to this conversation?"

"Yes, always," says Saffy.

"She's an international pop megastar," Remus seconds.

James stares at his friend incredulously. "Drinking really chips away at your wit, y'know?"

"Does it?" Remus grins lazily and jiggles his cocktail in the air. "Oh, well, I'm negronly joking."

Saffy does a spit-take without the spit and clings helplessly to Remus's shoulder as she laughs, knees buckling, bangles tinkling, but James fights his own urge to start snickering.

"It's not that funny," he lies, and Remus eyes him with an alarmingly teacher-like shrewdness, despite the tellingly intoxicated flush that has crept into his thin, freckled face.

James's love of puns is tragically well known.

"You didn't get it." Remus points at his drink. His speech is starting to slur. "This is a negroni, what I said was—"

"Yeah, I got that part, I just—"

"Jesus fuck, look at her!" Saffy suddenly hisses, staggering sideways into Remus and sending him into the wall in a flurry of giggles—Remus giggling?—her voice hushed and urgent. "Who the hell is that?!"

James does look, following the direction of Saffy's gaze. Sirius has just entered the living room, casually clutching the elbow of a……

……goddess.

An actual. Like. Goddess.

A goddess. In James's house. In his living room. In the place where he eats his chocolate boulder cereal and rewatches Scrubs (even season 9, which is hilarious, and very unfairly disparaged by Joe Public) on Saturday mornings.

She's a goddess. A real one, and cleverly disguised as a mortal, sure, with her slouchy white t-shirt and her big hoop earrings and her light blue jeans that are torn at the knees, wearing her shoulder-length red hair half up, half down and slightly messy, but that doesn't hide what she is.

"Oh my god," he murmurs. His heart is pounding all of a sudden, which is so...utterly bloody stupid, but Saffy's right, bloody look at her, Jesus fuck.

"Surely she can't be with Sirius?" Saffy murmurs back.

"No, she—" He watches Sirius lean down to mutter something in the redhead's ear. A ghost of a laugh flits across her beautiful face. "She's not his—he isn't—"

"D'you think—"

"No, I—"

"Good," says Saffy firmly. She lets go of Remus and rises, lengthening her spine. It is a battle stance of some sort, presumably. "Because I saw her first."

"No!" James cries, wounded, and the redhead shoots him a curious look with a pair of eyes that are startlingly emerald green, even from all the bloody way over here. He spins to face Saffy and lowers his voice, face burning. "It's my house!"

"What are you arguing here, ownership rights?"

"No but it—it's my birthday!" James retorts, jabbing at his own chest. "And, actually, and—"

"It's in the bloody post!"

"—you didn't get me a present!" he finishes in triumph, not that he knows what he's arguing for, because the likelihood is that his tongue will glue itself to the roof of his mouth if he even dares to look in her direction one more time. "Plus I set you up with Vanya Petrich, with whom, as I recall, you enjoyed four years—"

"Stop throwing that in my face!"

"—four blissful years—"

"Is it my fault that you've never fancied any girl I've set you up with?!"

"—promised me an Easter ham for setting you up with her and I never got it—"

"So now you'll trade a woman for a ham?" Saffy accuses, though her face is too lit up, her brown eyes too crinkled at the corners—she's having fun with this and she isn't going to fool him and she knows it. "That's so low, even—"

"Don't start with that," James scathingly cuts in. "You offered me Sean Connery's autograph for Bonnie Grogan's number—"

"Which you never gave me!"

"Because you forged the bloody signature!"

"And now she's bloody married!"

"Yeah, well, Isabella wouldn't give me a counterfeit present, would she?" he retorts, and Saffy lets her shoulders drop, smirking. "This is pointless, Saf, we can't—"

"She's just left with Sirius," Remus informs them, and burps.

[bitsandbobsandstuff]

Ink on his heart

Summary: Here’s how Bucky Barnes got a haircut and then decided it was about damn time he controlled his own destiny - starting with a bit of ink. 

Star Spangled Bingo Square: “A thoughtful gift”

Characters: Bucky Barnes x TattooArtist!Reader

Words: 7,400 Warnings: Tattoo experiences, a couple stories about war. Some swearing. Mostly lots of feels and fluff.

A/N: This one has been in my head a long time, I love tattoos and I love the idea of Bucky getting them! While I desperately wish I could draw the designs in my head, hopefully you get enough of a word picture to imagine. And yes, it is kinda long (I know, I know), but I couldn’t stop myself! 

Want to find all my stories? Search #bitsmasterlist or try the link in my bio!

*****

Not that Bucky’s counting, but it’s been three days, 18 hours and 26 minutes and he can’t get over it.

In the damp, chilly hours before dawn, he sits on the floor of the tower living room, watching the marshmallows in his hot chocolate melt in white swirls. Now and then, he lifts his eyes to the windows, finds the faint edges of his reflection in the dark glass, and tilts his head. Tentative fingers scratch through close cropped hair and a slow smile appears. Even now, he expects long strands trailing through his fingers. Believes he can feel the phantom tug of a snarl.

It was just a haircut. What a simple, ordinary thing.  

But Bucky Barnes has never been ordinary.

That small act triggered a startling transformation. Decades of heartbreak fell away with that dark hair, revealing the shape of a man he begins to remember, and it makes him think. About small things, about change. About simple acts making an extraordinary difference.

The last haircut Bucky remembers before the beginning of his first ending, was January 1945. The memory came back one evening, of a tent in Austria, the heavy silence of snow drifting down. He remembers Steve with a dull scissors, snipping carefully along his ear, remembers the catch of a knife gently shaving his neck. It was a ritual they shared for years. When pennies were tight and life was tough, they took care of each other.

And then? Then there was after.

After the fall, after capture, after the world went pear-shaped. Hydra wasn’t concerned with the formalities of self-care, a haircut was functional. Sharp scissors biting into his scalp, rough hands tearing his hair, a harsh slap if he considered resisting. Get it done and get it done fast. The Asset has work to do.

He despised those haircuts.

But now, here he is. No more handlers and horrors. No more running. No more hiding. No more ropes dragging him somewhere he doesn’t want to be.

Wresting back his independence was exhilarating.

When Steve had finished this haircut - because Bucky still preferred a Steve Rogers special to anything - he’d dusted off Bucky’s shoulders and waited. Sam stood behind him, and Bucky rolled his eyes, expecting a barrage of sassy comments.

But Sam just ruffled the freshly cut hair and laughed.

“Not bad old man. Still not as handsome as yours truly, but hey - maybe someday.”

Such a simple thing, a haircut.

It makes him wonder what else he might do, just for himself.      

Fuzzy and disconnected, an old memory flickers to life. It buzzes in his brain, images and connections filtering through the cracks and Bucky lets out a breathless laugh.

“Yeah,” he murmurs to himself. “Okay.”

He closes his eyes and sips his hot chocolate.

*****

Steve yawns when he answers the door. Blond hair spikes in every direction and he rubs his eyes, looking for all the world like a sleepy, overgrown toddler.

“Hey, man. Everything okay?”

Bucky leans against the doorframe and chews his thumbnail while he gathers his thoughts.

“Sure, just - can I get a favor?”

Bemused, Steve ushers him inside and Bucky plops in the red bean bag chair Steve keeps tucked beside his dresser. Stretching out his legs, he waits for Steve to flop back into bed and snuggle his pillow, before he speaks.

“Remember back in ’37 when we were coming home from that shitty bar in Midtown, and we saw that sailor getting a tattoo?”

Whatever Steve expected, it wasn’t this. It takes him a moment to conjure the image, but when it comes he belts out a laugh.

“That terrified kid gettin’ a big heart on his arm? Looked ready to shit his pants?”

Bucky grins at the memory, a milk-faced kid with hair dark and shiny as an oil-slick.  

“Thought he was gonna puke on the guy.”

“Yeah, and didn’t we stand outside that window arguing while you tried to convince me we both needed one? Something about good girls liking bad boys?”  

“Hey, I stand by that statement!”

“Oh fuck off, you know exactly what your Ma would’ve said if we’d come home with tattoos.”

“Yeah,” Bucky chuckles. “God, she’d a skinned me alive.”

“Damn straight,” Steve agrees and they fall quiet, momentarily lost in shared memories of a woman with a voice of steel and a heart of gold.

Bucky leans forward and rests his chin on his knee.

“You know, all these years and I’ve never really - done anything like that,” he admits wistfully. “Gotten something done to me, I mean. Something I decided on my own. If that makes sense?”

Controlling his own destiny, choosing to do something by himself, instead of always accepting things done to him - the idea is intoxicating. He remembers the pained grimace on that sailor’s face and he relishes the prospect.

Pain you choose to feel holds a different meaning, than the torture he knows.

“S’never too late, Buck,” Steve says drowsily. “You can do anything you want.”

Bucky contemplates Steve’s words. He can do anything he wants. Heart beating fast, he takes a deep breath.

“So listen, I was thinking -”

*****

For two straight weeks, Steve works on ideas.

The floor of his bedroom is littered with sketches and concepts, crumpled sheets of paper dappled with flowing lines. Finally, after midnight on a dreary Thursday, he knocks on Bucky’s door. The moment it opens, he shoves his tattered leather portfolio in Bucky’s hands.

“So, I guess, uh - here.”

Steve crosses his arms, his toe tapping nervously, and Bucky chokes down a laugh. Some things about Steve Rogers remain comfortingly unchanged. No matter how incredible his work, all confidence seems to evaporate the moment Bucky lays eyes on anything.

—

“Give it back asshole!”

“God dammit Steve, YOU’RE the one who asked me to look!”

“Yeah well, I changed my mind, now give it back!”

—

Bucky remembers laughing while Steve chased him around their apartment. He remembers the neighbors banging on the wall, shouting at them to shut up, and he remembers the smell of their forgotten scrambled eggs burning. But most of all, he remembers that drawing - he tucked that portrait of his mother in his rucksack the day he shipped out and it stayed there, a good luck charm all through the war.

Steve had cried when Bucky told him.

Because Bucky’s opinion was always the one that mattered. Seventy years changes nothing.

Tonight, he opens the leather case, revealing three separate drawings. Outlines of black ink and a rainbow of colors paint over the curves and breaks of a human form and he pores over each page. Each drawing is utterly unique, telling the story of Bucky Barnes in metaphors and moments.    

There are no words.

His throat feels suddenly thick, cotton lodged in his windpipe.

“I can redo them,” Steve blurts out. He snatches at the paper, but Bucky spins sideways, blocking the reach.

“The fuck you will. You ain’t touching these,” his voice cracks. Blinking back the flood of emotion, he looks up. “This is - they’re perfect, Steve. Thank you.”

Steve blushes petal pink and coughs to hide his delight. He fails miserably, of course, but that’s one more reason Bucky loves the little punk.

*****

One week later, Bucky stands before a demure brick storefront on a slow Brooklyn side street, the portfolio housing Steve’s three precious drawings clutched tight in a sweaty hand. Glancing at the address in his hand, he looks up to find stenciled letters curving across a glass window.

BROOKLYN INK ESTABLISHED 1973

“Here we go,” he mutters. Before he can lose his nerve, he shoves forward.

Three steps inside the tattoo parlor, he pulls up short.

Wow.

Black iron chandeliers hang from the ceiling, splashing sparkles across plush velvet chairs, rich violet and bright turquoise. The floor is an eclectic mix of reclaimed barn board, full of knots and whorls in every shade of brown. Artwork in black and white frames line the brick wall, tattoo designs, letters and fonts, photos of finished work. The entire space overflows with warmth, and Bucky feels instantly at ease.  

The front desk is empty, but he hears someone rattling around back, so he takes a seat. Piled high on an end table are bundles of photo albums, full of work; he sinks into the cushions and starts flipping through.  

Immersed in the images, he misses the sound of quiet footsteps.

“Are you James?”

The voice startles him and in one swift move, he manages to throw the album on the floor and tumble from the chair. Pages of photographs spill everywhere and he crawls over, hastily scooping them up and babbling one inappropriate apology after another.

“Shit! Sorry, I’m sorry! Shit, I mean I’m sorry for saying shit. Fuck, I didn’t - oh my god, I’m sorry, I’m not usually so - ”

Soft laughter greets him and he looks up in panic, a more refined apology on his lips, but the words evaporate.

Crouching beside him, graceful hands gather up the mess of photos, slipping them back into the album. Dropping it carelessly on the end table, she bounces back to her feet and offers him a hand.

“No worries,” she says with a breathtaking smile. “I shouldn’t have startled you.”

Although he has no need for the support, Bucky reaches mutely for her outstretched fingers because he can’t help but take them. When she tugs, he allows her to pull him up.  

“I’m, um - Bucky. Please, call me Bucky.”

“Hello Bucky,” she says. She shares her name and he repeats it slowly. Clearing his throat, he takes a deep breath.

“Thanks for meeting me so late, I know it’s after hours.”

“Sure,” she says lightly. “So, what can I do for you?”

This is the tricky part.

“On the website, it mentioned you had experience with - with tattooing around scars,” he begins carefully. “Scar tissue I mean. Is that right?”

With his question, her expressions turns serious. She observes him for a long moment.

“Yes, I do. Can I ask how long you served?” she asks delicately and Bucky acknowledges her perception with a short nod. He toys with the zipper on Steve’s portfolio, debating his response.

“Seemed like forever,” he finally says, and it’s the most honest answer he has.

Nodding silently, she motions him behind the counter.

“Come on back, let’s see what you had in mind.”

Hugging the pictures to his chest, Bucky follows, eyes saucer wide as they weave through the work area to her space. The shop smells like the woodsy smoke from the candles sitting along her table, mixed with ink and latex and an odd sterile tang. He inhales and discovers he likes it, the strange scent lighting him up.  

Dropping to her stool, she gestures for him to have a seat. Bucky sits gingerly, wide eyes still staring. When she catches his eye, he flushes.

“Sorry. First time I’ve been in a shop.”

“That’s okay, there’s lots to see,” she says easily. Looking at the portfolio still clutched against his chest, she grins. “Did you have some ideas already?”

He thrusts the portfolio at her. Propping it on her knees, she flips it open and he beams when he hears her astonished gasp.

“I like the colors there, if you think they’re possible?”

“Sure, might take some extra time, but I can do it,” she murmurs, pinching her lip. Turning the page sideways, she examines every minute detail, shaking her head in disbelief. “This is exquisite.”  

“I’ll tell my artist. He’s a real diva sometimes.”

“I’d say he’s earned that right,” she laughs, tracing the paper with a light finger. She flips to the second picture and tilts her head. “The grays and silvers might look nice with midnight blue for contrast?”

Bucky nods eagerly. “Yeah, I love that idea.”

She looks again, examining the intricate design.

“Can you tell me about your pain tolerance? The designs are beautiful, but they’re complex. Each will take multiple sessions to finish.”

Bucky drops his eyes. He heaves a sigh at the obligatory question.

“It’s high,” he mutters. “Very - high.”

Silence follows his admission. When he dares to look up again, he feels a twinge in his chest at the compassion he finds. He offers a rueful smile and she slowly returns it.

“Would you like to come after hours? It can get noisy during the day, if you prefer things quieter. Most soldiers like that better.”

There is a sweep of relief at her casual acknowledgement. He huffs out a shaky breath.

“That would be great. If you don’t mind, I mean.”

“Not at all. I’m a night owl anyway.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says quietly. “Me too.”

She looks back to the portfolio, carefully shuffling the pages.

The third picture appears.

And Bucky sees it, that precise moment when realization sinks in. When she realizes exactly who is sitting in her chair tonight. There is no doubt the drawing gives that fact away. Heart pounding, he flinches, steeling himself for the inevitable.

But nothing happens.

She meets his nervous gaze head on and yet - that gentle smile remains.

“Bucky,” she repeats and this time she understands. “Oh. It’s nice to meet you, Bucky Barnes. Come back tomorrow night, 9pm. Don’t be late.”

He leaves the tattoo shop feeling lighter than he has in years.

*****

TATTOO 1: FOREARM

“Show me a man with a tattoo and I’ll show you a man with an interesting past.” - Jack London

*****

Perpetually early for everything, Bucky arrives at 8:45pm the next night.

The bell over the door tinkles when he enters, and she looks up from the front desk and waves. His stomach unexpectedly leaps and he thinks it must be nerves.

“Hey, Bucky,” her voice is soft.

“Evening,” he says shyly.  

“You ready to do this?”

“Could hardly sleep last night,” he confesses with a grin.

Sliding timidly into her black leather chair, he watches her arrange tools on a shiny silver tray. An arm rest is attached to his right side, and he dries his sweaty palm on his jeans before easing his arm onto the cushion, palm up. When she drops onto her stool at his side, he offers a weak smile.  

“You got the email I sent with all the information, right? Did you have any questions?”

He scrunches his nose, recalling the long, detailed summary she shared. For each of the three tattoos he requested, she gave him a detailed analysis of the process for creating each design; broke down how long each session would take; gave explicit instructions on the healing and care process; confirmed each individual color and how it would be applied; clarified the tools that would be used, including their brand names and how each one worked; she even provided floor plans of her shop - outlining entries and exits and bathrooms and locations of fire extinguishers.

It was a novel of information that must’ve taken her hours, and he was inexplicably grateful for the time she spent just to make him comfortable.

“No questions, I just, uh - thanks. For putting all that together. It was helpful to have all the information. Helps me keep my head on straight.”

“Of course,” she says. “So this first design should take probably 5-6 hours. Since you’re new, we’ll start with short blocks and see how it goes.”

Bucky gives a jerky nod and she pauses, pressing her fingertips against the smooth skin of his forearm.

“Here are the rules. You’re in charge, okay? We can go as fast or as slow as you need. This is not a race, and I have nowhere to be but here. Any time you want to stop, you say the word and I stop. We can take a breather, grab a cup of coffee and start again - or we can call it a night. This is your experience, Bucky. You’re in control. Understand?”

There is a fierce surge of gratitude at her words. Gratitude for her kindness, for her acceptance. Gratitude for her.

“Got it,” he whispers.

And with that, they begin.

Bucky follows each step, while she measures his arm, while she considers the contours and angles of his muscle, while she cleans and preps his skin. When she finally applies a stencil, his heart is hammering so hard his teeth are chattering.

The low buzz of the tattoo machine fills his ears with a click.

When the needles touch his skin, sweat instantly beads his neck. Adrenaline drenches his tongue and for one wild moment, Bucky panics. Wonders if this was a terrible idea, because what idiot asks for pain, seriously Barnes, what the hell is wrong with you, why’re you so stupid all the -

And then - oh.

Huh.

Interesting.

Wide-eyed, Bucky follows her careful strokes, black lines appearing on his skin.

It does hurt - sort of. Obviously nothing he can’t handle; in the grand scheme of his life, this would register as a minor inconvenience, but there is a pinch.

But that spark of pain vanishes, when the raw symbolism behind Steve’s design hits him full force.

Holy shit.

How many times through the decades did Bucky Barnes die? And how many times did he rise, born again from the frozen ash of oblivion? It was simply what the Soldier did. But it was a shadow-life, nothing more. Bucky never knew how close he was to giving up, until that day above the Potomac, Steve’s bloody face beneath his furious fists. He was so far gone, so lost and forgotten, until those memories cracked the Soldier’s fierce veneer.

And suddenly he was Bucky again. Awake and alive. For the first time in 70 years he felt fire in his soul. For the first time in 70 years he could breathe.

Tears inexplicably fill his eyes.    

“All okay?”

Through a tunnel, Bucky hears her voice. Hypnotized by the metaphor inking itself into his skin, his head feels waterlogged when blinks up at her.

“Sorry?”

She scans his face, her thumb rubbing the pulse thrumming at his wrist.

“Everything okay?” She asks again and Bucky feels a potent rush of euphoria.

“Yes,” he says slowly. The excitement bubbles over and he lets out an ecstatic laugh. “Yes! This is incredible. This is - fucking hell, this is amazing.”

Chuckling to herself, she bends back to her task.

“So I guess we’ll keep going?”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Yeah, let’s keep going.”

Two hours later, the outline of the Phoenix is inked into his skin, crisp black lines like fresh paint. Long tail feathers are curled around his wrist, the lush feathered body splashed over his forearm, her wings spread open and curving around his arm, her head reaching toward the sky.

Born from ash. Alive again.

Bucky hates to cover it up, but she insists.

“Follow the cleaning instructions and it should be fine. We need to wait between the sessions, give you time to heal.”

At that comment, he fidgets.

“Actually, I heal pretty - fast.”

“I assumed you might. Usually I say 2-3 weeks between sessions, so how about you come back in 1 week and we can see. Let’s just make sure. Does that work?”

Bucky glances at the crisp white bandage on his arm.

“Okay, that works,” he says.

She squeezes his hand and he meets her eyes.

“You did great,” she tells him.

Bucky smiles in return. And he doesn’t stop for the next six days.

*****

When he walks into the shop for his next session, he carries a large coffee for himself and an extra large iced peach green tea for her. When he gets to the front desk, he thrusts the cup at her.  

“Evening. Um, here. Saw you had one last time, so - anyway.”

“Bucky, thank you. I’ve been craving one all day.” She gives the straw an experimental bite, before taking a long drink and for some reason, the silly quirk makes his heart bounce.

After a quick check on how he’s healed, she declares him perfect and they get started, settling into a comfortable silence. After an hour of buzzing, Bucky clears his throat.

“Is it okay to talk while you work?”

“It is,” she affirms, dabbing at the ink. Glancing up, she sees hesitant blue eyes. “I’m good at listening too. Sometimes it’s nice just to listen.”  

Bucky figures that’s a fair statement. He fiddles with a stray thread on his shirt.

“Do you read much?” He asks hopefully, picturing the teetering stack of books beside his bed. She perks at the question.

“I love to read. Have a pile of books on my nightstand waiting for me to find time. What about you? Are you reading anything good now? Any favorites I should know?”

Bucky swallows the happy surprise. If he could, he’d be content to spend the rest of his years with a comfortable chair, a cup of coffee, and an unending supply of stories. He could talk about books for days, he just normally keeps quiet, because most people aren’t interested in that facet of Bucky Barnes.

So he begins to talk.

He tells her how Natasha lent him all her Russian copies of Pushkin and Tolstoy and Dostoevsky, insisting that reading in the original language was infinitely better. He describes how he found a copy of Rumi’s poetry at a yard sale, and what an incredible treasure it was. He flusters recounting how much he cried reading ‘A Fault in our Stars’ and says he was scared shitless to even see a clown for a full year after reading Stephen King.    

He talks and talks and talks, and when he finally stops to breathe, she glances up.

“It’s nice to hear a man who’s so well read,” she says and Bucky preens at the compliment. “Do you have an all time favorite? Something you never get tired of?”

A favorite? No question.

“Yeah, I do. Something I read during the war and kinda fell in love. It’s about here, I guess. About Brooklyn.”

At the description, her mouth quirks, but she keeps working.

“Did you ever think about a book quote for a tattoo?”

Now there’s an idea. He makes a mental note to think of a quote he could add as another tattoo. Or maybe another couple tattoos. Hell, one session in and he’s already addicted.  

The comment tumbles free before he realizes he’s spoken out loud. He blushes at her laughter.

“It can be addicting,” she agrees. Bucky understands completely, seeing the vibrant crimson ink soak into his skin, painting the bird’s feathers. And then she pauses, meeting his eyes with a peculiar expression. “The right words can make you feel invincible.”

