#like “she could get it fat enough to touch the floor easily if she tried” kinda belly-heavy

[gorgin-gals-muses]

Has a second, separate cam just for her belly. He knows what her fans are about~.

[here2bbtstrash]

party on you (explicit)

genre: SMUT SMUT SMUT with an extremely small side of fluff lol

pairing: hoseok x reader

summary: the only thing stronger than your social anxiety is your big dumb crush on hoseok - and you're certainly not expecting it when he tells you the real reason he threw this album release party.

word count: 9.8k

contains: explicit sexual content aka PORN !!!! idol-verse, literally takes place at the JITB album release party, friends to lovers, erotic hand holding, they're both cute and dumb, a studio hookup 👀 dirty talk, thigh riding, cunnilingus, a single pussy slap lol, taint touching (?), HOBI EATS ASS, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, throat fucking, reader gets a facial, and a lil bit of cum eating, it's cute 😌

A/N: so, hi, i went to hobipalooza lmao. this is actually lowkey a songfic ??? charli xcx was one of the earlier acts on hobi's stage and. my god. seeing her live was a religious experience, and when she performed party 4 u i was like hnnnhghg this should be a fic. and now it is !!!! and i hope u enjoy 🥺🥺 i tried some new stuff in here, both soft and freaky lmao so i'm nervy to share!!! as always your support and feedback means the world to meeeee ok ilysomuch bye~

read on AO3 !

~*~

You collapse back against the cushions of your couch with a soft whine of distress.

The whole thing is really so ridiculous. You told yourself when this started that you could be chill about it. People get crushes every day. It doesn’t have to be a huge fucking deal. You’re a sane, rational adult, perfectly capable of admiring a man quietly from afar while doing your best to be a good friend to him.

And, yes, maybe also obsessing a little too much over what to wear when you hang out, and what to post on Instagram in case he might see it, and dear god, how long his hair is getting. All normal crush things.

But now, as you press your phone to your chest with both hands and sigh forlornly, you wonder if it might actually be possible to yearn yourself to death. To like somebody so much that your heart just fucking explodes. If anyone could be capable of inciting spontaneous combustion, it is absolutely Jung Hoseok.

And he wants you to come to his big fancy party– has specifically sent a day-of reminder text, like you didn’t already receive a formal invitation weeks ago.

You purse your lips, fighting to keep a smile off your face despite being alone in your apartment where no one can perceive you. Hoseok is always so good at keeping in touch, even when he’s in an insanely busy season of his life. You can picture him now, probably bustling around his place in a robe, getting ready while simultaneously sending everyone their own personalized message.

Everyone– when you last chatted about the party, he rattled off enough of the guest list for you to know that easily half the industry will be there tonight. And even Lizzo has gushed about how great of a texter he is. You try to ease yourself off the ledge with the comforting thought that this has to be just one courtesy text of dozens, his pretty painted thumbnails working overtime to send gratuitous emojis out to every idol in the city.

And somehow also to you. Because your big fat crush made you stupid enough to say yes to what is arguably your worst nightmare: A party full of cool famous people, where you will know no one except the guest of honor.

Skipping the party is not an option becomes your internal refrain as the hours tick by. You have to remind yourself of this even more emphatically when you wind up on the floor of your bedroom, having tried on every article of clothing in your closet and having decisively hated it all.

Skipping the party is not an option, you think again, grabbing your phone to check the clock. Your heart sinks when you realize how much time you’ve wasted being an anxious wreck– you had planned to be ready to leave five minutes ago, not laying half-naked on the floor, hair and makeup still undone.

But skipping the party is not an option. A pre-party cry, however, might be on the table.

Pushing yourself up to sit on your heels, you force the tears back while you aimlessly sort through a pile of clothes. You’re barely looking at what’s in front of you, but you pause to do a double-take as your hand passes over a particularly enjoyable texture.