Setting the tattoo machine down, she rolls her chair back a bit and sits up straight. Lifting the hem of her shirt, Bucky sees a line of gold text inked below her ribs, his eyes following the flowing cursive.

“She was all of these things and of something more,” he reads aloud.

“‘A Tree Grows in Brooklyn’ is my favorite book too,” she says quietly. There is a long, unbroken moment where they stare into each others eyes. He should say something, he thinks. Something intelligent or witty or anything, but instead he just thinks about the fact that he found a woman in Brooklyn to permanently carve pictures into his skin and she has the same favorite book as him.

Bucky always was a sucker for fate.

“That’s - that’s really - I love that,” he finally says instead.

*****

A week later, Bucky arrives with a bundle of folders and an exasperated expression.

“This is really annoying, but do you mind if I finish some reports while you work? Got behind, someone’s gonna have my ass.” Bucky raises the papers apologetically.

“No problem,” she says easily. “Let’s keep your ass safe.”

Bending back to her task, Bucky snorts a laugh. They’re just a handful of mission reports, normally he types them soon as he returns, but lately he’s been slacking, because lately he has other things he finds more interesting.

Like the scene in front of him.

Together they work, each with their own pen. Bucky writes, she colors, and the clock on the wall ticks along. After awhile, she takes a break to stretch. Rolling her shoulders, she observes him.

“Are you left-handed?” she asks curiously and it takes Bucky a moment to think.

“Oh. Uh, not really,” he says. “But I can switch. Never been a problem.”

At the confession, she raises her eyebrows.

“That’s impressive. I wish I had a talent like that.”

He ducks his head at the praise. And he keeps writing, of course. Maybe adds a bit more flair. After all, the old Bucky Barnes did like to swagger.    

*****

“Well, I think that’s it.”

It takes a beat before Bucky understands what she means. Confused, he peers up at her with a dopey expression and she gestures at his arm.

He feels his heart lurch.

It flames to life along his arm, painted in vibrant ruby red and rich crimson and deep plum, highlights edged in shining gold. Mesmerized, Bucky stares down at the lines of ink and he flexes, the tendons of his arm shifting, and the bird moves. For one wild moment, he believes if he stays still, it could leap from his skin and take flight.  

It leaves him breathless.

“God, this is better - fuck, it’s so much better - than I ever imagined. How did you - wow. I don’t know how you did it, but - thank you. Thank you so much.”

Unanticipated emotion makes his voice tremble. Because this is the first time Bucky Barnes chose something permanent for himself. Serums and metal arms and bullets and blades, those were always forced upon him, his pleading refusals met with violence and sneering indifference.

But this?

This.

This.

This is all his.

*****

TATTOO 2: BACK

“Wear your heart on your sleeve in this life.” - Sylvia Plath

*****

“So, uh, how exactly does this work?”

Standing beside the leather chair while she organizes her inks, Bucky wrinkles his nose. She looks up and motions for him to turn, straddling the chair with his chest pressed against the back.

“Are you comfortable completely removing your shirt? Or would you prefer to leave it part way on? I’ll just need it out of the way for the right side of your back.”

Bucky grimaces. Eventually she’s going to see his shoulder - he knows that - but he’s not in the mood to rip that band-aid off yet.  

“Uh - let’s do part of the way if that’s okay?”

“That’s okay,” she confirms and he awkwardly tugs his right arm free, baring the broad expanse of his back. Tucking his arms in front of him, he slings a leg over the chair and rests his chin carefully on the headrest.

He says nothing, simply stays still while she absorbs the sight. Littered up and down his back are a litany of scars, puckers from the occasional bullet, thin lines from errant blades, and a few other marks he prefers not to define. His voice is muffled when he warily asks.

“Are you able to - work with it?“    

“Absolutely,” she answers firmly and Bucky warms at the decisiveness in her tone. Her confidence makes him feel infinitely more positive.

This is the largest of his three tattoos, stretching from the tip of his shoulder blade and flowing down to his waist. It will also take the longest, but Bucky assures her he has no issue sitting perfectly still for hours.

It’ll be worth it. He can’t wait to show Sam - he’ll get a kick out of this one.

Once she applies the stencil over his skin, she goes to work, dropping into that headspace of deep focus. She works so quietly for so long, he falls into a trance, lulled by the melodic buzz.

When she speaks, it startles him.

“What made you decide you wanted a tattoo?”

He lays his cheek along the edge of the chair so he can see her from the corner of his eye when he answers.

“S’random, but back in ’37, me and Steve were out and I remember walking by this old tattoo shop over in Midtown. They had one of those big glass windows with the chair in front, so people could stand and watch. Anyway, we walk by and there was this kid sitting in the chair, and no fuckin’ joke, he was getting a big heart on his arm with ‘MOM’ written in the middle.”

“Ah yes, the ever popular ‘mom’ tribute. I’ve done a few of those,” she says and Bucky grins.

“Well anyway, I always kinda wanted something, you know? Thought about getting one before I shipped out, but I didn’t, and then it was - “ he pauses for a moment, but she encourages him with a questioning hmmm? and Bucky bravely pushes forward. “I had lots of years where I didn’t get to make my own decisions. And there was so much - bad shit that happened to me. Anyway, I guess I thought if someone’s gonna do something to me, I wanted it to be on my own terms. You know?”

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “I think that makes perfect sense.”

Bucky sits quietly, contemplating. The question has been rattling around his brain for awhile and it spills free before he can stop himself. 

“The whole process, it feels sort of  - intimate, doesn’t it?”

He flushes at the insinuation, but intimate is the best way to describe it, he thinks, this practice of someone permanently carving their art into your skin.

“It is intimate,” she says softly, leaning closer. “It’s almost like you’re - leaving a piece of your soul under someone’s skin? I don’t know if that makes sense, but that’s what it’s always felt like.”

Bucky nods, watching her capable, artistic, beautiful hands as they move, slowly transferring bits and pieces of herself to him.

What a gift. He holds on tight.

*****

It was bound to happen at one of the sessions.

It’s been dark and rainy for days, buckets dumped from the heavens, the perpetual grumble of thunder always near. When Bucky comes through the front door, he feels like a wet dog. He shakes out his jacket, stomps his boots. He feels off base tonight, the result of bad sleep, bad dreams, and one particularly bad mission. He’s frustrated with himself for bringing it with him, thinks maybe he should’ve cancelled, but the thought of skipping his session - both the ink and her - was too depressing.

So instead of holing up in his room and moping under the covers, he braved the storm.

The one inside and out.

Searching for calm, he licks chapped lips.

“Hey,” he says, cringing when his voice cracks.

“Hey, Buck,” she turns cheerfully, but when she sees him squinting at her through the droplets cascading down his face, his shoulders hunched and tense, she stops. Looks him up and down and her expression softens. Beckoning him back, she digs up a towel and a dry t-shirt with ‘BROOKLYN INK’ stamped across the front, ushering him to the bathroom.

“Take all the time you need. No rush.”

Bucky mumbles his thanks and shuts the door. Gripping the sink, he glares at the mirror, at the smudge of dark beneath his eyes, at the clench of his jaw. Closing his eyes, he breathes slow and deep.

“You’re okay. You’re okay.”

He repeats the mantra, determined to settle. He’s been eager for this session all week, he’s sure as hell not ruining it because he can’t get his idiot brain to stop spinning.

When he finally emerges, he finds her arranging her work space. Halting in front of her, he keeps trembling hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes downcast.

“I’m afraid I’m poor company tonight,” he admits quietly.

“That’s okay. We can reschedule, Bucky,” she says softly and Bucky feels the disconcerting sting of tears. He rubs the heel of his hand against watery eyes.  

“If it’s okay, I’d - I’d rather go ahead. Been looking forward to seeing you - uh, seeing you work, all week. It was just - “ he pauses and fights the temptation to spill his guts. No, he snarls internally, she doesn’t need to hear all your shit.

He clamps his mouth shut and shrugs instead.

She says nothing, but when she gives his hand a comforting squeeze, Bucky feels that familiar surge of gratitude. She guides him carefully toward the chair and he slumps into the seat, automatically tugging up his new shirt.  

“Just close your eyes and breath. You’re okay.”

Bucky rests his chin on the edge of the chair. Troubled eyes flutter shut, and the comforting buzz of the tattoo machine fills his ears, muting the sound of the storm raging outside. When he feels the prick of the needles, he lets out a weary breath. And when he feels the easy pressure of her fingers, he begins to relax.

For hours, she works. Firm strokes, painting the story across his skin.

The dark night begins to fade before she finally sets her tools aside. When he climbs to his feet, she pulls him into a gentle hug.    

Bucky sinks into her arms.

That morning, the sun begins to shine.

*****

Bucky’s been sitting for a couple hours now, eyeing the brick wall behind the chair. A question pops into his head and he feels like a jerk for not asking sooner.

“Hey - all these hours together, and I never asked you - what made you want to draw on people for a living?”

She hums at the question, and he can hear the happiness in her reply.

“Well, I always wanted to be an artist. For my eleventh birthday, my best friend Mike gave me this set of gel pens, there were a million colors. When I told him I wanted to be a tattoo artist, he let me draw pictures all over him for practice. He insisted on being the first person I inked, once I got my license. Would always tell people he was the ‘original canvas’ for my brilliance.”

When she laughs, Bucky chuckles with her; it reminds him of Steve.

“Sounds like a good man,” he says.

“Yeah, he is - he was,” she quietly corrects herself. “He was an EOD specialist in Afghanistan. Right before he left for his last tour, I drew up plans for the arm sleeve he always wanted; he planned to get it when he finished. A month later, he was in a convoy that was moving through the Gereshk Valley in the Helmand Province, when an IED hit his vehicle. He didn’t make it home.”

The story hits home like a kick in the face.

Too many soldiers, too many lives. Bucky reaches back to still her hand. He slowly turns to face her, gently tugging the tattoo machine free and setting it aside. Wordlessly, he offers his hand and she accepts it gratefully, weaving her fingers through his. It takes a few attempts before she speaks again.  

“It took me a long time to get through that. One day I met a friend working down at the VA, and I heard a vet talking about the scars on his legs. He sounded so - sad about them, you know? Kept saying he didn’t recognize himself anymore. And I just stood there thinking, maybe I couldn’t help Mike, but I could still do something.” Staring resolutely down, she considers her fingers still entangled with Bucky’s. “I did some research and took some classes and - learned how to tattoo on scar tissue.”

Bucky gazes at her. He feels a sweep of pride at the way she turned her tragedy into something beautiful.

“I’m so sorry that happened,” he says and she finally looks up, meeting blue eyes bright with compassion. “But you should know, what you’re doing for people, it’s incredible. And if you don’t mind me saying, I think he’d be real god damn proud of you.”

A tear slips down her cheek and she ducks her head, her whisper so low he nearly misses it.

“Thank you Bucky.”

*****

Hours later, Bucky hears a clatter of tools and her huff of relief.

“All done.”

Wiping her hands, she pops excitedly up from the stool and Bucky pushes back from the chair to follow. Without a thought, she grabs his metal hand, tugging him impatiently over to a set of floor length mirrors along the wall. Bucky grips tight and obediently follows, his pulse racing. When she positions him at the mirror, she adjusts the panels so he can see himself from all angles.

“There, have a look.”

Along his spine, the single metal wing bursts free, so intensely realistic, Bucky’s jaw drops. It arches gracefully up, curving over his shoulder blade and sweeping down his back, razor sharp feathers tickling his rib cage before billowing out above his waist. Made from silvers and grays and shaded hints of midnight blue, it glows in the light. When Bucky reaches toward the sky, the muscles shift beneath the ink and it creates the strangest sensation of feathers unfolding.  

All the scars littering his back, a flesh and bone patchwork of memories left by vicious handlers and fights too close for comfort, have disappeared. Blending into the steel of his new wing, their only purpose is to strengthen the image.

After all this time, he’s come to terms with the metal arm so unwillingly gifted all those years ago. But it’s remained a relic of a past life, something heavy, to drag him down.

But now, he rolls his shoulder back and his new metal wing lifts him higher than he’s felt in a long, long time.

*****

TATTOO 3: SHOULDER

“I can bear any pain as long as it has meaning.” - Haruki Murakami

*****

“So our last session.”

“Our last session,” he murmurs.

Bucky thinks for a moment that she seems glum, but maybe that’s wishful thinking.

“This is a tough one,” she warns, “but I think we can do it in one session. I won’t try and cover them up, it won’t work. The best solution is to incorporate your scars into the design. Make sense?”

Bucky pictures the pattern Steve drew, bright green leaves and vines tracing the seam of his arm, melding with the thick ribbons of raised tissue. It doesn’t matter, but he timidly asks anyway.

“Will it hurt?”

“No,” she says gently. Pressing her hand to his galloping heart, she shakes her head. “It won’t hurt much there, but you need to tell me if it hurts here. You need to tell me if I should stop. Remember, you’re in charge, okay?”

“Okay,” he whispers.

Steeling himself, he whips off his shirt, balling it up in nervous hands. The cool air blowing through the shop is a relief for his overheated body.

“Do you mind if I feel the skin here? So I can make sure I approach it right?”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Bucky mumbles. Staring at his hands, he waits.

Leaning close, her fingers brush over him, feeling the lines and ridges, assessing the canvas. For ten minutes, she tests his skin, lightly pushing and pressing, observing the scars and bumps where metal meets man.  

“Does it still hurt?”

She doesn’t want to ask, but needs to know what she’s working with. With a grim smile, he shrugs.

“Not really. Aches sometimes, but doesn’t hurt. Can’t feel much there besides some pressure.”

Nodding, she pinches her lip. “I was thinking last night, um - would you want to add anything else into the design? Nothing big, but a few flowers? Some daisies maybe?”

“Sure, I’d like that. Any reason for daisies?” Bucky asks curiously.

Pulling out a few additional bottles of ink, she absently touches the necklace at her throat, and Bucky sees a silver daisy spinning.

“Daisies represent new beginnings. Thought it might be a nice way to end, if you like?”

Does he like it? The idea of having this small thing in common?

Hell yes he likes it.

Maybe - maybe he even more than likes it?

“Yeah. That sounds perfect,” he says softly. He swallows hard and she nods encouragingly.

“Okay. Remember - stop me if you need a break.”

This one, Bucky knows will be hard. It was the reason he left it to the end - the mental fortitude required here is much different.

As she begins, he contemplates the pink furrows gouged into his skin. The memory of how they got there flashes before him, a sick image of shredded skin raked bloody beneath his blunt fingernails. Faint screams of a past life echo in his ears, the smokey cry of his own voice desperate for relief from the pain.

Cold sweat slides down his face and he slams his eyes shut, but that seems to make it worse. The images glow technicolor bright, and he grunts a frustrated breath.

And then, through the thin latex of her glove, he feels her cool hand press against his pounding heart. Cracking an eye open, he finds her calm face and he focuses on her, until his breathing begins to ease. Blinking rapidly, he drinks in the curve of her nose, the shape of her mouth, the beauty of her eyes.

His heart stutters, stunning him into a different kind of breathless.

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, wide eyes locked on hers. “Yeah, I’m okay. You can keep going.”

When she bends back to her task, Bucky melts. It occurs to him, that perhaps if she might let him, he could be content watching her forever.

But for tonight, this forever lasts only a few hours before she’s done.

And there it is.

Shades of green line his shoulder, the vines curling and winding around his scars, blending them seamlessly into the foliage covering his skin. Spidering vines trail across his chest, and it seems incompatible in a way, something alive bursting from the stark metal, but the leaves look so real, he swears they flutter with each breath he takes. Strewn throughout the greenery, small splotches of yellow and white reveal her daisies and he sucks in a breath.

For the first time in his life, Bucky stares at his scars and a foreign word comes to mind, one he never, ever thought to use.

“Beautiful,” he breathes. “They’re beautiful.”

*****

And so, after 3 months and 30 hours together, they were done.

Hands in his pockets, Bucky gazes at her. Ink on her hands, ink on his heart. It hits him then, this is it. They shuffle, making small talk, neither ready to say goodbye.

“Promise you’ll come back if you decide on anything else. Tattoos, piercings, anything,” she teases and Bucky laughs.

“Told you, I might be a little addicted,” he admits, knowing full well he means to tattoos and to her. “Soon as I can think of a reason, I’ll be back.”

“I hope so,” she says. There is a brief moment where she seems to gather her courage and then she leans in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “You’re a work of art, Bucky, but - you were before any of this. Remember that.”

Dazed, Bucky touches his cheek.

Indelible and perfect, the tattoo of her lips inks itself straight onto his heart.

*****

When she arrives at the shop the next day, there is a new sight sitting on the front desk.

Daisies, their white petals and yellow faces as fresh as the afternoon sunshine filtering through the window. Bemused, she looks around the bustling shop and spies the card propped beside the overflowing vase, her name scrawled across the front.

-

“When I got home, I stood in front of the mirror for hours, staring at your artwork. Every time I told myself to go to sleep, I found something new I loved. The tail feathers on my Phoenix or the petals of your daisies. What you’ve given me is more than I ever hoped - I can never thank you enough.

But anyway, I remembered what you said - how this kind of art is like leaving a piece of your soul under someone’s skin.

Well, I won’t lie - you must have done, because I miss you already.

So at the risk of being forward (although I did break into your shop and leave this, so maybe this won’t seem that forward), would you have dinner with me?  

I think there’s another new beginning waiting out there, if you’d like to find it with me.  

Yours,

Bucky”

-

At the bottom of the note, a phone number is printed.

Brushing her fingers over the delicate white petals, she pictures him, that dark haired man with eyes like blue ink, so heartbreakingly beautiful inside and out. She feels the unconscious pull of her heart, telling her all she needs to know.

A new beginning.

She says yes.

*****

[ptergwen]

tastes like cherry

w/c: 2.7k

warnings: swearing, hints of cheating, and suggestive themes

summary: peter is into you, but you’re into mj... and peter

a/n: i love this concept even tho it’s unhealthy? let’s take it as a cautionary tale :D also this is my last full oneshot of the year!! i’ll do something quick tomorrow tho

━━━ ➳❥

“sorry, peter. i’m already going with mj.”

you shut your locker, revealing an oddly unphased peter behind it. he doesn’t understand what you mean.

the two of you make your way through the hall. you’re about to head some so you can get ready for liz’s party later. she told you about it first since you’re good friends. you asked mj to come this morning, which was liz’s idea. she’s been trying to set you two up for a while.

“ok, that’s fine. i’m sure she’ll understand if you-“ you cut him off before he gets too excited. “like, as a couple. she’s my date.” peter’s face falls.

you and mj? no offense to her, but he could never see you liking someone so... dry. he’s always pictured bubbly and sweet people to be more your speed. himself, for example.

“that’s,” peter clears his throat. “that’s cool.” you smile to yourself, thinking about spending the night with mj. he’s thinking about how he can show his support without sounding jealous. “since when did you, um, have a thing for her?” “i don’t know. liz helped me realize, honestly,” you nudge his arm.

“maybe you can hang out with her tonight.” peter turns to look at you like you’ve said the most insane thing ever. you’re already looking at him. it brings a blush to his cheeks, which you take as him liking her. you smirk and stop when you get to the doors.

“i... i don’t think that’s a good idea,” he decides with a nervous smile. “think about it more. see you later.” you push open one of the doors and skip outside. you’re already gone when he responds. “yeah, see you.”

he needs to come up with a plan, fast.

-

“dude, that’s rough,” ned can’t hold back a laugh at the story. peter is at his place, the two of them about to leave for the party. he told him what happened earlier in hopes of getting a second opinion. if he’d known ned would react like this, he would’ve kept it to himself.

“this isn’t funny, ned. i need help,” peter almost whines, flopping back on ned’s bed. ned is fixing his hair last minute. “i’m sorry, bro, but i don’t think y/n likes you that way,” he says sympathetically this time. peter sits up again. they both make eye contact in the mirror. “how do you know that?” “uh, she rejected you?”

puffing some air out of his cheeks, peter watches ned run a comb through his hair. the silence gives him time to reflect on your conversation. he suddenly remembers a key part of it.

“she only said no because she’s taking mj,” peter repeats, ned squinting at his friend’s reflection. “not because she doesn’t like me.” ned puts the comb down, satisfied with his look. he sighs and faces peter again. “it’s too late, dude. try again some other time.”

peter disregards everything he said and keeps plotting. he snaps when an idea comes to him. “all i have to do is get y/n alone for a while.” he looks up at ned with hopeful eyes. that can’t be good.

ned doesn’t approve of messing with your love life. he wishes peter could be just happy for you and move on. that being said, he is supposed to be peter’s wingman. he’d be a pretty terrible one by saying no to whatever he’s about to ask. he mentally apologizes to you before giving in.

“what am i gonna do?”

“can you distract mj for me?”

-

kids are still piling in when peter and ned arrive. they follow the line of people leading the way. it’s easy to forget how popular liz is because she does academic decathlon with all of you, the most uncool club midtown has to offer. this puts it in perspective.

liz is greeting people at the door. another reason she’s not your stereotypical popular girl is that she’s actually nice.

peter heads in first, ned behind him. her face lights up the second they step inside.

“what took you so long?” she playfully questions the two of them. “ned’s hair,” peter answers, earning a laugh from her. ned elbows his side. “it looks great, ned,” liz compliments him and winks at peter. “oh, thank you.” he tries to act humble about it by running a hand through the style.

peter peers over liz’s head to see if he can find you. he’d have to stand on his tiptoes to really make progress, so that’s done. liz still picks up on it.

“looking for someone?” she raises an eyebrow at him. ned shifts from one foot to the other uncomfortably. “um, do you know where y/n is?” peter clenches his jaw. “in the kitchen with mj. she told me you might wanna hang out tonight.” she’s sort of studying his face, widening her eyes. he averts his own to his feet.

“i should really find her. i’ll... i’ll catch up with you later.” his lips press into a forced smile. “come on, ned.” the two of them set off for the kitchen. ned tells her goodbye and follows peter, leaving liz standing there shocked.

“you could’ve been a little nicer, dude,” ned concludes from the encounter. they’re on their way to the kitchen. peter shrugs his shoulders with both eyebrows furrowed. “i wasn’t mean, though. i’m just, you know, busy.” “so is y/n.”

you’re laughing about something mj said, your arms tightening around her waist from behind. one of your hands has a drink in it. the other searches for hers. she laces your fingers together and rolls her eyes, probably calling you a dork. it’s in a loving way, unlike when she uses the same nickname on peter.

ned might be right. it seems like you’re having a really good time. who is peter to take that away from you? he’d rather you be snuggling up to him than mj, but what matters beyond anything is that you’re enjoying yourself. he should listen to you and spend some time with liz. she’s at least interested in him.

he completely changes his mind when your lips brush mj’s cheek. back to his plan.

“you’re here!” you announce as peter and ned enter the kitchen. mj nods her head at them. “thing one. thing two,” she greets, holding out her free hand to fistbump ned. “hey.” peter grins at you, then gives mj a slightly smaller one. she notices. he sticks his hands in his pockets.

“did you say hi to liz?” you check with your eyebrows raised in anticipation. ned answers for peter, who bites down on his lip. “they’re gonna hang out later.” mj snorts at the idea. “why would she ever wanna do that?” “because i told her to,” you sigh and glance at peter. he’s so stiff.

“and why would you do that?” mj deadpans, looking peter over. he glares back. he hates being talked about like he’s not there. ned forces out a laugh to clear some of the tension between them. you don’t realize any of this is happening.

“i mean, she set me up with you. i wanted to return the favor,” you explain and rest your chin on mj’s shoulder. her face softens. she tilts her head back to look at you with a smile. “aw,” ned coos and draws a heart around you two with his fingers.

he’s secretly rooting for you and mj.

peter points at the snack table, his eyes going from mj to you. “i’m gonna... get a drink.” “ooh, fun. i picked them out,” you beam at him. mj pulls you closer to her before he comes over. she’s not happy with the way he keeps looking at you. you’re not completely oblivious to it either. you just don’t know what to think of it.

you pick up your cup to take a sip of soda. peter has to pass by you to get his own. right as you bring yours to your lips, peter ‘accidentally’ knocks into you. the drink spills down the side of your dress. this is all part of his plan. you squeal and step away from mj.

mj hits peter’s arm with the back of her hand. “idiot. look what you did to my date.” she only refers to you as her date so he’ll take the hint and back off. he ignores her and tends to you instead, a frown on his lips.

“i’m so sorry, y/n. i didn’t mean to-“ “it’s fine. ned, can you hand me a napkin?” you do your best not to let your frustration show.

he goes to get one off the counter. peter turns to him and mouthes ‘don’t’ before he gets the chance. ned mouthes ‘why not?’ back. peter says ‘because i said so.’ their silent conversation doesn’t go unnoticed by mj. she huffs and pushes past peter. “what the fuck, i’ll get it.”

peter gives him a look that says to do something. panicking, ned pushes the stack of napkins onto the floor. they all end up scattered around.

everyone waits for him to address it. “oops,” he chokes out. “you’re both idiots,” mj grumbles, getting onto the floor to pick them up. this should keep her distracted for a while. things are falling into place.

“i’m gonna see if i can borrow something from liz,” you tell the three of them in an exhale. peter rushes to your side. “do you need help with your dress?”

not sure what to say, you look over at mj. her and ned are busy cleaning up. she probably won’t mind. “this is my fault. i feel bad,” peter continues on.

you leave your empty cup on the snack table and nod. “come with me.”

-

you bring peter up to liz’s room and shut the door behind you. he has to bite back a smile while you search through her drawers for new clothes. sorry to liz, looks like the two of you are spending the night together now.

your change of clothes ends up on the bed. it’s only a t-shirt and jeans. you’re actually kind of bummed about your dress because you bought it specifically for tonight. not that mj would ever care what you wear, but you felt like dressing up. a few compliments from her wouldn’t hurt, though. she’s not the best in that area.

“can you unzip me?” you ask peter, eyeing him over your shoulder. he’s quick to come up behind you. he puts a hand on your lower back. his other slowly tugs the zipper down. “this is cute,” he murmurs, swiping his thumb over the material of your dress. the feeling and his words give you goosebumps.

“sorry i kind of ruined it.” “are you?” you’re only teasing. peter answers seriously, his voice lower than usual. “no.” you take a step forward when he finishes with the zipper. “it did feel pretty staged to me. you’re not that clumsy.” there’s emphasis on ‘that.’ he hums in a rather suggestive way. you face him again.

the back of your dress gets left open. peter’s eyes trail down your body, his hands not quite leaving it yet.

you’ve always seen him as this harmless, infinitely nice guy. he’s almost too nice for you. it’s why you never considered him as more than a friend. mj has an edge to her, and you like that. peter might have an edge, too.

this new side of him is starting to make you rethink his spot in the friend zone. you feel like you might be rushing into things with mj. should you really have taken liz’s advice? or, should you have came with peter?

“why’d you do it?” your gaze shifts down to his lips. he moves closer to you. that inspires you to take another step back. “i had to get you away from mj.” “she’s my date,” you say unconvincingly and keep walking backwards. peter follows until you end up against the wall.

it’s the perfect spot for him to corner you in. so, he does.

his arms are on either side of the wall behind you. he leans his head down. your faces are dangerously close to each other. your mouths are dangerously close to each other, too.

“you’re... you’re supposed to be with liz,” you breathe out. peter brings a hand up to caress your cheek. “she probably has better things to do.”

it’s almost impossible not to give in to his touch. his fingers run over your skin gently, contradicting the intense way his eyes stare into yours. you lean your cheek in the palm of his hand. you’re still having doubts.

“well, i’m supposed to be with mj,” you try to remind the both of you.

peter considers it for a moment. you two definitely shouldn’t be doing this. the selfish side of his brain takes over then. it’s not like you and mj made it official yet.

“supposed to be doesn’t mean you want to,” he rasps, his thumb moving down to your lower lip. he runs it across. you watch him with hooded eyes. as much as you crave his lips on yours, it wouldn’t be fair to mj. you care about them both.

“what if she’s looking for me?” your voice is just above a whisper. “ned has it covered,” he reassures you. “we’re okay.” we. you really like the way that sounds.

you’re not sure what’s going on with your head or your heart right now. all you know is that you want, no, need peter to kiss you. you’d never forgive yourself if you let the chance pass you by.

“you thought of everything,” you remark, winding one of your arms around his neck. peter’s breath fans over your face. he grabs your waist, you pushing your body flush against his. there isn’t an inch of space between you two. “because i like you, y/n.”

“i like you, too,” you finally admit to yourself and peter. your lips are so close to his they’re ghosting. “but, i also like mj.” his fingers press into your side. “can we worry about that after we kiss?” a grin crosses your face. “good idea.”

peter lets his lips land properly on yours, both of you melting into the kiss. this already feels so right even though it isn’t. he sighs in content and drops a hand down to your hip. you use your hand on his neck to deepen the kiss, your head against the wall.

he pulls you up by your hips, signaling for you to jump. your legs wrap around his middle while he snakes his around your waist again. he’s easily holding you while his lips attack yours.

“shit, you’re so strong,” you giggle into his mouth, an airy laugh escaping him. “think so?” peter kisses over to your cheek. one of your dress straps falls down your shoulder. you leave it. his lips kiss their way back to yours, getting messier with each one. you give him a lazy smile. he pecks your lips one more time, softly.

“you taste like cherry,” peter mumbles, now moving down to your chin. it’s shiny from where your lip gloss smeared. “cherry coke. the one you spilled on me,” you explain with a scoff. he keeps kissing down the center of your neck, his fingers tugging at the end of your dress.

“wonder what else tastes like cherry.” he’s half joking and half serious. actually, more serious. you gasp and tilt your head to the side more. you can feel him smirking while his lips dance across your skin. “peter, i can’t believe you of all people would say that.” “i’m full of surprises,” he hums, sucking a little too hard on one spot.

it’s hot having him take control like this, but this isn’t the time or place for a hickey.

“wait, i don’t want mj to see.” that’s the least of your problems. still, it’s a very big one. it comes right after choosing between which one of your friends you like more. you’re so screwed.

“alright. let’s do something else,” peter suggests, tightening his grip around your waist. he carries you over to liz’s bed. you giggle into his ear and throw your other arm around his neck. he drops you right next to your change of clothes, which you forgot about. they’re the whole reason you’re up here.

there’s a lot to unpack in this situation. you’re in your best friend’s room making out with her crush, while your sort of girlfriend has no fucking clue where you went.

good thing peter and his kisses are here to distract you from it all.

[theotheroccassionalfanficwriter]

The Death of a Playboy

Summary: Based on that early concept of Mammon being a ladies man.

You both knew that the sex meant nothing beyond scratching an itch. The heat of his hands on your waist, the warmth your lingering kiss on his cheek, the smiles he gives you on the morning, your sweet good byes at every phone call.

It was all part of a game both of you played.

Tags: Fuck Buddies, Friends with Benefits, No Strings Attached Sex UNTIL BOTH OF YOU CAUGHT FEELINGS, OPEN HAPPY ENDING, implied Simeon x Reader, Diavolo x Reader sex.

A/N: I'M SO GLAD THAT EARLY CONCEPT REMAINED A CONCEPT BECAUSE ALL OF US MAMMON STANS WOULD BE READING DIFFERENT KINDS OF FICS, I KNOW HOW FANDOM WORKS AND WE ALL WANT THAT SORT OF ANGST so im here to deliver.

Wrote this with EXO's Playboy on repeat.

--

From the moment you heard his voice on the phone, you knew he was dangerous. The sort of danger that could leave your heart broken into pieces if you weren't careful. And you were right, Mammon was a dangerous sort of beauty.

Someone meant to be admired from a far. A safe distance. His words and countenance was alluring and had you been naive you would have believed him so easily. Such a friendly demon, your Mammon.

But he wasn't yours beyond the pact, beyond The Unspoken Agreement, beyond the doors of the House of Lamentation. He was a stray cat that was loved by everyone but loved no one. He came and went as he pleased.

Collecting hearts that meant nothing beyond feeding his greed.

And you had no desire to be part of his collection. You had your pride, and you were used to the emptiness of playing this game. So even as you leave his room, with your lipstick stains on his white sheets, and a kiss good bye on his smile...it all meant nothing to you.

Because at the end of the day, you didn't mean anything to Mammon either.

--

From the moment Mammon had seen you, he had put his guard up. He knew, in the same way he used to know things as an Angel, that you would be the death of him.

A human, with stormy eyes that made his tar-filled heart beat faster. You were dangerous, in the same sort of way Celestial Weapons were dangerous. Beautiful, bright, and deceptively harmless. Mammon had grown used to the empty flattering and praises of demons, he was used to hearing words of love uttered without a care.

He had learned his lesson.

Love was not for demons and humans were just the same. Even if he hadn't interacted with any for a long time now. So he treated you in the same way he treated everyone else, a charming smile here and there, a playful wink at times, voice soft and just so inviting that even Asmo would be fooled occasionally.

And then there was the whole mess with Levi, and he didn't appreciate his younger brother muddying the waters of your relationship with him. Fuck Buddies or not, you were his pact master.

And Levi had no claim on you. One thing led to another and before he knew it, the loneliness of his days were gone. He used to not care if you left or stayed after a whole night of sex but then somewhere between Levi and then Beel breaking your room, he'd started having you sleep next to him.

He made you stay longer and longer until you naturally began sleeping next to him only to leave in the morning. The morning kisses stopped being a way to say good bye and became a prelude to another round of sex or a make out. His hands lingered on your waist because he wanted to, not because he was driving Levi away.

He had slowly stopped hanging out with his other 'friends' and 'lovers' in favor of you. And Mammon's worst fear had happened.

You were already living in his heart.

And yet both of you were still playing a game he wanted out. But he was to weak to let you go, not when you'd smile at him in the corridor as if sharing a secret with him. Not when you'd play with his hair as he laid on your chest or the way your voice would say his name with a fond tone you've only ever used on him.

Mammon thought how laughable it was that Lucifer had warned you of him but no one ever thought to place a warning label on you. Mammon knew he wasn't the only demon you were fucking.

That beyond the walls of the House of Lamentation, beyond the pact that you formed with him...you had no shortage of partners and not even Simeon had been safe from your charms.

And as he watched the empty space beside him, he wondered whose bed you were staying at tonight.

--

'Diavolo' you decided as he fucked you hard into the mattress, 'is an excellent lover.'

You were grasping his black sheets as he repeatedly hit your g-spot, his thrusts wonderfully timed to bring you just on the edge of cumming before he slows down and starts playing with the rest of your sensitive body. You couldn't remember which round this one was with the way his kiss leaves your brain into a puddle of sensations as his dick languidly fucked you.

"Diavolo..." You moaned helplessly as you clenched if only to make his dick stay and properly make you come.

He smirks at you, and in the dim and sensual red lights of his room, he looked utterly delectable. Intoxicating. A man who knew exactly what he wanted and cocky.

"Needy aren't we?"

"It's because you fuck me good, your highness" You teased him with cocky grin and lick of your lips.

You get rewarded with a sharp thrust and almost came.

"You quite a mouth on you" He said as if he hadn't known that from the moment you had casually enraged Lucifer with your arrangement with Mammon.

And you laugh softly amidst the fucking, enjoying the slow and almost lazy way Diavolo was fucking you. You smile at him,

"How long do you plan to keep me on your bed, your highness?" You asked as you wrapped your legs on his waist and Diavolo smirks at you, all sharp teeth and answered,

"Until morning."

You reached out for him and Diavolo lets himself be held by you as he brings you to a new high. Diavolo was the perfect lover who knew how to give and take, and you let yourself to drown in his sweetness.

You moan his name unabashed. You cling hard to him, nails scraping his back, when he fucks you hard and makes you cum at the same time as him. You don't let yourself think of another demon with tanned skin, of white sheets that you've started to sleep in more than your own bed.

And when morning arrives, you don't kiss Diavolo to wake him up. Instead you take his morning erection in your mouth and start sucking until his eyes open and he gives you a lazy smile.

"Insatiable human" He called you as he petted your hair.

And then very suddenly grips it tight just right that makes you moan. Diavolo had seen your body illuminated by the moonlight but he appreciates the way it looked as you rode his dick and chased after your own orgasm.

"You truly are a sight to behold."

You say nothing to that but instead glanced at your mother's painting of you displayed in the center of his wall.

Diavolo comes inside you at the same time as you do. He praises you for a job well done as he fondles your chest and admires the hickeys he left on your neck.

"Let me send you back, Darling."

And as you enter the House of Lamentation, you ignore the looks they give you. Particularly Lucifer's and Mammon's, you don't look at anyone as you moved past them to head to the stairs that was nearest to your room.

You didn't see the tight clench of Mammon's hands or the glare he gave Diavolo.

--

Lucifer calls you to his office the next morning. Collects you from your room that you rarely slept in since sleeping around with demons that caught your fancy. You only bother to wear the white fur jacket left on your table on top of your sleepwear, and then head out to Lucifer's office.

You sat on the sofa across his, still sleepy and uncaring of whatever lecture he has prepared. And lecture you, he does.

"I hadn't said anything about your activities with demons and even those from purgatory hall," he says sharply "but I draw the line with you fucking Diavolo."

You laugh to his face and made yourself comfortable on his sofa.

"Bold of you to assume that Diavolo wasn't the one fucking me."

He glared at you which only served to make you laugh harder.

"He is the future ruler of Devildom."

"And I have no interest with being Queen" you decided to get it out in the open, "Lucifer, its all just fun and games between me and my bed partners."

"Perhaps..." Lucifer acquiesces and both of you ease up, you smile at him fondly and Lucifer looked away.

It had taken time and a couple of threats from both of you to each other before the two of you had found this equilibrium. Where Lucifer would lecture and you'd listen for a while before dragging things out in the open.

"You do have to be careful," He warned you "Mammon can only do so much."

He sits beside your feet and puts in on his lap. The easy intimacy between friends had always been your comfort but Levi's envy and twisted love had sort of ruined that. And though Mammon was indeed your friend the lined had been blurred between you two and you hadn't allowed yourself of that.

And so to Lucifer it went. An unlikely friend who could match your moments of brilliance and could follow your flights of fancy easily. The lovely intimacy between friends who understood each other in the most naked way.

Lucifer knew your hang ups and fears, and you knew the secrets and pains he kept.

"I'll be careful" You promised him.

He smiles at you softly and the two of you just simply existed in that moment. Enjoying the rare moment of peace.

--

Mammon waited for you to come out of Lucifer's office, he stood at the side of the door. Leaning casually on the wall as he strained his ear to eavesdrop he could hear your muffled laughter until it tapered off into silence. He closed his eyes and wondered if there was any way to stop this game.

He wanted you all to himself, wanted to be the one you came home to at the end of the day. He wanted the things beyond the pact, beyond the doors of the House of Lamentation. The sex was no longer just what he wanted from you.

And Mammon knew, as you stepped out of the room and met his eyes, that you probably wanted the same.

"I missed you, Master~❤" he greeted you sweetly, arms already wrapped around you and whisking you away.

Mammon kept his feral smile. And he could hear your heart speed up and the smell of your arousal.

"Master, let's spend time together all day long~"

He feels your arm wrapped against his and he accepts your kisses as he pinned you against his bedroom door. Cold metal against your skin as his hands deftly undressed you in the privacy of his room. He plays with your nipples as he kissed you deeply.

'This isn't love' Mammon thought as he carried you in his arms.

'This isn't love but it could be.'

And that was the thought that scared him the most. Demons don't love the way humans and angels do. And Mammon already knew what form his love would take.

Greedy and selfish. He wouldn't care about anyone else but you, repercussions and consequences wouldn't matter to him once you were involved. And he didn't want that.

That kind of love he knew you'd abhor.

"Mammon?"

He sinks into your warm embrace and whatever passion between you two was now gone.

"What's wrong?" You asked him so carefully.

And Mammon could almost let himself believe that you love him. Instead of letting himself sink into a new type of loneliness he just clutches you tighter and wishes fervently that you'd never leave him anymore.

You stare at him and his shaking frame. You wouldn't mind if anyone else would be the collateral but Mammon had been different. He wasn't in the same category as your bed partners that you'd leave without good bye or an easy meaningless smile.

Being with Mammon felt like staring at a mirror that revealed all of your flaws. Your greedy and ambitious self that wanted without giving. He had easily and cleverly went through your defenses without your notice. Mammon had made you care for him in the same way, the little prince cared for the fox and his rose.

You began to care for him like he was the stray cat that began living in your home after feeding it for few days. He had carved a space in between the broken pieces of your heart and remade you anew. And so, in the same sort of destructive way you always went, you clung into the routine of sleeping around.

Pretending that you weren't comparing each bed partner to Mammon. Pretending as if you weren't sleeping with him most of the time. You liked to believe that you never played favorites among your low and mid level demons, that Mammon got away with alot of things when compared to the trouble Asmo, Beel, and Levi would bring. You were careful to ensure that no one would look twice at the fact that Mammon was the only high level demon you had on your pacts.

You gave him power over your other pacts and gave him power over you. You hide your wry smile and, hope, as you lull him to restful sleep that he doesn't realize how far you'd fallen.

You still had your pride after all.

--

What breaks isn't Lucifer's trust on you nor your pride but the bond between you and Mammon. And losing him, the very feeling of a pact breaking hurt you more than anything else.

You had your pride and you've won your gambit but as you see Mammon walk away from you his composure in tact, it felt like you've won nothing at all. And whatever joy you had on having Diavolo's pact mark on you had long since faded.

Even so, you don't let yourself break or cry or show any negative emotion. You keep your smile plastered and iron out the details for Belphie's clemency. There were so many things to be done and your greed and ambition had yet to be fully satiated.

And as his accusations and hateful glare rang inside your mind, you reminded yourself that you would never beg anyone to remain.

Mammon fucks his heartbreak away through half of the entirety of devildom. And the occasional witch that would willingly offer themselves to him. He doesn't let himself feel the pain of your betrayal and broken promises.

You were living your best life and he wasn't part of it. He was a fool to think you'd be different. That he would always be the only one, he should have known when you let Diavolo bring you back that things were changing.

He couldn't keep you because you never stayed unless he asked.

He relearns how he was before you came, resharpens the edges you blunted and flirts more than ever, and leaves hearts broken more than Asmo. He doesn't bring anyone home because even at his worst, the thought of hurting you directly or indirectly was something the couldn't do.

He loved you to the point of losing himself.

--

In chess, Promotion by rule meant that the moment a pawn reaches the 8th rank it would be replaced by a player's choice of Rook, Bishop, Knight or a Queen of the same color. Imagine this then:

Two players. God plays White and Diavolo plays Black. God plays the King's Gambit as his opening move and Diavolo declines it. Changing the game in his favor but still loses.

A new player arrives and plays Black. The game continues from where it left off. A losing game but a miracle occurs. Somehow the new player manages to do a Promotion.

A pawn is turned into a Queen.

Black wins. It was nothing short of a miracle but the win came with the cost of sacrificing the promoted Queen.

It wasn't the way you wanted to win. But you were desperate. Even so, that greedy part of you never wanted to lose Mammon.

But the empty space where his pact used to be is a stark reminder of what you had done. You wondered if there was still a chance to change things for a better.

You hear Diavolo call for you and you go to him and you begin pretending again.

'Maybe this time I can actually believe you meant nothing to me...'

Like always, you don't notice the way Mammon looks at you.

-

This is how you surrender:

At a party held in your honor.In the dark empty underground gallery of the castle, Mammon has you pinned against the cold brick wall and you're desperately kissing him back. His grip on you tight and the desperate, you grind against him for the friction and heat you crave. In the dark you could pretend that this was one of your games.

Heated kisses in hidden places. Risking the chance to be caught if only to bring out in the open what shouldn't. You had always known that Mammon was beautiful and it wasn't just his physical appearance. It was his genuine care for you, the intimacy that went beyond the platonic and the romantic. It was him seeing you at your absolute worst and loving you still.

It was the way he held you right now. Tight but still incredibly careful, always thinking about your inherent human fragility. It was in his kisses that stole your breath away, the ardent adoration in his eyes as you repeatedly called his name in between your near silent moans. That his hands still knew your body so well, that every gentle caress and grip of his hand was always sure. Never faltering nor second guessing the actions that would arouse you.

"Mammon" You begged, said his name like a whispered prayer in the nights you missed his embrace.

A single name that encompassed what you wanted to say but couldn't.

Forgive me.

I'm sorry.

Come back to me.

I love you.

He fucks you against the wall. Rough and desperate and taking out all of his frustrations at your expense. And even then, he fucks you just the way you like it. Ensuring that you would love every moment that he thrusts his dick in you. He whispers his hatred in your ears with every thrust and mixes his love for you.

He shows you his absolute worst. This love of his that only takes and takes. A twisted love that would never let you be as free as you are now.

"Master, you must really think I'm pathetic" He whispered brokenly, "I'm here still wanting you, still doing what you want even without the pact."

You moan his name.

"But even then I can't hate you with everything I have. I'm Mammon, the Avatar of Greed and you've reduced me to this."

You looked at him, eyes daze and brain still muddled from his expertise. Despite that you see his broken and lost look and can't help but coddle him. Make promises of fixing things and your heart breaks with his hollow laugh.

"Forgive me" You whisper as you hold onto him tight, his pace relentless as he hits that one spot again and again.

"You promised" He said as he held you tight enough to leave bruises.

"I'm sorry."

"Why do ya always leave? Even when I want you to stay you never really stay! Master!"

You feel his tears fall on your face and taste its salty flavor as he kisses you again. You feel your insides clench as you come and Mammon follows right after. Both of you breathe heavily, Mammon leans on you and you hug him.

"I didn't want to fall for you," You answered as you clutched his jacket tightly "From the moment we met I knew that it was inevitable but I still tried."

You relish at the perverted way you two were still connected and wondered how far could you take this before something broke beyond repair. But that was how far you were willing to go, always wondering but never for a single moment considering to do it.

"Mammon, my only beloved demon loving you was something I could never escape from."

He looked at you and saw the helplessness in your eyes and as you looked at him you put down your pride. Your demon whom you've tamed and in turn tamed you.

"I surrender myself to you."

It was too soon for an 'I love you' with wounds still raw and problems needed to be addressed. There were still secrets needed to be talked about and countless little things to be done. But in this moment, where Mammon sees you at your most honest, he spoke

"I accept."

And he kisses you softly, sweetly in the way he always imagined if you were his lover. It isn't love but it could be and this time both of you would let it be.

[angelanimedesaray]

Through the Looking Glass Chapter 9:  April

AN:  I’m getting ahead of the question now and stating that in this world, AOT isn’t an anime (Poor souls). So no, the Reader isn’t going to become omnipotent to Levi’s life/world.

They did not binge this in one day.  The first round, for sure they did, but it was a little broken up in spurts.  For the sake of brevity, considering this was already going to be a long chapter, I cut out all the flickering back and forth and just focused on their Movie Nights and them watching the show.

It might feel a weird mix of rushed and long, because they’re watching the entirety of Your Lie In April, but I wasn’t going to transcribe the whole show, so there’s a lot of summarizing and cutting things out and highlighting certain pieces, but its still long because there’s a LOT to cover.

Also because of how emotional this chapter is actually going to be, I want to just remind...that Levi is like, mid teens, and hasn’t gone through much of the stuff that adult Levi has been through, so in my mind, that justifies a bit more of a REACTION for some of this stuff.  But he’s still Levi, and he’s still going to be reserved and such, just...not as controlled as Adult Levi.

This whole chapter is like one big lead up to the next chapter, funnily enough. XD

Also got to listen to “Constellation” by Far Out feat. Karra on repeat writing this.  It felt so fitting!

I’m putting quotes from Your Lie in April in italics with quotes and an indent like this, so its clear that they came from the show.  Levi’s thoughts/memories will just be in italics, no indention .

Characters:  Levi, Reader

Pairing:  (Eventual Levi x Reader)

Warnings:   SPOILERS FOR “YOUR LIE IN APRIL”, Angst, FEELINGS, Language

Word Count:  10994

<----Previous Chapter    Masterlist    Next Chapter---->

*Levi’s POV*

At long last, Y/N was finally going to show him those movie, show things she kept talking about.  He knew plays and acting and putting on an act, but the concept of a show that was saved so you could watch it whenever you wanted without having to make people do it over and over was novel to him.

Boisterously proclaiming that it was going to be a “Movie Night” day, she’d grabbed his hand and dragged him after her like she’d used to do when they were young, despite his protests.  To be fair, he didn’t try too hard to wiggle away, either, letting her pull him along to the living room as she fussed and tried to decide what they were going to watch.

After all of her attempts to explain what a movie or TV show was, she decided that the best way to explain it to him was just to show him, though she still had to stop and explain the type of show they were watching.

“Okay, so what I’m showing you right now, is actually called an anime.  It’s a type of animation from a country called Japan, and it’s made from computers or hand drawn.  They draw the story, picture by picture, and put it together to make the characters and such move, with actors doing their voices and recording it in time with the pictures, sound effects like bells and wind also being saved, background music, so on and so forth,” she explained as she cut up pieces of paper and layered them on top of each other, pulling out a pencil and drawing a circle on each page, moving its position slightly each time.  “See, if you do it frame by frame, and then move it really fast, it's like the ball is bouncing--animation, and anime, works off the same concept, except they’re drawing everything,” she continued to explain, grabbing the bottom page and then letting the papers rapidly spring free, causing Levi to see the ball she drew appear to move along the page, even though he knew it was a bunch of individual drawings going by rapidly.

“They draw a solid background that doesn’t move, and then they add another layer on top that you can see through like glass, but they draw the moving parts on that layer, so it looks like they’re in the solid background and they’re walking and whatnot.  It’s really cool--makes me wish I could draw,” she continued, putting aside the papers she’d used for her demonstration and picking up the controller so she could get them started, gesturing for Levi to take a seat on the couch.  “I haven’t seen this one yet, but a friend recommended I watch it cause I love music, and I play the piano, and she said it was a really good coming of age story.  I’m a little wary cause she said she wanted my reaction to the end, but she usually suggests stuff I love, so I’m gonna trust it,” she continued to babble as the screen lit up with colors and pictures like a computer screen, most of it nonsensical to Levi as she shifted rapidly past most of it looking for the specific show.

She stopped on something extremely colorful, blues and yellows and pinks and reds in vibrant color with four drawn people lying in what looked like the sky, and she abruptly turned to face him.  “Are you okay with having to read what they say?  The original is in a different language, so it’ll have subtitles at the bottom translating what they say.  There are other versions where they redid the speaking parts in different languages, but I really like listening to the original--I feel like it really gets the emotions across because it's so well done.”

Levi hesitated for a moment, contemplating her offer of putting it in a language they understood or keeping the original and having to read what they were saying.  Eventually, he just shrugged.  “Whichever you want.”

“Subtitles it is,” she said, turning back to the TV and messing with a few things before she finally started the show, coming over to sit by him on the couch.  He was sitting normally, his ankle propped up on his leg with one arm resting against the back of the couch, the other lying casually in his lap.  Y/N, however, sat directly beside him, his arm behind her shoulders and her side pressed slightly against his, causing Levi to glance at her, mind flashing back to how she’d sat at the piano with him not too long ago.  She wasn’t even glancing at him, though, gradually relaxing next to him like a kitten curling up to get warm, her eyes fixed on the colorful display that was now on the TV.

Turning his attention back to the TV, Levi studied the images in front of him, a cheerful bit of piano music fluttering towards them as vibrant and colorful images of a girl chasing a black cat moved seamlessly across the screen, much smoother than the quickly drawn bouncing ball Y/N had put together to describe what they would be watching.

If she was trying to sneak a peak of his reaction, she would catch his eyes had widened at the vibrant colors and amazing detail, the realistic sounds that came through and made him want to check and see if the piano behind them was being played, or there were people hiding somewhere making the character’s voices and singing the song as the scene suddenly shifted to what Y/N described to him as an intro, a quick prologue of sorts that set the tone of the show.  Thankfully, however, she’d already explained to him that the sounds were done beforehand, recorded and somehow stored so it would be repeated to the images on the screen as they watched.

It was a little...outside his realm of understanding, how it all worked, and he had the sneaking suspicion he’d just have to accept that it just was and he needed to sit back and try to enjoy it.  That was how a show was supposed to work, right?  And that was exactly what Y/N seemed to be doing.

As she had warned him, the characters were speaking an entirely different language, so Levi couldn’t understand what was being said on its own.  Thankfully, there were the subtitles to translate, Levi’s gaze flickering between reading the small letters to looking at the colorful screen to see what was happening, trying not to get too caught up in the details he didn’t understand, like the games the kids were playing, and how different the environment was even to what he saw in Y/N’s world.

At least the basic stuff he could easily make sense of--the main character was obviously the quiet and reserved, black haired, blue eyed pianist Kousei, and the characters were around Levi and Y/N’s age.  The point of the story wasn’t clear yet, but she’d explained this was going to be episodic--it would be played like chapters in a novel, stopping at the end of a chapter before they would have to start the next one.  So it might be a while before he started catching that.  Right now, they were meeting characters, finding out their relationship to one another and getting hints at the history between them all.

Like the fact that Kousei lived alone because his father was absent, and his mother was deceased.  She’d succumbed to illness when he was still young.  That alone had the stirrings of empathy settling in Levi’s chest for the main character.  He couldn’t relate to the abuse, but the desire to make her better, that somehow he could do something to make her feel better did resonate.  It made him listen to their conversations a bit more, since he already had a foothold and something relatable.

Once he started drawing comparisons to the story unfolding in front of him, he couldn’t stop noticing them.

“The moment I met him, my life changed.  Everything I saw, heard, and felt.  All the scenery around me started to take on color.  The whole world began to sparkle.”

A world of monotone, devoid of color, until he meets a certain vibrant youth who brings a sudden rush of color and life into the world around her, dragging Kousei in by the hand--as if he could ever resist the force of nature she was.

Hm.  He wondered who that reminded him of.

He didn’t even notice when the “chapter” ended and the next started, his gaze flickering subtly towards Y/N on the couch beside him, appearing just as taken by the story as he already was.

However, this new chapter did bring about new questions, and was a bit closer to his grasp of understanding after watching Y/N play music for so long.

“Do you ever do competitions?” Levi asked as the characters walked around the competition and the history Kousei had at this specific building was teased, easily able to see that there was a piano on the stage despite it being a violin competition.  Surely if there were competitions for violins, there were for pianos?

She shook her head, chewing slightly on her lower lip as she answered him.  “No way--I play piano for myself and a few people.  I’m not looking to make a career of it or become famous for it.  Not to mention, I don’t think I’m cut out for competitions.  There’s a lot of pressure, and they’re really strict about playing the pieces exactly how they were originally written.  I want to play the piano how I feel, and that’s not always by paying attention to how it's written on the sheet.”

“And violins?  What are they like?” he asked.  He hadn’t seen or heard a violin yet, and was curious to hear what they would sound like.

“They’re a string instrument--portable, small.  Really beautiful, too--they’re my second favorite instrument.  They usually pair wonderfully with pianos--I’m pretty sure it’s common for a piano to accompany a violin in shows and competitions.”

Levi hushed with his questions again as the scenes playing out on the TV continued to unfold and the first violin performer took the stage, Levi hearing the light and lively music of the violin for the first time, the same song being performed over and over by the nondescript and nameless musicians on the stage in the show.

Beside him, Y/N was slowly tilting her head side to side as she listened to the music being played, eyes fixed on the screen.  She must have felt almost in her element watching this, while Levi felt a bit more like Tsubaki, not understanding a lot of the names and such that were being thrown around by the characters in discussion, but still there to enjoy it nonetheless.  When Kousei was tapping his fingers on the armchair to the piano music, Levi’s gaze flickered to Y/N to see if she was doing something similar, since she seemed focused on the music as well.  It wasn’t as precise as Kousei, maybe she wasn’t playing every note in her head, but her fingers were lightly tapping against her legs like she wanted to be playing the keys on the piano.

Then came Kaori’s first performance.

Watching, Levi felt a familiarity in the girl’s intensity, once again reminded of the girl sitting next to him, who seemed to throw herself into every aspect of life around her--at least compared to him.  There was a tension in the air, a feeling that this was going to be much different than the music they’d been hearing up until this point.  Even Y/N had stilled next to him, eyes riveted to the girl on the screen.

The first notes were shocking.  After listening to Y/N play the piano for so long, even his unprofessional, inexperienced ear could hear the shift in the sound, and how rich and deep it suddenly was.  Beside him, Y/N shifted into a more upright position, eyes suddenly lighting up and sparkling as she leaned forward, her breath catching.  The ripple through the audience wasn’t just in the show, but in reality, as the two of them on the couch suddenly focused entirely on Kaori’s performance.

The girl’s eyes flashed on screen, and the music suddenly leapt to life before them, making his own heart seem to pound a little faster, the sounds pleasant and uplifting to his ears, making him restless in a good way.  It sounded similar to when Y/N played the piano with him that one day, not necessarily in skill, but in the life and emotion that was in it.

Like Y/N, Kaori was pouring herself into her playing, she shone brightly through in the piece, made like it was pulling back a curtain to reveal a part of her soul.  Kousei even said as much, stating that Kaori was making the piece hers and hers alone.

The performance ended, and Y/N suddenly grabbed his arm with a squeal.  “That was awesome!  I’m going to have to find a recording of that!” she said breathlessly.  Her excitement was infectious, and almost prompted Levi towards a smile as they slowly settled back onto the couch, the story progressing in front of them.

She was such a stark contrast to the black haired youth in front of her, the whirlwind to his reserved personality, but even she would show flashes of vulnerability, for his eyes only, it seemed.  And he did what he could to hide what he could in order to protect her, without her ever knowing, probably.

Wait, was he still thinking about Kaori and Kousei?

Levi shook his head, focusing back on what was happening, reading Kousei’s contemplations about how he could still hear the refrain of the music Kaori played in the competition he witnessed, over and over.

Levi’s fingers tapped slightly against the back of the couch and in his lap, barely tapping out the melodies for the song they’d played on the piano the other day, music he heard even when he was alone with his thoughts in his own world, still able to feel her fingers aligned with his, guiding him through each key.  He’d find himself tapping them out in rare moments of idleness, like he was still clinging to the memory of the sound even if he didn’t have a piano in his world.

Y/N shifted entirely back to her relaxed position against Levi’s side, head brushing briefly against his shoulder and making his skin tingle where the brief contact had been, his stomach squirming.

Kaori dragged poor Kousei around everywhere, usually into situations far out of his comfort zone, and far more aggressively than a certain someone sitting beside him.  However, it seemed like more often then not, those situations were wonderful places that he wouldn’t have found or experienced on his own.

She brought color to his monochrome life.

Where he was hidden in shadows, she was cast in light, and she didn’t hesitate to pull him into the sun.

”I know you’re broken and beat up, but I want you.  I choose you.  I want you here.”

The beginning chapters seemed to fly by quickly, with Kaori pushing Kousei more and more, and beside Levi, Y/N seemed to be slowly wiggling closer to him.  Was it intentional?  Did she realize she was doing it?  He did--he seemed hypersensitive to every motion, yet he didn’t pull away, didn’t even twitch.  He stayed still, like sudden movement might frighten her away as easily as a stray cat.

As intriguing as the events on the screen were--and he was taking in the information, such as how Kousei used to have a black cat, how he couldn’t hear the sound of the piano after his mother died and quit piano directly afterwards, important stuff like that--Levi’s thoughts kept wandering as he watched.

He thought of how beautiful the trees with the pink petals were, how breathtaking every scene with them was, and how prominently they seemed to feature in every scene that had something meaningful going on.  Y/N called them cherry blossom trees.  He wanted to see one.  What would it look like?  What would the scene be if he stood under one with her?

Before he knew it, Kaori had cornered Kousei into accompanying her on the piano, and they were rushing towards another performance.  Anticipation stirred in the air between him and Y/N, both of them wondering how this piece would sound, considering Kousei had already been framed as a child prodigy on the piano, and they knew Kaori was breathtaking.  What would it sound like when they played together?  Levi worried about how it would turn out, how Kousei seemed to be unraveling in front of them just before they went up on stage.

Before Kaori gave him a literal smack to get him out of his own head.

As lighthearted and carefree as she seemed to be, every now and then, she would drop these little petals of wisdom.

Levi’s gaze flickered to Y/N again.

Her eyes would shift from a sparkle that almost seemed naive to a depth he hadn’t expected to see, and she’d say something that seemed beyond her years.

“Go on a journey.  A man away from home need feel no shame.”

“Natural.  Bizarre.  It’s like this girl herself is the journey with no clear destination.”

“You’re Freedom Itself.”

The couple took the stage.  The song started out slow, sensual, peaceful.  It reminded him slightly of the song Y/N taught him.

Before, predictably, Kaori brought her wild, fast paced playing back, bringing liveliness to the performance.  It started beautifully, but just as the music seemed to portray some kind of descent, Kousei lost sense of the notes, the sound distorted even for them, listening, as if they were Kousei, only able to faintly hear Kaori while the rest sounded muffled, strangled out by water.  When they were allowed to hear the sound again, it was off, it sounded harsh and jarring, out of sync.  Not at all pleasant.

Considering the earlier mentioned problems, he should have known this wasn’t going to be a perfect and completely enjoyable performance.  It was grating, and while he understood the emotional significance of seeing Kousei give up halfway through, his ears were a little grateful by that point.

The surprise was seeing Kaori stop as well.  He’d thought perhaps something would urge Kousei to start playing again, but he hadn’t expected Kaori to stop in the process.  Beside him, Y/N seemed to be biting on her thumbnail, her brows furrowed as she watched the screen in concern, a frown on her face, leg shifting restlessly around on the couch as she suddenly curled closer to Levi, directly against his side, oblivious to the surprised look he shot her because she was so focused with what was happening on the screen.

“Maybe there’s only a dark road up ahead.  But you still have to believe and keep going.  Believe that the stars will light your path, even a little bit.”

Kaori began to play again, the sound of just the violin playing on its own sounding lonely and out of place, especially when he knew there should be a piano playing with it.  All they needed was for Kousei to play again.  Would he?  No excuses, Kaori needed his support, and Levi found himself silently judging Kousei, mentally pushing him to help her, to play, because that was what she needed from him.

”So what was it that you saw in me?”

“But you have me!  Look up, and look at me.  Look at me.”

Kousei starting to play again was a relief, even if it wasn’t quite right at first.  After a bit of inner reflection, some time where they spent listening to the underwater sounds, it all faded away, and a soft scene of a mother and son filled the screen.  The mother’s softly sung lullaby was soothing, and as it shifted to a scene of the sky, Levi’s eyes widened at the brilliant beauty it was, the range of color, of blues and whites and even some purples and pinks.  How it sparkled and shimmered, stirring up emotions he didn’t know he’d buried somewhere inside him as he suddenly felt small again, curled up in a nest of soft warmth, staring out a small window up towards the sky high above him for the first time, gazing in wonder at the stars and moon that glittered high above him.

Words from one of the many times Y/N had played the piano for him drifted to his mind.  How she had perceived her music had struck some kind of chord with him, even if he wasn’t saying anything--even when he realized he had no words to describe what he was feeling listening to her play that single song.  He remembered how she’d told him that the point, what made music with her time, was how it could communicate what couldn’t be said with mere words.

The music shifted, and Kousei finally began to play, and the sound was enrapturing.  There were no words--it could only be felt, what was happening between the boy at the piano and the girl with the violin.

Could he find a violin in his world?  Could he learn to play it, so he could play with Y/N like Kousei played with Kaori?  Would they manage to produce something similar, something wonderful like that?  What would it feel like?  What would the sound between them be?  What would it say?

”I can hear your sound.”

So caught up in his thoughts, in the raw emotion and the music that had just enraptured them both, Levi was caught off guard when the mood took another shift.

He tensed, hand gripping the back of the couch a little harder as the sound faded away into an echo as Kaori suddenly collapsed.  The hairs on the back of his neck seemed to raise, warning him of something incoming, even though there was no physical threat.  He had a bad feeling, suddenly, seeing Kaori’s paler form in the hospital, seeing Kousei’s disbelieving look, the way all of her face wasn’t visible during certain key answers.  It put dread inside him over what was happening with her, where this would go.  A brief moment of happiness...but what did it mean in the long run?  What did it matter, if it was going to be ripped so harshly away, anyway?

“It was everything to you, and you’re trying to rip that away by force.  As if you were plucking off your limbs.  That’s why it hurts too much for you to bear.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to forget?  No, not a chance.  Because you and I are living for that moment.”

“I won’t forget.  I won’t forget, even if I die.”

“Thank you.”

The mood of the show mellowed drastically, far more serious notes seeping into the air around them as Kousei and those around him were faced with far more serious matters than who liked who, and music competitions.  The competitions seemed to be fading into the background, a mere backdrop to the true story.

Ah…

He might be seeing it now.

There was more to this tale than just playing in competitions.

And he had the feeling he was going to be facing some...difficult scenes.  Not the kind of gristly scenes of the everyday Underground.  The personal, emotional kind.  He was already getting flashes of past events, old emotions stirring this early on.  What would come next?  How deep was this show going to dig to bring out emotions or thoughts he didn’t even know he was keeping buried?

Y/N shifted again, now blatantly sidled up beside him, head leaning slightly to the side, coming to rest very lightly on his shoulder.  Levi stilled, pulled entirely from his thoughts, both of them seeming to hold the position to see what the other would do.

She didn’t pull away.

Neither did he.

Her head leaned a little more heavily against his shoulder, and she got more comfortable in her position next to him.  Levi relaxed, letting her do as she pleased, silently grateful for the companionable warmth her presence beside him seemed to be offering him, allowing the scarier thoughts to temporarily be soothed and chased away.  It helped that the story was shifting towards the more light-hearted as well, as Kaori and Kousei began to prepare for a piano competition.

“Before your fingers touch the keys, you must determine in your mind how you’re going to play it.  Why do you play the piano?  Is it for your sake?  For someone else’s sake?  How do you want to play this piece?”

Levi turned his head slightly to look at Y/N, curiosity stirred up in his mind as Kaori grilled Kousei for his mental imagery while he played.  “What about you?  What do you think of when you play the piano?” he asked her.

“Hm?” she asked, pulled for the first time out of the show as she turned slightly to meet his gaze, surprised by the inquiry.  “I...don’t know.  It depends on the moment.  Usually it’s memories, though.  Certain songs make me think of certain people, usually memories with that person.  Maybe something I want to do or say to them?  I haven’t thought of that much before...usually I just...do it.  And I tend to get lost in what I’m doing, too.  I guess that’s part of the reason why I haven’t thought of it much before.”

Levi continued to look at her even as she turned her attention back to the show, barely holding back a question that bubbled up inside him.

Have you ever thought of me?

She was teaching him to play the piano, right?  What would his mental imagery be when he played?

While Levi got his quick question in and mulled over his own thoughts once more, the mood shifted to something more serious in the show again.

Kaori was worried she was being too pushy, that Kousei might resent him for forcing him into the position he was in, now.  That she was being too hard on him.  And something that they said resonated with him, because of recent events.

“You’re suffering because of me.  I’m sorry.”

Levi saw Y/N in front of him in his mind’s eye.  Her eyes were downcast, lips pressed together, shoulders slightly hunched, and she was on the verge of tears after his barbed words expressing how shitty this situation was for him, how it teased him with what he could never have.  Did she blame herself, for him being pulled into her world, always around her for a brief while before he was kicked back?

But again, she’d been right.  Even if it was brief, that didn’t mean the time he spent here with her was worthless.  It still meant something to him, and it still brought him some comfort and, oddly enough, a sense of security.  From the very first time they’d met, she’d provided him with somewhere he could truly feel safe and cared for.

“It was you who swept away all the dust.  For sweeping away the dust that had collected on my body...thank you.  For encountering me.”

The more hints the story dropped about Kaori’s health, the more worried Levi became about the turn this story might take.  He was bracing for impact, a small frown on his face as he saw the pile of medicine Kaori was carrying around with her at the competition.  Kousei’s musical rivals didn’t register so much with him in the previous two chapters, because he was still so focused on what was happening with Kousei and Kaori.

Y/N had gotten up at one point by now to get a drink, bringing back a water for him to sip on as they continued the story, time passing by without either of their knowledge of just how long they’d been sitting here.  Even Levi, usually so much more active, was content to sit here and watch, hardly noticing his inactivity as he drank up every scene, every word, some ringing out through his mind, others falling into place as narrative importance, worry and elation and nostalgia, as well as so much more, all stirred together inside him, Y/N curled up like a kitten at his side, his arm still leaning against the back of the couch, his hand resting softly on her shoulder.

However, while he and Y/N were falling into a position of ease, the story seemed to be starting to shift more to the relationship between Kousei and his mother, and what happened to her.  Kaori was getting worse, it seemed, and they were digging into a relationship that felt, in certain ways, similar to what Levi had gone through, and not too long ago, either, now that he was forced to look at it.  It made him...uncomfortable, to say the least, but he wasn’t saying anything--he needed to see where this story was headed, with how invested he was at this point.  And even if it got personal, he thought he might be able to sit and endure it all the same.

”My mom’s coming from the hospital to see me perform...so you see, in order to make Mom well again, in order to make her happy, I’m gonna play my very best as a gift!”

The first hit actually made him flinch.  It was slight, but it was there, and Y/N might have caught it--he wasn’t expecting it, not from the tone, or what had just been discussed, or the way the scene changed so rapidly from the cheers of the audience after little Kousei finished playing his best for his mother to the slap across his face from the ailing woman.  He suddenly felt tense, his hand still on Y/N’s shoulder and his expression suddenly unreadable as the hits kept coming, making something dark and angry well up inside him as Kousei was hit hard enough to draw blood against a backdrop of the abuse he’d been suffering the entire time.

Perhaps Y/N hadn’t caught it, because she was flinching as well, and her reaction was far more open on her face, eyes watering with near-tears, a slight shake in her body, and the occasional, shaking breath.

”All I wanted was for you to get better.  All I wanted was for you to be happy.  And yet...I wish you would just die.”

“That was the last time I said anything to my mom.”

Levi’s grip tightened on Y/N’s shoulder, but neither of them said a word, a grimness in the air as they continued to watch the story in front of them that had started so colorful but was taking a darker turn rather quickly.

Levi scowled slightly at the switch to such an upbeat little song at the sudden end of the chapter, which would be followed by another upbeat song at the beginning of the next.

“These ‘intros’ and ‘outros’ are deceptively cheerful,” Levi criticized.

“What’s a good story without some struggle?” Y/N replied, though she briefly untangled herself from her position at Levi’s side and wiggled off the couch.  “Though, I think I’m going to go grab some tissues.  I’m starting to think there’s going to be some really sad or heartfelt stuff coming up.  Tell me when it’s back on if I’m still missing!” she added before darting away, leaving Levi to sigh quietly to himself and look up at the ceiling, keeping track of the show in front of him as he waited for her to run off and come back with a colorful box, squirming back into place beside him and letting his hand return to her shoulder as she placed the box next to her on the couch, sighing contently.

“The show must go on!” she insisted, face devoid of the strong emotion they’d been sharing just a few moments ago.  She settled next to him with a soft sigh, the sight of Kousei struggling at the piano returning where the previous chapter left off.

They watched him struggle against the ghost of his mother, trying to force himself to play through it, to play even though he couldn’t hear, even as the sound grated on them.  Watched as he slowly gave up, until he stopped entirely before the song was even over, just like he had with Kaori.

Part of him had expected Kousei to have some kind of revelation just before he quit and push through, but he’d really stopped.  Now it just remained to be seen if he could start again.  Of course, after his performance with Kaori, they knew he was disqualified.  But would he find a reason to play anyway, like she had?

”Even the you that’s here inside me, won’t let me give up.  That day, I wonder.  What did you play for?”

Levi felt the ghost of her fingers on his again, unaware that he was tapping the keys against the skin of her shoulder at the memory.

Once more, the sound changed as Kousei found his reason to play.  The girl who’d changed his world from monotone to color, who dragged him into a whirlwind of life without giving him the chance to think twice about it.

“Just one person matters to me.  Only you matter.  Thank you...Will it reach her?  I hope it reaches her.”

”Your hidden emotions.  The you that you’ve never known.  The piano drags out everything…”

Levi’s gaze once more was unfocused on the screen as he was swept away in a sea of his own thoughts, thinking back to the times he’d listened to Y/N play.  What had he been hearing those days?  What would he hear in her playing in the future?  If he put enough effort into learning to play as she tried to teach him...could it help him communicate some of the things he struggled to say?  It was at least worth giving it a shot.

And he would be sure to pay closer attention in the future to see what he could hear, what he may not be aware of.

The pacing lulled into something more relaxed once more, a brief reprieve after the emotions that were just thrown at them, allowing him and Y/N to talk a bit more, both of them keeping one eye on the subtitles even as they made little comments about what they’d heard so far.  The unspoken love triangle?  Maybe it was a triangle.  The romantic feelings were crisscrossed and all over the place between this group of friends.  They commented on their observations about Kousei and Kaori, what they thought was going to become of the two as they watched, whether Kaori or Tsubaki would end up the one with him in the future.

Music was another thing they talked about, obviously.  How they wanted to hear Kousei and Kaori play together again--and were excited they had the chance to with the upcoming concert.  Y/N also expressed how she loved Chopin pieces, and as a result was happy about how many Chopin pieces were in the show so far and was hoping to hear more.  She also mentioned that Love’s Sorrow, the song they were working on now for the concert, was a beautiful piece--mournful, obviously, but beautiful.  She even offered to help him learn it when he got more used to the piano if he wanted to.

Levi was a little distracted, though, by the further warning signs that something was going to happen to Kaori.  In the same stroke that he contemplated how she had a skill for seeing the beauty in the world, like Y/N tended to do for him, she said something ominous that further solidified a growing suspicion that Levi was keeping in mind.

“You know, I’m not always going to be around to help you.”

As worried about Kaori as that line made Levi for the context of the show, it also reminded him of his own situation with Y/N.  He helped when he could, but he was absent so often...and it worked both ways.  He was perfectly capable of taking care of himself when he was on his own, but Y/N he worried about.  What if something serious happened when he wasn’t around to help her?  Would she be all right?  Would she be able to take care of herself until he could be here to help her?

It was another line that resonated with him, another one that was going to burn in his mind and make him brood over their situation.  This show was rife with them, and it had his emotions all over the place, despite his outward calm posture.

He had no way of knowing just how strongly the next chapter was going to hit him.

He was as riled up as Kousei after hearing that smart mouthed kid claim that the music Kaori made was just disastrous noise.  If he’d ever heard someone say that about the music Y/N played, he was liable to sock them in the mouth.  Honestly, after that comment, he’d thought that the focus was going to be on Kaori again, even with all the recent focus on Kousei’s mother.  That misconception was quickly fixed, though, when the chapter began with a flashback to Kousei’s mother and how he became a pianist, further reinforced when Kousei started to play and they were given the first glimpses into his thought process, and what his new mentor--his mother’s old friend--was thinking.

Kousei’s mother’s favorite song, Kousei’s lullaby.

”Would she have played it like this?”

Kousei was curled up against the wall in the darkness of a room with no one else, knees pulled up to his chest, head buried, trying to shut out the world, the woman who’d known and been close to Kousei’s mother finding him in the darkness as Kousei cried out for his mother, for someone to help him, save him.  Levi tensed, going completely still beside Y/N with his gaze riveted on the scene in front of him.

”That son of ours is about to bid you a last farewell.”

”Will it reach her?”

Levi’s jaw clenched, his teeth grinding together as he attempted to keep a lid on the emotions that were trying to rise inside him again.

“After I’m gone, what’s going to become of Kousei?  Will he be able to earn a living?”

There was a pressure on his chest making it impossible to breathe and a forceful pain in his throat that was pushing right at the back, like there was something stuck there that wanted to come out but couldn’t, because he wouldn’t let it no matter how much it pushed.

”What a terrible mother.  There’s nothing I can leave that boy...”

His breathing ground to a halt except for the barest, shaking whisper through his nose.

“I wish I could’ve stayed with him longer...Will my treasure ever find happiness?”

Eyes fixed on the screen, Levi suddenly felt the overwhelming need to bolt, could feel his fingers and legs twitch like he was about to without warning, but the music was reaching a crescendo, and he thought maybe, just maybe, he might be able to make it through this, even as the pain in his throat and the pressure on his chest seemed to grow more crushing, more painful, so much harder to contain.

”Do you think it reached my mom?  The way I played my very best?  Do you think it reached Mom?”

“You two are connected, aren’t you?  Of course it reached her.”

Kousei broke on screen, and Levi suddenly realized he wasn’t going to make it to the end of the episode.  He needed to bolt now or he might shatter.

Levi tapped Y/N on the shoulder to get her to move, not daring to look at her and possible see her a crying mess already at the emotional scene.  He gave a brief, “I need to take a shit,” that he managed to get out in a steady voice past the pain in his throat by some miracle, and then stood up, the brief statement her only warning to shift before his movement accidentally dumped her on the ground.  He didn’t run to the bathroom, that would be too much of a tell.  Instead, he got up calmly and made his way to the bathroom, not hurrying his step until he was out of sight and already halfway up the stairs.

By the time he reached the bathroom, he couldn’t hold it back any further, safely locked behind the bathroom door with the water in the sink running seconds before he finally choked on the feeling in his throat and chest.  A strangled sound left him, and he leaned over the sink, trying to catch his breath even as his body tried to make him sob.  His breaths hitched painfully, a slight shake in his hands before they clenched the edge of the sink, shoulders hunched and teeth grinding painfully as a soft whine escaped his rigid body.

Y/N was waiting for him.  He couldn’t stay up here forever, but he at least had to get ahold of himself before he headed back down there.  Out of stubborn determination, Levi tried to gulp in air and steady his breath and hands.  Once he had a strong enough hold of his breathing, he cupped his hands under the water and splashed some of it onto his face to help calm himself down.

Only when he felt his composure had returned, Levi dried off his face and hands, then carefully made his way back downstairs, well-aware that the chapter wasn’t even over, and there were still several chapters left--nine, according to Y/N.

A lot could happen in nine chapters.

Levi calmly returned to his seat on the couch, Y/N giving him a quizzical, examining look before she resumed the position they’d been in before resuming the show in the exact spot he’d left--thankfully, it was after Kousei’s breakdown, so he wouldn’t have to see any of that again.

That didn’t, however, mean that he was in the clear.  No, now that they had put a neat little bow on Kousei’s struggle with his mental image of his mother, they were moving on to the one who had been concerning Levi since one of the first few episodes.

”There’s an ever present sorrow hanging over Arima’s music...Then it’s a demon’s path he must walk.  His growth is spurred by sorrow.  If he walks that path, he might have to lose someone to move forward.”

Kaori was in the hospital again, and Levi felt the uneasiness and dread about the direction this show was taking grow substantially.  Especially as Kousei ran inside the room and saw Kaori in the exact position his mother had been in.  The way this show was starting to dig at some subconscious and deeply buried pains and fears of his that he would rather keep far from the front of his mind, but it kept plodding on, and he felt far too invested now to just leave it where it was.  The curiosity and need to know what happened next would eat away at him if he asked Y/N to stop it there--plus, asking that might tip her off that something about it was upsetting him, considering at this point he couldn’t claim he was bored with it.

”You’re gonna be fine, right?”

“I can see you again, right?”

“You won’t leave me like my mom did, right?”

At this point, the focus on Tsubaki and Kousei’s relationship was a much needed break from the reality and darker questions being asked with Kaori and Kousei right now, questions that he had asked himself from time to time regarding Y/N, questions and concerns he didn’t want to think about for his own sanity.  What was happening with Tsubaki was more lighthearted, less grim, even if it was confusing and brought up even more questions to ask himself.  After all, Tsubaki was being faced with the question of how she felt about Kousei--the boy who had been her friend since they were little, who she was falling in love with no matter how much she tried to deny it, who she had always been beside and wanted to be beside forever.

It made him wonder.  He and Y/N were friends--had been for years now.  She was there for him during his darkest moments, and he’d been there for some of her scariest moments.  Yes, they were friends, but...was it starting to go deeper than that?  Did he feel closer to her, somehow?

Her hands had felt warm against his when they played the piano together, pressed against one another with his arms around each other so they wouldn’t get in each other’s way.  His skin had tingled where she touched him when she’d taken care of and cleaned him up after that fight.  He felt comfortable sitting beside her now, with her leaning against him, her head on his shoulder, despite how borderline intimate it felt.

Had she felt something similar?  They hadn’t really looked at each other in these moments--they’d been avoiding looking at each other whenever something like that happened, so he had no idea.  Was she aware of just how comfortable he was around her?  How different that was for him?  Did she have any clue how important she was becoming to him, how big a part of his life she had gradually become despite the very real distance and difference between their two worlds.

This entire time he’d been drawing similarities between them and Kousei and Kaori, when perhaps the comparison should have been with Tsubaki and Kousei.

It sure as hell might make him feel better, considering he was rather sure she had a terminal illness.  After growing up in the Underground and with the experiences he had so far, fatal illnesses were something he could spot, especially when there were as many warning signs as there were for Kaori.  She only seemed to be getting worse--he was pretty sure she’d been told she was going to die, even though there was no audio for the moment to confirm it.  Since the first episode, Kaori had been centered on making an impression, about living on in the memories and hearts of others--she was clearly afraid of disappearing without a trace after she was gone.

Still, amid all the aching and pain, there was still flashes of hope as Kaori struggled against her illness, and more moments that made him think about the relationship between himself and the girl next to him--more damn connections between them and Kousei and Kaori, which did nothing to sooth his nerves and fears he didn’t even know he had.

“Why are the sounds you make so beautiful I think I’m going to cry?”

“That devotion you showed.  Her heart had turned grey, and you gave it color.”

Had he managed to give her what she gave him?  He felt like he didn’t have anything to give, coming from the dreadful world he did.  She was always the one bringing color into his life, had he ever brought color to hers?  Would he ever be able to?  His world, his life, was ugly and dark and probably tragic.  What could he offer her out of that?

”Did I reach him?”

“You don’t have the time to see me.”

“It’s not about time--I want to see you.”

The chapter started so calmly--discussion about the next round of the competition, Kaori continuing her struggle to get better, Tsubaki finally admitting her feelings for Kousei in a way.  Levi even made a quip about how Watari and Kaori really needed to stop dragging him along as the awkward extra in their group, practically rubbing it in his face even if it was unintentional.  There was even another moment of resonance with something Tsubaki said to Kousei.

“So you won’t lose your way, so you won’t have regrets, I’ll stay by your side forever.”

Still, he should have seen it coming.  It shouldn’t have surprised him, considering he was well aware of the cruel shittiness of the world, even if Y/N wasn’t.  All this time he’d spent bracing himself with the hints of just how bad Kaori’s illness was, the ominous lines of hers.  All the lightheartedness and self-discovery of the past several episodes came crashing down with the emergency with Kaori as, from what Levi could see even though they clearly had far more advanced medicine that Levi knew nothing about, Kaori had some kind of close call, a brush with death, right in front of Kousei.  And then with the damn cat getting hit and dying literally moments later, Kousei having to wash the blood off of his hands and breaking down in the wake of everything that was happening.  He shouldn’t have been surprised, but it still ached to see it.

And there were two chapters left.  Realistically, he doubted that Kaori was going to recover in two chapters after all this time.  By now, he was certain that she was going to die by the end of the story.

She wasn’t even gone yet, and Kousei had already given up.  Levi had seen plenty of people reach that point.  No fight left, no will to move.  Kousei was right back in the position he’d been in at the start, the impending loss of Kaori the final nail in his coffin, his breaking point.

“Why does it have to end up this way?  I can’t...go on.  No more...I can’t try anymore.”

He hadn’t hit his breaking point--he hoped he never reached that point.  But he was sure even he had one, even if he wasn’t sure where his limit was.

Levi blinked at the white fluttering from the sky on screen. A novel sight he couldn’t ignore or just accept.  Snow, Kaori called it.

So that was what it looked like.  One of the many things he’d heard about but hadn’t seen…

“Have you seen snow before, Levi?  Since you live Underground,” Y/N suddenly asked from where she was curled up into his side, head turned to look at him curiously.  Levi shook his head no, and she hummed.  “You’ll have to show up some time in the winter so I can show you all kinds of awesome things you can do when it snows.  It’s cold, but it’s fun.  And everything looks so clean and pure...my favorite things are the trees encapsulated in ice,” she said with a wistful sigh, eventually quieting down as the scene on the screen continued to develop.

Maybe one day.  But he would have to come through not only when it was winter, but on a day that there was snow, and he had no control over when he blipped over into her world.

Blipped, blip...her word for when Levi flickered into and out of her world.  Clearly, it had caught on even in his mind.

“The people I care about keep leaving me...I’m going to be left all alone.”

Inwardly, Levi felt himself flinch, and that desire to bolt was trying to rear its head again, the desire for her to shut it off and spare him these comments that kept digging into the darker corners of himself, the weakness he kept hidden away for no one to see.

“But you have me.  But you have me.”

For the first time, Levi felt Y/N’s hand give his little squeeze on his knee as Kaori repeated her sentiment to Kousei.

Perhaps the feelings were mutual.  Maybe he wasn’t the only one drowning in emotions on the inside and drawing parallels while they watched this show, if she was giving him a little squeeze after those words.  After he registered that he had felt it, and he hadn’t imagined it, he gave her shoulder a small squeeze in return.

“I’m going to struggle as hard as I can.  Struggle, struggle, struggle, like there’s no tomorrow.”

“You gave me this desire to cling to the time that I spent with you.  Aren’t you going to struggle to?  We’re so good at struggling.”

Hell if that wasn’t the story of his life so far, right there.

Collectively, the two of them held their breath, watching as, after Kousei declared how useless it was for him to even try to play in the state he was in right now, Kaori got to her feet on her own, and the sound of the violin softly flickered towards them from the screen.  It was like the music was from a dream, her imaginary violin ethereal, Kaori lit up by a flurry of snow as she played to a crescendo and smiled at Kousei.

“See, miracles can happen just like that.”

Shaking, legs trembling, sweating, collapsed into Kousei’s arms with a breathless laugh, clinging to him like a source of comfort.  It wasn’t her reciting of the things she knew about Kousei, or what she wished she knew, that drew a response from him, but her heartfelt pleas with Kousei as he held her in her arms.

“I’m scared.  I’m scared!  Don’t leave me all alone!”

That was why it was familiar.  That was how Y/N had held him when…

And perhaps the reason he’d lashed out when he’d found out about how fleeting this world was for him had been because…

Levi shifted, and it was only when Y/N started to pull away did he realize he’d been shifting to get up and walk away, to bolt.  When she fixed him with that questioning look again, not-yet-spilled tears in her eyes from the emotion of the scene, her hand still fisted in his shirt, it brought him back to what was happening in the present, and he shook his head as if to dismiss the movement as he sat back down, relieved when the scene changed again.

Considering it was going to the competition and Kaori’s surgery at the same time, he doubted he was going to get much of a reprieve before the emotions hit again.  Kousei was still a mess, though it was a miracle he’d at least shown up to the competition, but even watching him was worrisome, wondering if he was going to break at the piano again after all this progress he’d made throughout the show, everyone watching in concern in the show and on the couch.

“I made you remember something you don’t want to remember…”

“I won’t forget, even if I die…”

“You can just forget about it all, like you’ve pressed the reset button…”

“I guess maybe we never should've met, huh?”

Levi had to close his eyes for a moment after that one, sucking in a sharp breath.  It was like it had come right out of his denial of their entire situation, how angry he’d been, the pain it had caused, how for a few moments, he’d felt like it would have been better if he could forget it all, if they had never met, because then he wouldn’t know about what he could never have.  His heart ached painfully, the words reverberating not in his mind, but in his bones as the pain in his throat already seemed to be returning.

He opened his eyes, and on screen, Kousei started to break down again, face in his hands, on the brink of tears seated at the piano, on stage in front of everyone once again.

Tsubaki sneezed, and after a few moments of reflecting, after realizing how many people he knew were there...Kousei finally began to play, the notes reverberating deep inside his chest in a full, resonating sound.  Something about it made him nostalgic, but also so...it was so…

“Bursting with such mournful color.”

The chapter suddenly came to an end mid performance, which startled Levi--especially when Y/N darted forward so suddenly to grab the remote and quickly jump to the next one, immediately snapping back into his side, clutching to his clothes like her life depended on it, curled into a ball as he realized for the first time that tissue box was suddenly right in front of her, easily accessible.

The last episode.

Considering the set-up, neither of them were going to get through this last part unscathed emotionally.

It started from the beginning of the piece this time, the commentary being made by the onlookers and Kousei different this time, centered entirely on Kousei after the very beginning.  Levi and Y/N were both enraptured by the performance though, holding to one another on the couch with gazes fixed forward, completely still, even their breathing slight as they paid full attention to every word, and let the music pull them in deeper into the emotional symphony Kousei was creating with just the piano.

“I’m so scared...Somebody…”

“But you have me.”

“I’m not alone.  From the moment that we meet someone else, none of us can ever be alone.  We’re all connected.”

Levi’s grip tightened slightly on Y/N’s shoulder again, and he felt her grip tighten in return.

“Don’t leave me all alone.”

“Dummy, you have me.”

“Inside me...you exist.”

Y/N nuzzled into his side like a cat, and he thought he felt his shirt starting to get damp.  He ignored it, keeping his grip on her firm and steady, staying still beneath her as he stared stalwartly at the screen, even as the emotions were starting to stir violently around inside him.

”No way am I going to leave you all alone.  Reach her.  Reach her.  Reach her.  Reach her.”

The scenery changed entirely, like Kousei was playing in the sky amid a shower of colors, floating around like leaves that autumn day when he and Y/N had jumped into the piles and sent them scattering into the air.  Kaori’s whispered ‘Thank you’ as Kousei carried her back down the stairs sent a shiver down his spine, especially when Kousei of the present reacted, and turned his head to see Kaori materializing beside him, violin in hand.

Beside him, there was suddenly a whine from Y/N, and a rather large sniffle, as well as that damp feeling on his clothes starting to spread.  She trembled slightly beneath his arm and hand, and he realized she was starting to cry rather heavily, her face partially buried in his side.

The music was jarring, disorienting, suddenly intense and tragic as Kousei closed his eyes, barely holding back tears.

Oh.

Oh, shit.

And there it was.

Kaori’s rich violin playing joined into Kousei’s suddenly mournful and tragic playing, and Levi realized that they were witnessing the last time the two would get to play together.  It couldn’t happen again in body, but at least in spirit.  Words weren’t needed for this moment.  Nothing was said between the characters on the screen, and not a word was spoken between Levi and Y/N.  She was continuing to cry into his side, with Levi starting to semi-awkwardly rub her shoulder to try and comfort her even as his own heart seemed to be pounding painfully at the sight in front of him, every note piercing him deeper than he thought possible with the raw emotion behind and pure weight of this single moment.  All there was at this moment in time, was him, Y/N, and the music being created on the stage in front of them between Kaori and Kousei, one last time.

A sob broke past Y/N’s control as the colorful day turned into a rich night, and Kaori stopped playing.  Levi held his breath, watching as transfixed on the scene as Kousei was transfixed on Kaori, the music softening for the briefest moment before it started to turn slow, mournful, and tragic again.

”Wait...please don’t go!”

As Kousei started to beg Kaori to do all of these things with him again, good and bad, Levi felt the pressure on his chest return, the burn in his eyes and the clench in his jaw, the pain in his throat.  Memories of his own were flickering before his eyes in place of what Kousei begged of Kaori.

A small hand offering a still-warm roll.  A splash of cool water to the face with shrieks and giggles filling the air.  The security of being able to lean comfortably against a warm back with the sun shining down from above, hands gripping his legs and his arms wrapped around the girl who carried him home on her back.  The cool taste of ice cream as they leaned against the brick store.  A gentle hand rubbing soft circles on his back as he slipped in and out of lucid thought in his feverish state.  The sound of hope amid darkness that they managed to create together despite his crude piano playing.  Her hand even now clenched tightly in his shirt seeking comfort, like when he’d led her home in the dark through the desert.

His hand was stretched out before him, pulled along by the girl that suddenly disappeared when he closed his eyes.  He tried to reach a little further, as if his fingertips could press past some veil between his world and hers, so he could reach her even for another moment.  The warmth and the softness of the comfort she wrapped him in evaporated into smoke between his fingers, disappearing in translucent curls, leaving him with nothing to hold, the weight of her presence suddenly disappearing.

What if one day he didn’t come back?

What if one day it all just...ended?  Without any warning?  The only sign that he would never return the passage of time and gradual loss of hope?

“Don’t go, don’t go, please don’t go, please don’t leave me behind!”

Y/N was sobbing openly into his side now, but she didn’t move to stop the show--she kept watching it.  Levi was unaware of the fact that his hand was shaking against her shoulder, all of his effort on keeping the emotions bottled inside him as he watched Kaori disappear before Kousei’s eyes in a flurry of petals, swept away by an indifferent wind.

The rest of the last chapter seemed to pass by in a blur, Levi spending most of that time trying to work his way down from the emotions that scene had stirred up in him, glancing over at Y/N to see a collection of tissues around her while her gaze remained fixed forward, still a blubbering mess over the events that were unfolding on screen.  Shards of Kaori’s letter made it through to Levi, certain fragments sticking with him in the moment, others slowly settling in likely to make an impact on him later.

“I want Kousei to play the piano for me!”

He understood that sentiment.  He loved listening to Y/N play for him, it was one of the many reasons why he brought it up so often.  Sure, it was nice she was trying to teach him to play, but the true moment of enjoyment for him was when she played for him.

“Isn’t it funny how the most unforgettable scenes can be so trivial?”

“None of it was trivial.”

No, none of it was.  From playing card games in her room to playing tag on the playground, or eating frozen treats on the steps while they played simple games with their hands.  Every little moment was one Levi kept stored away, a secret trove of memories just for him and her, something bright and...something that the Underground couldn’t corrupt, because it couldn’t reach or touch this world or the girl at his side.

“Was I able to live inside your heart?  Do you think you’ll remember me at least a little?  You better not hit reset.  Don’t forget me, okay?  That’s a promise, okay?  I’m glad it’s you, after all.”

Like Y/N said, just because the moments were fleeting, didn’t mean they didn’t matter.  Even if they stopped one day, for whatever reason...at least he would have everything that had come before, the memories, the moments that nothing could take away.  He didn’t think she would want him to try and forget, anyway.  And a part of him wouldn’t want her to forget him, either.  Unlike everything else in his life so far, he wanted this good thing to last, one way or another.

“Will I reach you?  I hope I can reach you.”

This time, when his mind procured the image of his hand outstretched in front of him, trying to catch the disappearing back of the girl in front of him, fingers finding nothing but air, he let his hand squeeze slightly against Y/N’s shoulder once more, reminding himself she was right here in his arms right now, and not to take that for granted.  Maybe sometimes she’d be out of reach, but right now, she was right here.  She wasn’t always out of reach.  He’d just have to make each moment he was here count for something.

Thankfully, she already seemed pretty good at making that happen, so he felt like he wouldn’t have to worry about it too much.  She was always taking him by the hand to have him run with her wherever she wanted to go and explore, and so far, she hadn’t made him regret following her on her little adventures.

She made his life colorful.

“Thank you for being my friend, Levi.”

“I’m the one who should be thanking you.”

Next Chapter---->

Levi Tags:  @clary-quinn @humanitys-hottestsoldier @whalerus @sunny-flo @thirstyforsometea

Through The Looking Glass Tags:  @artist-bby @kaz2y5-pie​ @tartheyes​ @super-peace-fangirl​ @huntersbunker​ @nefelimalfoy​ @soft-levi-girl-blog​ @honeygivemeachainsaw @regalillegal​ @sugas-daddy7​ @cathyannecookie @chaoticshepardplaid @roayaloveslife​ @sanrioclit​

[smol-and-trashy]

Sylvix Vore Fic (FE3H)

A/N: This is probably mega OOC, but I fell in love with both Sylvain and Felix during my first playthrough of FE3H and been itching for a vore fic featuring them. It’s probably more accurate to read this as platonic due to my inability to write anything remotely romantic... This was also inspired by @sinfromlokislair‘s Sylvix fic, theirs is a lot better tbh haha.. Vomit warning, so if that makes you squeemish, please leave now! Enjoy :) 

_____________________

Felix growled as he shoves off the giant finger, wishing this oaf wasn’t the first person who offered help. While Sylvain would disagree, it wasn’t entirely his fault that he was in this position. The blast of magic was directed towards their professor and Felix, standing behind her, found himself foolishly taking the hit. He expected a lot of things to happen, well aware of the effects of taking a direct hit to dark magic, but being reduced to the size of a field mouse was not one of them. Now, he has to pay the price of the curse. 

Felix pinched the bridge of his nose, he expected something like this happening to Sylvain, the reckless skirt-chaser, but himself? He was usually more collect in battle. He sighs, regret still weighing heavily over him, but he had more pressing matters to tend to, specifically regarding the man before him. He looks up: Sylvain Jose Gautier loomed over Felix in all his self-proclaimed glory, Felix swallows. Goddess, he was gargantuan, his chest taking up most of Felix’s line of view and he has to crank his neck far back just to peer up in his friend’s eyes and feel like an equal in conversation. Bubbles of fear and humiliation rose up inside the smaller, but he represses those feelings, swiftly replacing them with indignation. “For the last time, Sylvain, quit poking me.” “Sorry, sorry, it’s just that you’re so tiny and cute! I really can’t help myself.” Sylvain laughs a little, folding both hands behind his head. “Insatiable, as always,” Felix mutters under his breath. If Sylvain heard, he gave no indication, instead, grabbing Felix without a single warning. As the tree-sized fingers close around his waist, Felix soon finds himself face-to-face with his ginormous friend; bemused, Sylvain simply watches as the smaller struggles in his grip. “Let me go, Sylvain!” he squawks, trying to pry those fingers off him. Really, the man had no concept of personal space. “Mm, I could, but,” Sylvain leans forward with his elbow still on the table, drawing closer to Felix. Fruitlessly trying to maneuver his legs and kick at Sylvain’s too-close face, he stops; scowling as he notices his own reflection in those amber eyes, and at last, Sylvain pulls back. “This is all too much fun!” he winks. “Hilarious, now let me down, you oaf.” Felix says flatly, “I would rather dual the boar than being stuck here with you.” “Really? Because most ladies would love to be in your shoes, Fe.” Felix squirmed a little in the redhead’s grip, not fancying himself so high. “Let them. At least you would finally leave me alone.” Sylvain leans on his arm, a cocky grin adorning his lips, “Ouch, don’t be like that! Least now, you can’t refuse to get dinner with me.” The raven-head rolls his eyes at the reminder of Sylvain’s countless dinner invitations, most of which he had turned down in favor of training. “Forcing me to eat with you, would you stoop so low?” Sylvain says nothing, only flashing a sly smirk and hoists Felix a few inches higher, just above his nose. Felix unwittingly tenses up, he's much too high and Sylvain was taking this joke further than he'd like. He curses while digging his nails into his friend's skin, trying to force himself to be lowered. Yet, the other refuses to budge. He can't tell if Sylvain thought of this as one big joke or if he was really this careless. "You incorrigible---" "Aw, c'mon Fe, you’re just cute enough to eat!” Sylvain interrupts smugly, dangling Felix over his wide-open mouth; He wasn’t seriously going to drop him, but it was all too easy to get a rise out of him. Felix’s heart pounds furiously against his chest as he’s forced to peer into Sylvain’s awaiting maw. Sharp white teeth that could easily bite him in half taunt him while that wet tongue twitches and Felix doesn’t even want to think what is beyond that dark, pulsing throat. It was repulsive, everything. Despite himself, Felix couldn’t stop staring. Is this what prey feel when they’re about to be eaten? Strangely enamored? He frowns, choosing not to dwell on it, and instead, averting his eyes to the door, he was no damsel, but a piece of him wishes for Ingrid or even the boar to pay Sylvain an unexpected visit. Relief sweeps through him as those lips close, “Tell me, do you have a death wish, Sylvain?” he growls, but the older man’s lips quirk upwards, evidently amused. As Sylvain opens his mouth to make a quip—- “Sylvain!” Ingrid barges into the room, and in an instant, he loses his grip on Felix, barely able to make out the tiny man’s objections as he falls straight towards the gaping throat. Sylvain’s jaws snap shut, and the obtrusion at the back of his throat causes him to swallow, purely out of reflex. Fuck. All traces of coy playfulness disappear instantly as he feels the tiny body make its way down his throat. He sits there, in cold shock, as Felix drops into his stomach. The heavy, humid air hits him, and Felix lies absolutely still, paralyzed with disbelief. This can’t be real. That half-wit did not just swallow me. Felix’s heart pounds in his ears as he wipes the slime off his face. The chamber wasn’t as dark as he anticipated, in fact, he could see the wrinkled pinkish walls fairly well. His own stomach turns as thick chyme splashes on him, and before he’s able to gain some semblance of footing, he’s thrown at the opposing wall. More liquid soaks him, and Felix thrashes aimlessly, the only coherent thought going through his mind is ‘I need to get out of here.’ He rushes to the nearest wall, cursing at Sylvain for taking his swords beforehand, and punches at the wall. No reaction. Not a wince, not a protest to stop, nothing. The chamber groans and convulses, but there’s no direct response from Sylvain. Felix clenches his fist, and despite the heat, he feels an icy chill plunge into his veins; no, he must persist. He’s trained on hours end, he can make Sylvain notice him. As Felix is about to inflict another punch to the walls, he hears a familiar voice around him, pushing down the squicked feeling of hearing his childhood friend in such a ubiquitous manner, he pauses to listen. Sylvain stands up and freezes, a nervous chuckle arises from his throat, “I-Ingrid! To what do I owe the pleasure of—“ “You know how many messes of yours I had to clean up for the past week?” He blanches as Ingrid wastes no time in berating him for his less than reputable behavior, “You promised that you would cease your philandering ways, but I heard from Ashe, of all people, that you were—-“ she pauses, Sylvain was almost hunched over, sickly pale with his arms twisted around his stomach, “Are you okay? You look unwell.” At that, Sylvain straightens up, “Ah, yeah, yeah, just ate something bad earlier,” he winces as he earns a nasty kick from Felix, “nothing some rest can’t fix!” Ingrid’s concerned expression only deepens, she purses her lips, but Sylvain, armed with a charming smile, puts a hand on her shoulder, “Honestly, Ingrid, I’m fine. But it’s cute of you to get all worked up over me! Y’know, maybe a kiss on the cheek would help?” The blonde shoves his hand off, rolling her eyes, “I’m not…Take care of yourself, Sylvain,” she sighs, turning around and finally shutting the door behind her. Alone in his room, Sylvain gingerly presses a hand on his belly, earning sharp kick in retaliation. His mouth suddenly feels like it was filled with cotton, and finding himself at a rare loss of words, Sylvain racks his brain for the right thing to say, for something to say. “You alright in there?” he mentally slaps himself after the words come out of his mouth. How utterly stupid he must sound. “Am I alright in here?” Felix repeats incredulously, blood boiling with every ticking second, “Did you really just ask the man who’s stewing away in your filthy guts if he’s ‘alright in there?’ What the hell do you think?” Sylvain swallows and finally sits down on his bed, trying to control an incoming rush of vertigo. He runs a hand through his hair, slicking the ruddy strands back into place, and sighs. “You’re right, I-I’m sorry, Felix. You’re not… melting in there, are you?” His heart-rate begins to pick up, thumping wildly in his chest like a caged bird. “Oh Goddess, you need to let me know if anything is happening!” “As you should be,” Felix says while checking out his arm. His once white sleeves are stained from the juices, but he’s feeling no burning effects. Not to say the acids wouldn’t be activated when Sylvain eats something—-other than himself. “It looks like I’m fine, for now.” “Good, let’s get you out of there.” He’s met with an affirmative hum, and Sylvain plants himself on the floor, firmly pressing both hands on his stomach. Tiny fingers tap on the bottom of his belly and now wholly aware of it. The feeling is entirely alien, almost ticklish; he automatically heaves, offhandedly noting the room getting warmer as sweat gathers on his forehand. Bile creeps at the bottom of his throat, and Sylvain dry heaves once again, “C’mon…” he murmurs. His stomach groans louder, noisily protesting the shrunken being inside, and his fingers slam on the hardwood, curling instantly. As his guts twist and turn in itself, he grimaces, wishing for a drink to aid him in this uncomfortable process. Sylvain’s eyes widen as he gags, only able to retch out strands of saliva. There is a distinct lack of a certain sharp-tongued mercenary.   “No…Why didn’t it work?” he whispers, clutching at his middle. “Sylvain…” Felix’s voice is dangerously low, and Sylvain was sure that if he hadn’t removed the former’s weapons, his insides would have been lacerated mercilessly. Even though they’d been friends since childhood, even though they made a promise, there was no way Felix would let himself die such a humiliating death. Felix glares up at the tight sphincter from above, it’s much too high to force open, but maybe if Sylvain was lying down… He pauses, out of nowhere, acids begin to bubble and churn. The stomach gurgles louder, and suddenly, he’s thrown from wall-to-wall, hardly getting a chance to catch his breath. A god-awful groan resonates around him, and his head gets submerged under the liquid; everything flies by too quickly; this was it, this was how he was going to go down. He can’t breathe; one moment his lungs are filled with acids, and the next, he finds himself splayed on a squishy surface. Felix coughs and gasps for air, for a split second, he really thought he was done for. Arm slung over his head, he almost doesn’t notice the shadow looming over him or the fast pulse below, rivaling his own. He needs a good minute to recoup himself as he breathes slowly to even his heart-rate. Finally removing his arm, he looks above. Felix’s breath hitches as the thundering vibrations of Sylvain saying something reverberates through his body; nearly admonishing himself for such a pathetic reaction, he realizes the words aren’t registering. “—-about this, yeah?” Felix catches the tail-end of whatever the redhead was trying to say. “Alright.” and for the first time since this ordeal, there’s no bite behind his words, only thinly veiled exhaustion as he finds himself slumped against Sylvain’s index finger. He just wants to return to normal and forget this day ever happened.

[lassluna]

Off the Deep End (2/?)

Emma Swan has had to fight for everything in her life. She’s had to fight to keep a roof over their heads, she’s had to fight to keep her marriage from crumbling--that was a fight doomed from the start--and to fight to make something of herself.

Then of course that rich snob on a boat cost her her job. He’s an absolute prick who has probably never fought for anything in his entitled life. So when an opportunity for a little revenge pops up, who was she to deny it?

Now she has to fight to keep from having actual feelings for the amnesiac who might just care about her and her kids.

CS Overboard AU

Ao3 FFN

AN: Long over due second chapter of my @captainswanmoviemarathon​, submission thank you so much for you support of this. I really appreciate it. Also thank you @carpedzem​ for the wonderful art It’s wonderful as always.  

Chapter 2

Killian Jones had never wanted for anything. Not with his mother’s multimillion dollar shipping company that she had built herself. Their fortune provided him the opportunity to live in the lapse of luxury, anything he so desired was his with a simple phone call or a credit card. Everything except his mother herself.

He remembered Alice Jones fondly, remembers the trips to the beach they went on, being 5 years old and watching her teach his elder brother to sail. They both adored their time with her, their time cooking in the kitchen, going to a movie anything to keep the boys from realizing just how privileged they were.

He remembers what she used to tell them before they went to sleep. “A man who doesn’t fight for what he wants deserves what he gets.” She would say. He tried to live by that, even after her death when he was still a child. Even after his father, drowning in grief,  spent most of his childhood in board meetings or bars rather than with him.

Boarding schools raise the children of the rich. This was a fact Killian knew quite well from all his time spent in them. But Killian was nothing if not resourceful. A man who doesn’t fight for what they want deserves what they get, and so whatever Killian wanted, he would get. He had enough power and influence to do so. 

Sometimes it took money, other times it took throwing around his father’s reputation. Anyone who said no to him never held firm for long, all it took was a message to his father (His secretary really if Killian was being honest)  and whatever stood in his way crumbled under their weight. 

(Killian never really asked how exactly they did it, just that it was easier than parenting)

Liam never really liked Killian’s mentality when it came to these things, he always tried to teach Killian how to deal with things like this with honor or good form. Those concepts made him roll his eyes.

It’s not like Liam ever stuck around either to actually clean up the mess his bouts of ‘honor’ led him into. The moment Liam joined the military Killian was alone again, back to handling things his way. It was easier that way.    

Killian would never want for anything. Except maybe for this splitting headache to subside. And it wasn’t from a bloody hangover.

“Here you go babe.” A voice says besides him as one of the crewen handed her an icepack to put on his aching head. “I can’t believe that crazy person threw you off your own ship!” She exclaims, the coldness seems to help his aching head.

He smiled at her, his brunette beautiful girlfriend of half a decade. He doesn’t know what he’d do without her, or at the very least he’d have a lot less fun doing it.

“Perhaps Mr. Jones needs to go see a doctor.” The crewman notes. Milah rolls her eyes.

“Killian is fine, aren’t you babe?” She asks. “We have a party tonight that I-we simply can not miss.” He smirks. Typical Milah, much like himself she knows that the celebration shouldn’t stop, he was Killian Jones after all.  

What he wanted, he got, what he couldn’t have he’d buy. Simple as that.

“Mr. Jones, you have a call sir.” Another crewman said, the young lady who typically served the food. He waved her away.

“Tell whoever that is I’m busy.” He says. He does not have time for his father or brother getting involved in his personal life. Always wanting to change him to fit their needs. He had no interest in whatever they had to say.

“Your brother says it can’t wait.” She adds nervously. “He said something about flying over if you don’t take his call.

Killian groans in annoyance. The only thing worse than talking to Liam is him showing up here unannounced and killing his buzz. He recalls a time last year when he and his mates stormed into his party and effectively confiscated all the rum, a killing blow to even the most lively of events.

“Fine.” He says offering his hand for the phone. “What is it brother?”

“Nice way to greet me, little brother.” Liam says mildly amused. 

“Younger brother.” He responds impatiently. Killian’s always hated his nickname which of course just made Liam use it at every turn. “Now tell me what’s so important that you had to threaten to show up if I don’t answer?” He snaps. He glances at Milah’s face, she seems mildly annoyed but listening all the same. 

“Why are you in Maine?” He asks. “You’re supposed to be in New York for father’s birthday.” Killian rolls his eyes.

“Well that’s exactly why I am here, brother. Today it’s Maine and then tomorrow we head out to cross the Atlantic, we’re thinking of hitting London next.I have no intention of visiting my father and his gang of supporters and gathering around and talking about what a wonderful father he is.” Killian snaps. “You and I both know he wasn’t.”

“Be that as it may, he still only wants the best for us.” Liam adds. “Just come down, smile and then you can be off again.”

“You know the second I step foot there he’s going to be down my throat about taking up the reigns of the company alongside you.” Killian reminds him. He does so every time he sees him. 

“And is that so bad?” Liam asks. “Is it so terrible to try to protect what mother built? So terrible to make something of our lives?” Killian can tell he was getting impatient with him “It’s about time you stop obsessing over the past and grow up brother.”

“Easy for you to say, you joined the bloody military to get away from him.” Killian reminds him. While Liam was off being the honorable brother, he was expected to take part of their mother’s company. He never wanted any of that. But what he wanted never seemed to matter. 

“And you used alcohol and your bloody boat.” Liam snaps. “What would our mother think if she saw you now? Prancing around without a care in the world with that gold digger at your side”

Now Killian was getting angry. “Mother always said we need to fight for what we want, brother. And right now I want to be done with this conversation.”

Killian didn’t wait for a response before hanging up.

He gives a long sigh, running his hand through his hair in frustration. Talking to his family always left him frustrated. Couldn’t they see he was not interested in any of that? That he was perfectly content with life as it was?

“I’m sorry sweetie.” Milah says, as she always does when he has a difficult phone call with his family. “But maybe it’s best for us to go.” She offers. “Rub a few elbows, and maybe get absolutely wasted at your dear ol’ dad’s expense.” She says with a smirk.

He can’t help smile at Milah’s attempt to make him feel better.  

“But for now, let’s get ready for the best party this little rundown port has ever seen!” She says happily. She stands up and points to the crew who had given her the cold press. “What are you standing around for? We have work to do.” She announces. “Don’t worry babe, I’ll take care of everything.” She promises.

True to her word, she does. Killian can’t help but laugh at the way Milah barked her orders and demanded at his employees, making sure that this party Milah insisted on throwing was to her liking.

Hell hath no fury like a disappointed Milah.

 //

The party was excellent, just as Milah intended. Lord knows he would have heard about it had things gone any other way. It was something Killian liked about her, always striving for perfection. 

They headed off to sea onwards the end of the party, just in time for the locals to get the bloody hell off his ship. Killian quite enjoyed it like that. He much preferred to head off to England with just his normal crew and Milah.

“Did you have a good time?” Milah asks, smiling down at him from her position on the railing. He was nursing one last beer, watching the lights from the town fade away.

“Of course love.” He says, standing up to give her a swift peck on the cheek. She didn’t hesitate to draw him in deeper, a hand on his cheek. “I always do.”

It made her smile brighter.

“Always.” She repeats. “That’s what I’ve been meaning to talk to you about. We’ve been together for years Killian.” 

He nods. It had been a whirlwind romance, full of sex and alcohol and quite a bit of fun along the way. She understood him in ways that most did not. Far more than his brother or father ever did.

“Always.” Milah repeats. “Do you think...” She trails off. He smiles, cupping her cheek.

“What is it? You know you can talk to me.”

“Killian.” She says slowly. “Have you ever thought... do you think...”She looks away then glances up. “Marry me Killian Jones.”

He doesn’t think he’s heard her correctly. Marriage? Him?

He can’t help it, he bursts out laughing. Him marry her? It was more ridiculous the more he thought about it. He felt Milah push him away, her hopeful smile gone in an instant. 

“Why are you laughing?” She demands. “You ungrateful bastard.” She pushes him again rougher.

“Milah...” He says trailing off. “Why the hell would I want to marry you?” Because that’s the truth. They’d never spoken about this, never talked long term. Sure they've been together for the last few years but he never...he never thought about them being long term, never thought she wanted that life.

He sure as hell doesn’t want it. He doesn’t want to run the company like Liam wants him to. He doesn’t want to stop seeing the world and he sure as hell doesn’t want marriage and children.

Perhaps Milah doesn’t quite understand him like he thought.

“Because-Because” She stutters out. “Because you love me!” She declares. 

He shakes his head. “Milah I think you have the wrong idea about what we have. It’s just...fun, nothing so serious. Just mindless fun.”

“You absolute jackass!” She shrieks and gives him another push in the chest. It doesn’t hurt persay, but it does make his grip on the railing loosen, then there’s a sickening crack as the security on the railing breaks under their weight. He stumbles backwards and barely catches himself. He’s holding onto his ship now.

“Bloody hell.” He curses. “That was a close-”

He’s interrupted by something being smashed over his head. The next thing he knows he hits the freezing cold water below.

//

He wakes up cold. The sun is high in the sky and everything bloody hurts. From his head, to his arm to ever bloody inch of his skin.

He groans at sound above him, buzzing and buzzing.

“...who is he...”

“...ambulance...”

He opens his eyes just a crack. There’s a man, no two of them, standing over him, one has a phone in his hand.

“Sir?” he says. “Are you alright?”

He’s not but that should be bloody obvious.

“Can you tell us your name?” He blinks.

He can’t. He can’t remember...anything.

//

“Killian Swan.” He repeats, now knowing his name. 

Something about the name doesn’t sit right with him. But then again, he doesn’t know what does sit right with him. 

He narrows his eyes at the blonde. “And you’re my wife?” He repeats, looking over the blonde once more. She’s attractive enough, he thinks. But she seems guarded, not at all the warm welcome he expected from a loving wife. Not to mention the obvious waitress outfit she had on. No, no wife of his would have to resort to serving food to make a living. He can’t explain it, but he knows that his life was more than that, it was...he wasn’t sure...

“What the bloody hell happened? Why am I here and why can’t I remember anything?” He snaps impatiently. He has a hundred questions, starting with why he woke up on the beach and why it took him so long to be found. He’s been in this insufferable hospital for hours and-

“Cool it buddy.” The blonde snaps, shutting him down immediately. “Doctors say you got hit in the head, gave you some long term amnesia, probably from falling off the harbor drinking.”

“Drinking.” He repeats. Now that sounds like a fantastic idea...

“How are you feeling?” She asks, her expression softening slightly. But he can still feel walls from his lovely wife.

“Irritated.” He replies. “And how do I know you’re telling the truth?”

The blonde crosses her arms. “You have a compass tattoo on your rib cage.” She replies. “A little detail I would only know if I was your wife.” She replies smugly. 

“I do not have a-” He stops short as he lifts his shirt to reveal the exact compass tattoo the woman described. He traces it lightly with his fingers. Ink on his own body that he didn’t recognize. “Bloody hell.” He says in realization. 

“You really are my wife”

[ratsoh-writes]

My curiosity got me, so here is my submission for a match up.  Sorry it’s so long!  I look forward to seeing your reasoning.

PERSONALITY TRAITS:

MOM FRIEND:  I’m the friend that is almost over prepared for any situation and is protective, usually keeping others out of too much trouble or danger, but not stopping them from doing that stupid thing.  Some people will only learn from doing it and so long as it won’t seriously injure or kill them, go for it.  And I mean I am seriously prepared for most situations:  I have fluffy throw blankets and pillows in my car for those who get cold, extra towels just in case we somehow get wet, umbrellas/ponchos for those who need one, snacks/water just in case someone gets hungry/thirsty, first aid kit for small injuries, etc. Ironically, I am the only one without a kid so far.  

Extension of this would be my habit to act as the friend “nurse.”  Willing to spend hours taking care of a friend who isn’t feeling well and give platonic cuddles if needed.

Another extension of this is my need to feed anyone who comes over.  I think my love language is acts of service after typing all this. 

I’M LISTENING:  Always willing to offer an ear, even if I don’t believe I can council you.  Plus, for some reason, people just end up splurging life stories or something that is bothering them to me.  My life is mostly spent as that Naruto meme: “I have no clue what is going on, but I’ll pretend that I do.”  But I’m responsible about it, I won’t offer advice I’m not sure about and will usually refer you to someone else I feel is up to the task.

PATIENT:  Earned after years in customer service dealing with toddlers disguised as customers and also with friends who far exceed my energy levels.  It takes a good bit to anger me or very specific things to set me off, such as when I have asked you to please stop bringing up that stressful memory of mine again and again. 

I am told I am terrifying when I’m actually pissed.  Most times I don’t remember much when I actually snap, just that it happened, but details are fuzzy.  

CHILL:  My counselor once told me if I “Was any more laid back, I’d be on her floor.” And to a point, she is correct.  My house was on fire and my reaction wasn’t panic at the time, it was this odd calm that even when I reported the fire to my sister and authorities, they didn’t believe me until I showed them said fire.  I am reserved with those I don’t know well or are not comfortable around.  Once I trust you or you get me on a topic I love, I’m surprisingly passionate and animated.  

I feel this fits under here, but I also tend to do things at my own pace.  And not much can change that pace, but I will get what I set out to do done.

WHY ME?:  Too many people tell me I’m a natural leader, even got awards for it, but I never volunteer or want to be the leader in anything.  Usually, I just end up in that role somehow, some way.  Most times because I hate disorganized messes and those times the people I am with have trouble making concrete decisions and need some guidance to work out what they really want to do or the pressure to actually make a decision.  I may be an unwilling leader, but I will step up if needed.

WHIMSICAL:  Sarcasm, dry and sometimes cheesy humour, and an attitude to boot, but it’s rarely to be mean.  Most times it is me being playful and if I’m teasing you, that usually is a sign I like you and enjoy your company.  Plus, sometimes people need a little laugh or a spark of different emotion to get them out of a funk.  

INTEGRITY:  I could absolutely despise someone, but like hell I’m going watch them suffer.  In the same sense, if I take a job, I will do it right and not half ass it.  And far too many times I’ve had to step in and explain certain concepts in order to disperse negativity or help others see from another perspective to avoid adversity.  

CUDDLE BUG:  With people I am comfortable with, I am a cuddly person and do not mind a lot of skinship.  I am used to friends hanging all over me.  Plus, sometimes I just want to curl up someone as well.  

  STRENGTHS:  

Observant

Good communication skills & honest

Responsible & reliable

Full Size Human Heater.  I am ridiculously warm and always putting off heat.  Friends and coworkers alike use me as a portable heater.

Surprisingly good at being sly and collecting information if needed, like getting a shoe or ring size without tipping the person off it’s for a gift.  If they manage to call it, I always fess up and playfully make a fuss they ruined the surprise.

  WEAKNESSES:  

Terrible at lying, so I tend to simply keep my mouth shut instead

Willfully oblivious to flirting and absolute flustered mess once I am forced to recognize said flirting

Vast open waters terrify me

Tendency to keep my troubles to myself and try to solve problems on my own (don’t want to be a burden)

Can become despondent if I feel useless at times

  HOBBIES:

ART:  I’ve dabbled in several different medias, but my favorite is just a pencil or pen and any paper I can get my hands on.  I love drawing figures in dynamic poses.  Second favorite is sculptures built from wire.

COSTUMES:  I love Halloween, since it is the perfect excuse to make and wear my homemade costumes.  It also lets me challenge myself by making more complicated pieces like hooves, horns, and even chain mail.

BAKING/COOKING/CANDY MAKING:  I’m the cook in the house and I love it.  Seeing people enjoy my food is my favorite part.  Just don’t ask me for a recipe, I literally don’t have any and I won’t remember what I did.  

ORGANIZING/CLEANING:  I love puzzle games like Tetris and Catherine, and I love a challenge.  Combine the two by having me organize and rearrange a space to make it work and I am in heaven.

STORYTELLING:  When a story needs to be told, I am the one asked to tell it. Specifically I have such an entertaining way of telling it according to others.  Animated and colorful language, plus a few pit stops along the way with some side stories.  

  PET PEEVES:

CONTRARY:  Do not tell me to do something while I am doing it.  That will kill any motivation I had to do it.

BACKHANDED COMPLIMENTS:  It is possible to compliment someone without insulting them or others at the same time.  It just makes the compliment feel empty and negative.  And I tend to just hum and not reward that behaviour.  

TOO MUCH ATTENTION:  I don’t mind attention… from people I trust and are comfortable with.  Feel free to cuddle and coddle away.  But vast amounts of attention from those I feel are strangers or acquaintances will unnerve me (I have literally left functions immediately  where I walked in and was bombarded with shouts and attention aimed at me-sensory overload I guess).

  ODD HABITS:

NESTING:  No, I don’t think I have enough blankets and pillows.  Yes, the giant stuffed animal is needed and his name is Snuffie.  

CRUSH ME:  I’m serious, some days I need one of my friends or my bf to just lay all their dead weight on top of me.  It’s just oddly therapeutic.

NO, I’M NOT PREGNANT:  Just cause I ate that jar of olives in one sitting or suddenly was craving jalapeno juice and crushed ramen noodles.  There are never enough pickles and yes, I am determined to try every kind–I may have a vinegar addiction.

IRONY:  I bake some of the tastiest, sweetest desserts and make pralines and caramels, YET I myself do not favor sweet things. 

HANDS:  One thing I tended to do with nearly every boyfriend and guy friend I had was play with their hands and put their hands on my face/head.  I lived for being pet and having people play with my hair.    

NONVERBAL MOMENTS:  Sometimes words are just too much, so I instead make sounds.  Can be anywhere from a growl to a cat like noise, or the reliable “Nyeh.”

NO NOs:

I think I listed a few as I went through everything else, but ignoring boundaries is the main one.  If I tell you I’m not comfortable with something, do not make me repeat myself.  And usually that something is given a pass the first few times it is done before I say something and explain why I’m not comfortable with it.   

Example:  I have thick, curly hair, a product of my mixed heritage.  Well, sometimes I like to straighten it and I did just that one day.  Well, a coworker decided to make a backhanded compliment, stating I should stick to what works: straight hair over my natural hair.  I had gotten on him about it, but I decided to vent to a friend about what happened as well.  She proceeded to constantly repeat those hurtful words and while I knew she meant it playfully during those times, I had to stop her and sit her down, explain I don’t find it funny cause the words are linked to a hurtful, possibly racist memory that I didn’t want brought up again and again.   Thankfully she understood and stopped.  So, I don’t snap immediately and I understand sometimes a sit down needs to be done.

Ok first of all I gotta say that I absolutely loved reading your matchup!!! It’s so well organized, detailed, and the descriptions are pretty creative!!! Do you do any writing yourself, because you should!!! alright, geek out moment over.

i’ve got three guys you’re perfect for, but let’s go for the obvious one. HONEY!! 

You’ve checked off everything on honey’s list: caring, organized, laid back, and good for cuddling. Now here’s what he has to offer to the table: he will cuddle you back. This guy is the ultimate cuddle slut. You’ll never feel unloved with him. Honey is also a very thoughtful and appreciative guy. He likes caring for his partners. You may be the mom friend, but he’ll do his best to return that love as well.

Honey is a little awkward, but he’s also sensitive and empathetic to how others feel. If he puts his foot in his mouth, just tell him and he’ll never bring it up again. Plus this guy is just so honest and genuine that backhanded compliments aren't really a thing with him. 

Also you like costumes!!! He’s always wanted to try cosplay or theatre. You just might be the person to give him the courage to finally stick to one. 

dating honey includes:

cuddles upon heaps of soft things. He has his own collections of ridiculously soft blankets and pillows that he’ll happily add to your collection. Honey is also a master at pillow forts. 

honey is a good listener. He’ll be happy to just sit back and enjoy the stories you tell. There is start though, who is also the storyteller of the underswap home. Any funny story you give about your time together will be rewarded by star with a funny story from his and honey’s childhood, much to honey’s embarrassment

if you don't really like sweet things but love baking them, then honey and star will happily finish them for you. People are usually surprised about how just how much skeleton monsters can pack away. 

he’s a picky eater and will give you the wtf face when you fufil your weird cravings though lol 

Oh! Also if you’re wondering, the other two would’ve been either oak or coffee

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #308

“you don’t need treats, and you don’t need tricks, and you don’t need me.”

Middle name? Marie. Or Marie Catherine, if we're technical, but as someone who loooong left Catholicism and never even agreed with many aspects of it in the first place, I don't like to include it. If you're confused, there's a ceremony called Confirmation, and while I honestly don't even remember the details of it, you adopt the name of a saint you want to stand for, kinda. I chose Catherine just because I liked the name outta my other options. Democrat/republican/other? I classify myself as Independent because I really don't relate well enough to either, but I do know I'm becoming more and more liberal with time. Do you dress according to your mood? My mood? No. I dress with what I feel like wearing at that time, but my actual mood has nothing to do with it. Are you good at doing hair/make up? No. Are you always worried or stressed about something? 24/7, my friend. Can you swim? Yeah. Are you afraid of needles? I don't like them, but I'm not afraid of them. How many kids do you want? Zero. Long/short nails? I keep mine short. Do you like wearing hats? No. Does mall Santa Clauses or Easter bunnies freak you out? Nah, I loved seeing Santa as a kid. :') Would you consider yourself clumsy? I am RIDICULOUSLY clumsy. Do you like when a guy picks you up in his arms? In concept, but I ain't easy to pick up anymore lmao. Do you like hairless cats? I do!! Females, anyway, for... obvious reasons lol. Not having fur makes some things waaay too ~obvious~ otherwise. I would love a sphynx. Do you like the color yellow? No; it's actually one of my most disliked colors. Have you ever seen a cat have a hairball? Yeah. Have you ever had a tooth pulled? Not by a dentist, no, just by myself as a kid when I was losing my baby teeth. When someone says don’t look do you look? It depends on why they're telling me to not look. Have you ever played spin the bottle? No. If you had to name three important details about you, what would you say? I'm a very emotional person, I need a lot of "me" time, and to be aware of my social anxiety so not every interaction I have is perceived as just a dumpster fire. What are your three biggest insecurities? My creativity, my goddamn body, and my lack of social skills. If you could write anonymous letters to three people, who would you send it to and what would you say? Ummm. I can only think of people I miss and don't WANT to be anonymous... Favorite photo of yourself? A senior prom picture I don't have anymore. I looked so, so happy and fuck my low self-esteem, gorgeous. Who are you disappointed with right now? I'm like, permanently disappointed in myself lol. Would you date an 18-year-old at the age you are now? No. My minimum is 21. What question do you hate to answer? "Are you a virgin?" because it's just a confusing answer. It doesn't sound like one at all, but trust me on this. The subject of sex just makes me uncomfortable anyway, so even if I was confident in the answer, I wouldn't want to talk about it. What’s your most listened to song? I don't have a way of actually finding that out, but I'd say I've been listening to "ULTRAnumb" by Blue Stahli quite a lot lately. If you were a performing artist, what would you title your first album? I mean, I don't know. It would depend on what was going on in my life and head at the time. If someone told you you could give one person a present and your budget was unlimited–what present would you get and for whom? A nice car for Mom. She's had the same shitty car for yeeeeeaaaaarrrrrssssss now because she just can't afford a new one; hell, this one was free. A dance friend hit a deer, so the front of the car is messed up, and she bought a new one, but because the car itself was still functional, she gave it to my mom. Mom is so loved at the studio. The car just has various issues by this point, like trouble starting, accelerating, it's bumpy, etc., so it's way past time for a new one. Do you like licorice? NOOOOOOOOOO that's a big 'ole "ew." Have you ever visited your country’s capital city? No, but I've seen it from a distance when riding up to NY. When was the last time you were outdoors for over an hour? WOW. I couldn't even try to guess. What is the shortest amount of time you’ve lived somewhere? The house I was born into. I actually don't know how long Mom and Dad lived there, but I was only in that house as a very little baby. I have zero memories of it. What’s your favorite kind of mint? (Peppermint/wintergreen/spearmint/etc.) ... There's a difference? lol I guess peppermint? What was the last thing to frustrate you? I wanted to draw yesterday, but I didn't know what to draw to even get started. Have you ever been to a bachelor or bachelorette party? No. Did any of your family members serve in WWII? I don't believe so? Well... maybe my grampa did? I don't remember. What’s your favorite kind of salad? Gimme an Olive Garden salad and I will deadass eat the whole bowl. Are you more realistic or idealistic? I'd say I'm more realistic with most things. Are you currently borrowing something from someone? No. Is anyone currently borrowing anything from you? No. What is your last name’s heritage/country of origin? Ireland. When did you last buy a new pair of shoes? What kind? I got new flipflops a year or so back because my old Rainbows were so worn out and blackened my feet. Have you ever experienced culture shock while traveling? If so, where? No. Are you able to see the stars at night where you live? I actually haven't checked since moving here. We're in the suburbs though, so it's questionable. Do you include your middle initial in your signature? Not unless it's required, usually. I think. When's the last time I physically signed anything, anyway? What brand of computer do you have? It's an Acer Nitro. What operating system does that computer run? Windows 10. What’s the oldest piece of clothing that you still own and wear? I don't really know, given how much my weight has fluctuated. Went drastically up, went down, now it's back up. .-. I still own a handful of shirts I want to "shrink back into" from late HS and early college times, but yeah, I don't know if I'll actually achieve that. Is the area in which you live flat, hilly, or mountainous? Flat as my ass. What is your significant other or best friend’s ring tone? No one on my phone has a "special" ringtone. Where do you keep your hair brush? There's a comb I use in a drawer in the bathroom. Which pair of shoes have you owned the longest? Multiple pairs of Converse, also from high school. When’s the last time you were sick at the same time as someone else? I'm very happy to say I don't even recall the last time I was sick. My immune system is the fuckin GOAT. What did you have for breakfast this morning? A pb&j. We've got very little rn, but thankfully Mom's picking up our Wal-Mart order today. Last time you were in pain? If I'm standing, you can bet my legs hurt, so. What color is your mom’s hair? It's growing back totally gray now. Is that also your hair color? Well, no, I'm only 25. Do you watch any daily vloggers on YouTube? Who? No. I watch people who vlog occasionally, but not regularly. It's gotta be people I'm very into to really be interested in vlogs. What room of your house do you usually do your surveys in? Sigh, I'm always in my bedroom. Really hoping Mom and I muster up the motivation to clean up the extra room soon to turn it into my "dayroom" or "office," if you will. What do you put on your tacos? I hate tacos. What is your favorite stuffed animal and where did you get it? I have a bittersweet connection to the adorable plush meerkat Jason gave me for Valentine's our first year together; I always slept with it when we were together by apart, and for a year or so after the breakup. It was a source of comfort for me, so I'm really fond of it. Fella's fur is so worn out and matted down with age and lots of love. He's on my dresser now, towards the front of all my plushies. Last thing you hung up on your wall? My Illidan poster, I believe. Do you have a full length mirror? Yeah, on the back of my door. Is it currently raining? No, finally. It's been raining for like a fuckin week, it seems like. It's finally a clear day. It's nice to hear birds outside. Does anyone you live with talk in their sleep? Does this happen often? I'M the one doing the talking/screaming in my sleep. Thanks, nightmares. When was the last time you cried, or felt tearful? I'm not positive, but I know I had a pretty rough PTSD night not too long ago where I teared up. Did you wake up with a song stuck in your head today? What was it? Ohhh yes; I've been listening to Mother Mother's "Ghosting" on repeat because it's jammed up there. When was the last time you used moisturiser or lotion of some kind? Not too long ago on my hands. They get dry this time of year, and besides, I wash my hands a lot nowadays especially. What was the last thing you owned, that was accidentally broken or damaged? Were you able to get it fixed? My laptop, and yes. Tell me about the last dream you recall having. Was it weird, amusing, etc. So this is pretty wild. I know I had a nightmare last night, but I don't remember it; the night before, however, I had a nightmare about a possibly rabid and ginormous rat (I mean like, smaller dog sized) in the house and trying to bite me. It was SUPER weird, because I was actually afraid of it, yet I absolutely adore rats in real life. What was the last video you watched on YouTube? I've really gotten into John Wolfe (a let's player) lately, and I'm going through his The Evil Within playthrough. Do your parents use any social media at all? My mom has a Facebook, and hilariously, Dad has a Snapchat to talk with my sister Nicole. He has no clue what he's doing with it and it's adorable, haha. Mom also has a Twitter, but she doesn't use it. Is there anyone in your life who regularly asks how your day has been? Regularly, no. I've always been that person, especially in the WoW guild I'm in. I'm very close and comfortable with them and ask how everyone's doing any time I log on. Lovely people who give me some social interaction every day. Tell me something positive about the day you've had. It's still early, but once again, it's pretty and bright outside. Why do you prefer Facebook over MySpace, because I know you do? Ha, you'd be incorrect. MySpace was more personal, so I actually preferred it. But it's obviously long-dead, so I just settle with Facebook. Have you read the Pretty Little Liars series? No. My sister looooves it, though. What product do you use to moisturize your lips? I don't remember, actually... It's in my purse somewhere. When did you start using Xanga? I never have. Be honest, do you judge people on their appearance? Judge, I don't think so. I can make assumptions like everyone else, but I'm not gonna think someone is beneath me just by their attire. Do you know anyone who does not like The Beatles? Me. At least, most songs. "Hey Jude" is good, but everyone agrees with that, haha. Did you have a friend in middle school that you’re now enemies with in high school? I'm long since out of HS. I had a middle school friend who I disconnected with following a fight in high school, but we weren't "enemies," and we reunited our senior year anyway. Aaaaand we're not friends anymore once again lmao. What is one thing you hope your children don’t inherit from you? If I hypothetically wanted kids, God knows I'd hope they wouldn't have my psychological issues. Do you think you’ll be married in 10 years? It'd be nice, anyway. What type of foundation do you wear? None. Who’s the most controlling person you know? Someone I'm no longer friends with, partially because of this. Do males look good in skinny jeans? Yep. Are you for or against guyliner? Ugggghhhhh guyliner makes me weak in the knees. How many jobs have you had? Where do you currently work? Three; nowhere. Who did you last hit? Um, nobody??? What way of self-care do you enjoy the most and what feels more like an obligation? I enjoy my alone time on the computer as the best self-care, especially after being social all day; I don't, however, enjoy the act of performing hygiene care. I still do it, it's just not fun. The feeling afterwards is great, though. Have you ever tried specific diet plans or fads? What made you do it and how did it turn out for you? I was briefly using NutriSystem, which didn't work for me. I hated too much of the food. More recently I stuck with flexible dieting and calorie counting for a while, but I drifted from it when I still lost no fucking weight in like a month. I want to get back to it, though... oh, and intermittent fasting. I don't think it really worked for me yet again, even though I did it correctly, but that and the aforementioned flexible dieting is all I feel like I can handle. I guess I just have to give it longer. Do you know anyone who has been directly affected by COVID-19 e.g. testing positive, losing a loved one, or their job due to the pandemic? Too many people I know have had it or had someone they loved die because of it. Take this shit seriously. Is there a kind of music you only prefer listening to during specific type of activities that you otherwise wouldn’t enjoy under normal circumstances (e.g. EDM while doing sports or instrumental music while studying, etc.)? No; I have to actually enjoy the music. If you had to start a YouTube channel and motivations/skills/resources/any other inhibiting factors weren’t an issue, what would it be about? Either animal (preferrably reptiles) education or let's plays, ig. Has anything ever happened to you that if you told someone about, they would think you’re making it up? I don't believe so. What travel destination or popular spot have you been to that you found overrated? What about a lesser known place that you thought was a hidden gem? I really don't know; I haven't traveled nearly enough for this.

[krisseycrystal]

rated: g

fandom: Steven Universe

prompt: “Protecting Someone You Love” + BisPearl (& Steven)

requested by: @moominquartz

i’ve been on an SU-love-fest i think alskdjflakjsdf trying to write as much as possible for this show that means so much to me now that it’s over i’m so sorry

HERE’S THE OTHER HALF OF THE REQUEST MY WONDERFUL HUSBAND @moominquartz GAVE ME !!! When he first said “write BisPearl” it was a tie between “Protecting Someone You Love” and “Competition” and I already did “Competition,” so now it’s time to finish the duet with “Protecting Someone You Love”

i got really sappy in this but shrug emoji what else is new. ENJOY

- o - o - o -

Instrumental [Read on AO3]

- o - o - o -

The broken stonework of the world bursts into dust and fragments around her. It settles on her tongue and sticks to her throat. Bismuth coughs and hacks to try to get it out, but time is passing strangely and she’s not in full control of her limbs. Reality has been cut and pasted into snippets that reel past too quickly. Consciousness slips in and out of her grasp. Everything seems as flimsy as clouds, which, for the record, is not proper for construction. She’s told the Morganites over and over again: you can’t build a castle on top of sand. Did they listen?

There are birds chirping, twittering, from far away. It tastes like morning. She has always liked the seasonal changes on Earth. Very fitting. 

Ivory keys dance along her shoulders and draw her into a slender chest. Someone is shouting.

Bismuth can’t make out the words. She thinks she wants to reach out to that voice. She thinks she ought to comfort them. She knows them.

“Just hang on!” 

A butterfly has latched onto her hand. It’s funny; she hadn’t even been aware she had a hand until it was held.

Wait. That’s kind of whack. Of course she has hands. How else does she—

“It’s cool,” she tells the butterfly. She lifts her hand to eye level.  “Hey, now. Y’don’t gotta panic. Everything’s gonna be fine.”

“Bismuth? W-what are you…?”

Light bursts into a towering column that swallows them whole. Bismuth’s vision is filled with an alarming clarity, accompanied by the soft popping chime of an activated warp pad, which seems pretty confusing at first, considering that means they’re leaving the place Bismuth thinks they should probably be at.

“Hey,” she tells the butterfly, “The fountain…” 

“Not now, Bismuth.” 

The butterfly lands on her shoulder again as their destination solidifies under their bodies. There’s a breath, another young voice she knows that shouts, “Pearl!” and a rustle of grass.

“Steven! Oh, thank goodness—”

“—It’s okay, Pearl! I got your text! I’m here. Is she—?”

“—yes, she’s a little…”

Bismuth can’t make out what the words that were supposed to follow are. She blinks slowly and the next time she looks, her perfect view of Earth’s blue, blue sky has been eclipsed by pink shoulders and black clouds. 

“Who put that floof there?” she mumbles and reaches up.

A salamander laughs and pushes her hand away before she can move back the black clouds. “Y-yeah, I see what you mean,” the salamander rumbles. He sucks in a sharp breath. “Oh, Bismuth…okay, here we go.” Then, something wet and warm and strange sets itself upon her gem. 

And there’s pink.

And pink.

And pink—

Bismuth gasps upright hard. Her hair flings forward over her face; she shoves it back with a broad hand and winces before she realizes she can’t feel any pain. She’s fine. She feels fine. Her eyes snap to her whole, unblemished gem.

“I—”

“Bismuth!” Pearl’s wobbly voice is her first warning before she’s encircled in thin, white arms. Pearl’s face presses into her shoulder. “Oh thank goodness you’re all right! I was so terrified after…”

“Pearl—” Bismuth’s laugh dries up the instant Pearl pulls back. 

That’s a scary look on her face Bismuth doesn’t think she’s ever seen before.

But Steven, on Bismuth’s other side—hey, she hasn’t seen him in a while; did he get his ears pierced?—winces as if he knows very well what that particular, specific turn of Pearl’s lips mean. “Oh boy,” he murmurs when Pearl opens her mouth.

“Bismuth.”

“P…Pearl?”

“Don’t you dare do that again.”

Clarity is a sharp mirror in Bismuth’s head, replaying the events preceding the wonkiness of the world. Bismuth sets her own mouth in an unhappy slant. 

Steven frets. “Uh, do what again? Guys?”

“I can’t promise you that.”

“Yes! You can! I can take care of myself, Bismuth. I have for millennia.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“When you pull stunts like—like that, you certainly seem to suggest—“ 

“—I was just trying to protect you!”

“And look what it did!” Pearl throws out her hand. “That fusion, whatever she called herself, Charoite? Whatever; she got away! And even worse than that: Rose’s fountain is now in ruins! Gallons of her healing tears, lost! It’s going to take ages for Steven to be able to replenish that, if he even can!”

“Uh, guys?”

Bismuth scowls. “It’s fine, isn’t it? I’ll fix it! It’ll look just as good as it did before. At least that’s something I’m good to have around for, anyway.” 

“What?!”

Pearl’s voice pitches high to a degree Bismuth hasn’t heard in centuries.

Bismuth and Steven’s gazes snap to her. Pearl’s brows are pinched tight on her face, peaking just below her gem. Her pale blues shine under the sunlight peeking through the canopy of leaves high above. She looks hurt and wounded, which is the strangest thing considering that last Bismuth checked, she had done everything she could to ensure that wouldn’t happen.

“Bismuth,” Pearl says and Bismuth has never quite heard her name sound like that before, like someone needed to say it, “this is exactly the problem.”

The sensation of a hand against her cheek is new. Pearl’s touch is gentle. Warm.

Steven’s face softens from worry to something else: something starry-eyed and open-mouthed as he watches them.

“How could you possibly think you matter so little to me?”

“W-what?”

“You honestly think I don’t want you around for more than fixing things? That you’re…”

Bismuth kind of feels like she wants to take back her words, now. Her face is burning, burning, burning. Her stomach has swooped. There’s embarrassment and something giddy rising in her chest all at once. She doesn’t know what to do with it. “Aw, geez, Pearl, nah. I didn’t mean to…”

“Don’t do that again.”

There’s something in the way Pearl’s voice shakes as she repeats her words. Something in the press of her fingers into the edge of Bismuth’s jaw.

Bismuth chuckles, low and quiet. She dips her head. “Pearl, you know I can’t promise you that.”

“No! I don’t know. Why not?”

Aw, stars. Is this the moment? Bismuth would be lying if she tried to say she hadn’t imagined over and over again how she’d confess the big, goopy mess inside her that’s feelings. She could have done big, grand, pre-planned gestures, or small, intimate ones. She always fancied making Pearl something, but could never decide what would be good enough. She never figured the opportune moment would be immediately post-almost making Pearl cry.

But then Pearl looks at her with those big eyes and all that concern and with all that grace in her and Bismuth thinks maybe, well, maybe she’s been thinking too much.

She would just really awfully like to hold her.

“Pearl, I—”

“—aw, just kiss already!”

The tinny voice echoes across the forest clearing, followed by shocked and indignant, “Amethyst!”

Amethyst’s voice cackles loudly from Steven’s phone as he hurriedly jams his thumb over the face of his screen. Just before it clicks off, Amethyst shouts out, “Hah! Hurry, Steve-O! Warp to the temple! Pearl still can’t get into my room; you’ll be safe here!” and Steven’s face is red red red. He stuffs both hands in the pockets of his jacket and shoots to his feet. Quick as he can, he bolts for the warp, shouting, “Sorry!”

The only one perhaps most off-color than all of them is Pearl. She stands, aghast, but by the time she reaches out, the warp pad chimes and a familiar, melodious pillar of light stretches to the sky. 

“Steven! Get back here!”

“For the record: it was Amethyst who video-called m—!” Steven’s voice is cut off before he can finish.

Pearl stares at the place she last saw his red flip flops against the top of the warp pad’s surface.

Bismuth can’t help it. 

She laughs. She laughs and laughs and falls back against the grass, arms spread out in an open invitation to the sky.

Pearl slaps a hand over her face and lets it slowly fall. “Ugh. I’m sorry. Those two can be so insufferable together. They have no concept of personal boundaries whatsoever.”

“Oh, believe me. I know.” Bismuth sits back up once her chuckles have subsided. She props up an elbow on her knee and looks to Pearl with a lazy grin. “I mean, I was just thinkin’: y’know, it’s such a shame Steven probably had to leave his Dondai parked somewhere around here when he came to meet us at this warp pad…it’d be a tragedy if, y’know, somethin’ happened to it while he was hiding…”

Pearl blinks. Slowly, she smiles and presses a hand to her own cheek. “Why, Bismuth! I knew there was a reason I love you.”

And there it is.

And it’s so simple to hear. 

And it’s perhaps the first time Bismuth has ever actually heard the words, which is funny, because after all of her imagining and all of her notions about what this moment would be like: to know that she matters and is cared for reciprocally…she never expected for it to be so unsurprising.

Pearl smiles at her as if she, too, knew exactly what she was saying and wanted it said and had no trouble at all saying it.

It makes Bismuth think maybe, she’s been hearing those words all along, too. Maybe she’s been trying to say them back just as much: throwing herself into harm’s way, trying to protect her, but these are not the ways Pearl wants it said.

“Yeah,” she hums instead. “I love you, too, Pearl.”

[soundofez]

for @mastar-week 2020, day 3// legacy

yet another star-centric side story to We Fill the Skies, set as always in the Leagues & Legends universe. i have a lot of emotions for both max albarn and sebastian black and i need to compensate for how little screen time they had.

(slight spoilers to we fill the skies, btw, but who cares about that when you can have Feelings.)

—

Max Albarn was usually all wiry strength and indomitable pride, a ramrod straight spine and perfect square posture, but now his back was bowed, his shoulders quietly sloped. Oscar had never realized before how thin his classmate was, how small and fragile. It looked wrong.

He turned back to his paper. They weren't friends, he reminded himself. And Albarn had plenty, anyway, if he needed a shoulder to cry on.

- We Fill the Skies, Chapter 2: Promises to Keep

—

Sebastian Black was tired.

It wasn’t the exhaustion of travelling for two weeks— travelling didn’t tire Seb like that. Seb didn’t get tired, usually, except from Elsewhere storms, and that wasn’t exhaustion so much as it was nauseated sickness, brought on by the feeling of magic trying to escape from his body to that mysterious other plane via fishhoks in his gut.

Seb didn’t get tired, except that now he was.

He hadn’t seen the note when he’d gotten back— it had been late, and he hadn’t want to wake the roommate he’d thought asleep in the next room. Instead, he’d crashed straight into his bed and gone to sleep himself, already looking forward to catching up in the morning.

Now, the desert sun was shining through the kitchen window, promising a hot day. Seb stood at the kitchen table, note in hand, and he was tired.

Papa died, the note read. I’m taking his ashes back to the Forest. Be back a week before classes start.

—

Seb was the only University affiliate to come home from the expedition. He didn’t like thinking about that, about how his professor and his classmate had gone missing, about how the other three students had all stayed behind while he’d gone home like a coward.

They hadn’t told him, either. That’s what hurt the most, if he thought too hard: that they’d simply agreed without him. And maybe Seb hadn’t talked to Ford much, but he’d spent every day with Kilik and Casper, and still they’d said nothing. They’d waited until the last second to tell him, too late for him to do anything, when even the Academy people had seemed to know what they were up to. They hadn’t given him a choice.

Max hadn’t told him, either, back before they’d even left on the expedition. Max had been chosen, not Ford, and yet when Seb had first arrived at the announced point of departure, he’d found Ford waiting there instead.

“What are you doing here?” Seb had asked.

“He didn’t tell you?” Ford had replied. “He gave me his place on the expedition.”

Max hadn’t told him. Seb hadn’t admitted that to Ford, had ignored Ford’s silent pity. It wasn’t Ford’s business.

And Ford had seemed to agree. They’d talked on the expedition— the group was too small for them not to— but Seb had kept him at a steady distance, even as he’d listened with rapt attention to Ford’s many stories.

Maybe he shouldn’t have kept that distance. Maybe Ford would have said something if he had.

Seb didn’t do regret. The concept was anathema to him. You couldn’t change the past: your only option was to do your best in the present. He got frustrated with Max, sometimes, because Max seemed to regret everything.

Seb didn’t do regret, and he wasn’t about to start. He stuffed some coin into his pocket and left the empty apartment to find some food.

—

Ford wrote to him first.

Seb was surprised. He wasn’t much for letters, preferring action instead. (Max scolded him for this all the time, but Seb was vaguely aware of the hypocrisy. Seb wasn’t the one who furiously applied twice to the University with different genders to prove a point, and then had to scramble for housing when the point was proved.)

Seb wasn’t stupid. He knew he wasn’t normal, not just because his already-rare gift for magic was especially strong, but because his mind ran on different tracks from everyone else. His classmates teased him for asking dumb questions in class, but Seb had some of the best grades in the University, and it was only a little bit because Max helped him study. (You’re an auditory learner, Max had once told him. There’s nothing wrong with that.)

Point being, Seb could read, he just didn’t like to because it took so much effort. It was with some surprise that he found his eyes on Ford’s neat signature, having devoured the rest of the letter. He’d enjoyed listening to Ford’s stories during the expedition, but he hadn’t expected the enjoyment to transfer to Ford’s writing.

His eyes dropped to the last line, tucked plainly under the signature:

P.S. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.

Seb read the postscript several times. It would be just like Ford to get it, the creep. He shook his head, but he grabbed a pen and paper from the kitchen’s junk drawer and sat down to write a reply.

When he was done with Ford’s letter, he grabbed more paper and started another.

—

Max’s letter came a day before Max did. It sounded almost normal, filled with their usual banter (You picked up a pen without me? Is there someone you want to tell me about?), but it also told Seb when Max would be home.

Seb spent the entire day at home doing chores. When he heard Max’s familiar footsteps on the stairs outside, he immediately positioned himself at the front door.

It worked. Max opened the door and walked directly into Seb’s open arms.

“You should have told me,” Seb grumbled into Max’s hair. It had grown since he’d last seen her. Underneath the smell of sweat and desert sand and sun was a hint of green earth. “I would’ve stayed.”

“I didn’t want you to,” Max mumbled, and burst into tears. “Damn it. Damn it.”

Seb hugged her tighter, rocking gently on his feet. “They didn’t wring you out in the Forest, did they?” he teases gently. “Amateurs.”

They didn’t bother untangling themselves as they sank onto the couch of their tiny living room. Seb shared memories of cool mountain air, of red dust seeping into his boots and staining his clothes, his chin knocking against the top of Max’s head. Max returned the favor, recalling the damp shade of the Forest’s enormous trees, the looming closeness of the canopy as it blocked out the stars, her breath warm against his collar.

When their stomachs growled, Seb shooed Max away to clean up while Seb toasted some bread with the Elsewhere’s fire. They settled around the kitchen table for a simple meal of buttered bread and a wedge of cheese, and this time Max asked after Ford.

Seb snorted. “Why do you care about that creep?”

Max shrugged. “He knows what he’s doing. After me, he’s the obvious choice.” She scowled. “And I want to make sure he didn’t mess around too much. I recommended him, so his performance affects me, too.”

“He stayed.”

Max looked up. “What?”

Seb’s throat was unexpectedly tight. He tore off a mouthful of bread, chewed slowly, swallowed. “It went wrong. The expedition.”

Max looked livid. “What did he do.”

Seb shook his head. “No, it wasn’t Ford’s fault, it was Kim.” He made a face.

Max’s anger didn’t complete subside, but she still snorted. “I should’ve known.”

Seb grinned at her, but the expression died quickly. “The expedition went wrong,” he repeated. “Everyone else... stayed in the mountains.”

Finally, Max seemed to sense his emotions. “What happened?” she asked.

Seb exploded, suddenly frustrated. “Nobody told me!” he snapped. “First Jack and Kim go missing, then Professor Montero disappears— they say he’s dead! And then we just— kept researching with Professor Yumi, and I thought maybe that was it, because what the hell was anyone supposed to do?

“Then, as we’re leaving, Kilik and Casper and Ford all say they’re staying, they have ‘relatives’ or something—” he adorned the words with finger quotes— “but I know they’re looking into it! And they didn’t tell me— they’d all let the University know, or something, but not me.

“Professor Yumi escorted me home. Just me!” He looked at his hands, dragged his fingers like claws through the air, yanking at the magic that hung there and everywhere else. Gold fire pooled into his palms. “Because I’m a mage. Because I’m powerful, but that puts me in danger up there, or something. But hey, Kilik got to stay, and he’s a better mage than me!” He ripped more and more gold from the air, snarled, “Stupid Sebastian doesn’t know anything, so why bother telling him?”

He quieted when Max wrapped her hands around his fingers. He was shaking, he noticed dimly. His vision was a golden blur. His lungs heaved with the effort of drawing so much raw magic.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I know I should have told you. I just— I couldn’t. Not then. I c-couldn’t say anything about Papa, not then, so I just... didn’t.”

Seb didn’t get it, not really. It felt like their differences surrounding regret: he simply didn’t look at the past, but Max overflowed with what-ifs and if-onlys. He sensed it now, something fundamentally different about them, that while he sought company to relieve his pain, Max retreated from people to... to drown in it, maybe. (To digest, Max would tell him later.)

Seb didn’t get it, but this wasn’t the first time he didn’t get something. At least he knew how to ask.

He breathed, and slowly the gold faded from his vision. All the remained was just Max, just Maka, his oldest friend.

“What happened?” he asked her, and this time she told him.

The bustle of the Albarn clan had felt so much like her Papa, yet not. Maka hadn’t grown up in the Forest, and Spirit Albarn hadn’t spoken of his family, only of his beloved wife, Maka’s mother. The Albarns had loved Maka, but she hadn’t been family like Spirit was. It had hurt, so much, to see her Papa’s smothering affection directed at everyone but her.

“I would have gone with you,” Seb said. (I would have smothered you, if only you’d told me to, he would have said, if only he could find the words.)

“I know,” Maka replied, and smiled sadly. “But it wouldn’t be the same.” But she let him hug her anyway, and instead of going to their separate rooms they curled up on the couch together and fell asleep catching up.

[interpolsantics-blog]

alright fam..... i wrote this and it came out okay, mostly from the requests of my beloved Keanu Skanks. it’s some good old John Wick domination with spanking and gunplay and knifeplay so please enjoy this one okay

The air is very quiet and still in the darkness of the night. Glancing around, you move your keys slowly, fearing to make any noise at all.

You know you are in deep shit. You hope to evade it until the next morning.

There's a pause where you catch your breath - anxiety is fucking with you - and you listen to the crickets singing their little songs. There's some loud, distant music from a few houses away - you strain to hear it, but it doesn't help, as it's too distant.

Another moment passes and you take another deep breath and slowly push your key in the lock and twist, feeling your pulse going faster despite your efforts to calm down. There's a pause and you put your ear to the door, trying to hear any noise - but there is none, thankfully. Still as slow and as quiet as a church mouse, you push the door open and tiptoe in, feeling a little relieved. You just might be in the clear, thank God.

Further walking in, you try to adjust your eyes to the darkness, but it's a futile effort, as everything looks far too vague in the seemingly pitch-black night. Pulling your phone out of your pocket, you turn on the flashlight and move forward, planning to creep into the bedroom and somehow get into bed without waking him up. "Hello."

Ah, shit.

Light floods the room, and you squint as your eyes have to adjust yet again. Tensing up, you feel as if a metal pole has been rammed down your spine and you stand straight and as stiff as a board, mentally trying to brace yourself for the tongue lashing you're probably going to get.

But for a moment, there's nothing - complete silence. Your brain catches up and you finally find the ability to say something.

"...Hi."

There's another long stretch where nobody says anything and he steps closer, practically making you sweat. Eyeing him up, you’re surprised - he’s still in his suit. Who knows how long he’s been waiting there?

You swallow thickly, feeling a pit in your stomach - not out of fear, but out of a bit of shame. It's a simple concept: he gets worried. You know that. And here you were, making him worried.

"Why didn't you answer my calls?"

Another pause. Mostly because you don't have an answer that he'd like - you had gotten too caught up in other things to respond, but that makes it sound like you don't care enough to even find a minute for him, so you don't bother to open your mouth.

"Your phone didn't die."

The guilt feels like it's seeping through your entire body.

He sighs loudly and begins to walk around you in a predatory way that frightens you, but also excites you - just a touch. 

"Listen, I'm sorry," you say, voice soft, quiet, sweet. "I should've been paying more attention."

"Paying more attention," he echoes, making you wonder where exactly he's trying to go with this one. He circles you for another second, and steps close enough to you so he can reach out and stroke your cheek with his thumb. "I think you owe me an apology," he murmurs while a blend of excitement, fear, and arousal pumps through you at lightspeed.

He reaches back and pulls out his gun, very deliberate and accurate - as he always is. He slowly puts it up to your lips, and you hesitate for a brief moment but slowly open your mouth as he pushes the barrel in.

The metal is cold and unrelenting, and you suck on it carefully, fearing it'll scrape your teeth. He puts his hand on the back of your head and guides it back, so you can accept more of the gun into your mouth easily. It slides to the back of your throat and you gag, eyes watering up a bit, and he pulls out, seemingly not wanting to push you too far - what a gentleman.

While you swallow and take a few deep breaths, he turns and walks back to the couch, and motions for you to follow him. You stop just in front of him without actually sitting, feeling unsure of every single move. The main goal for you at the moment is to avoid making him more upset with you.

"Come on," he says, voice cool and collected. "Over my knee."

A little laugh escapes your lips involuntarily, feeling a little playful. "You've got to be kidding me," you taunt.

A little smile graces his lips for a second and makes you relieved that he's not too upset with you. But he just repeats himself, and you realize that he's serious. You obey, mostly out of curiosity of how this is going to go.

He pulls your dress up and your panties down and you squirm, feeling rather exposed, but he puts one of his hands on your hip. "Stop," he says, firm once more.

"Okay, sorry," you giggle. There's a giddy feeling overtaking you, perhaps as a response to the unrelenting tension a minute before. There's a moment where he seems to be moving around, looking for something, and you can't manipulate your body enough to look back so you wait impatiently, feeling your heart pick up a bit in wonder.

Suddenly, slowly, you feel something cold and sharp grazing the back of your thighs, and it takes a minute to kick in that he's got a knife. It makes you stiffen up again, mostly because you don't want to get stabbed, but you relax just as quickly - he wouldn't do that to you.

It's an oddly pleasurable sensation as he slowly draws down, pressing just lightly enough the skin doesn't get cut, and going back up again, the tingling making you want to twitch. You play with your lower lip between your teeth, suppressing urges to squirm in response. "You're good at this," he says gently, pulling the knife away. "You practically didn't move."

A bit of pride flows through you and you smile, getting a little rush from his approval. You again try and turn to move and look at him, but he completely stops you this time.

"We're not done yet," he says, grinning slightly again. "You owe me an apology."

Letting out a little sigh, you begin: "John, I'm really sorry-"

"Not like that," he mumbles, and there's a delay before you feel a sharp sting on your ass. A little "ow" escapes you and he seems to laugh a little about it.

"Are you sorry?"

“Yes,” you say, a bit rushed. “I’m sorry.”

He smacks your ass again, harder this time, and you let out a pleasurable little moan.

“I’m sorry, sir.” He runs his hands up and down your legs absentmindedly before giving you another solid hit.

“I’m sorry, sir.” 

“Will you ignore me again?” He hits you even harder this time, and you let out a loud moan before beginning to speak.

“I won’t ignore you again, sir.” Your voice trembles a bit as you say it.

“Good,” he says softly as he pulls his hands away from you and seems to do more shuffling around. There’s a faint stinging sensation that lingers as you lay there, happy and very much aroused. “Head up and open your mouth.”

Doing as you’re told, you see something between his hands before you feel and taste fabric entering your mouth. It’s his tie, you realize as he wraps it around your head, making you let out a little noise of distress. His hands are swift and skillful, making you wonder if he’s done this before.

His hand reaches down and nudges your thighs apart, and you go with the motions and feel him slowly insert a single finger into your cunt. It’s an easy entrance, and you moan, muffled through the makeshift gag.

Another finger quickly slides in with it, and his thumb begins to slowly rub your clit, sending shivers through your body as you try and move against his hand. “I love seeing you like this, little one,” curling his fingers inside you as he continues. “A needy mess, just for me." He leans in a bit closer, or you think he does, as his voice sounds closer to you. "No matter what you do, you’ll always be mine.”

You try to mumble out an answer, but it just comes out a jumble of noise. Hearing him laugh lowly at your attempts, you give up, but you feel yourself getting closer to the edge as your desperation continues and you push faster against him, practically trying to fuck yourself against his hand. “You’re an eager little thing,” he says so quietly you could hardly hear him.

It’s not long until you feel yourself clenching around him, letting out strangled noises through the tie-gag, squirming in his lap. The motions don’t stop until you’re finally done, a wave of tiredness suddenly crashing into you as he pulls out. Slowly, you meander yourself off of his lap and rest your head on his shoulder.

“You’re not really mad at me, are you?” The question is genuine.

“No,” the answer simple. “I just wanted to have some fun with you.” He stands and pulls you against him, and you lean on him.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble sleepily. “I promise I won’t do it again.”

“You better not,” he teases as you both walk into the bedroom. You yawn softly.