When you manage to extract the item, you realize it’s a dress you’d forgotten about entirely– something a friend made you buy a lifetime ago that you’ve never worn because you’ve always been uncomfortable with how short it is. But it’s smooth baby pink satin, and as different from your usual as it may be, you recall not being mad about the way it stuck to your curves like water.

Fuck it. You’re already late, and if there’s ever a party where you can take a fashion risk, it’s one thrown by Hoseok. You can only imagine what he might have on tonight; it honestly wouldn’t surprise you if he showed up in the same fucking dress.

The thought of seeing him is enough to make your heart leap in your chest, and you do your best to speed through your usual makeup and hair routine despite the way your hands are starting to tremble. By the time you grab your purse and make it out the door, you’re thirty minutes late. That thirty minutes quickly stretches into a full hour before you’re stepping off the elevator onto the 19th floor of HYBE headquarters, feeling like an asshole.

Gorgeous idols and various other famous people stream in around you, dressed in clothes that appear casual but you’re sure cost double your monthly rent payment, looking less than unbothered about showing up late. You do your best to slip in unnoticed and stick to the perimeter of the massive room, feeling like an absolute fraud.

Thankfully it’s only a few steps before you find a table taken up entirely by pre-filled flutes of champagne, and you eagerly grab one, mostly just grateful for something to do with your hands.

It occurs to you how little you know about celebrity culture, because the party doesn’t even seem to have started yet: early 2000s R&B is bumping through the speakers, and it feels like every few minutes the elevator chimes to let another group of people trickle into the space. You find an unoccupied section of wall to lean against as you sip your drink slowly, hoping that if you try hard enough, you might actually manage to become one with the wallpaper.

Tipping your head back for another sip of champagne, you nearly choke at an unexpected voice from over your shoulder.

“You look like you hate parties as much as I do.”

You manage to not inhale your drink, instead giving a polite smile as your eyes drift across the crowded room. You’re too nervous to immediately steal a glance at whoever is speaking to you, though you’re sure it just makes you seem rude. “Hate isn’t exactly it.” You have nothing against parties, or people who enjoy them. “I just… haven’t figured out what I’m supposed to be doing, exactly.”

“I think talking to people is generally expected,” the voice quips. “So, hey, you’re doing great already. Keep it up and they might even think you’re an extrovert.”

You exhale a soft laugh, a slight heat of embarrassment creeping up your neck.

“But Hobi said I didn’t have to meet and greet if I didn't want to. So I’m taking that as full permission to enjoy free alcohol and read webtoons on my phone.”

Your gaze snaps over at the familiar nickname, and your mouth goes dry as you realize you’ve been casually conversing with none other than Kim Seokjin, who is absentmindedly fiddling with the thin green strap of the bag slung over his shoulder.

Fuck. Embarrassing yourself in front of random famous people was exactly what you were trying to avoid when you picked this wall to lean against. You’d figured the other members would all be out mingling in the center of things, not hiding in a corner. Who knew celebrities were just like you?

“I-I’m sorry,” you stammer, immediately dropping your gaze to avoid making eye contact when Jin looks up. He probably assumed you’d sidled up next to him on purpose, like some kind of creepy fan. “I’ll leave you alone, I actually really didn’t mean to–”

You glance up again only to realize Jin is laughing, shoulders shaking slightly.

“Wow, I’m so bad at this. That wasn’t me telling you to fuck off. I was just trying to sympathize.” He gestures lazily towards the stage at the front of the room. “Thankfully it looks like you don’t have to suffer my conversation any longer.”

A Jack in the Box graphic has started to flash, projected onto the screen. After a few seconds, the image stills, and a spotlight clicks on, following Hoseok as he emerges from backstage. You lean forward to set your drink on the closest table so you can join in the applause for him.

Hoseok looks as effortlessly cool as he always does, but even more so tonight, like someone has cranked his charisma up to the max setting. A real fucking popstar, a rockstar, even: baggy clothes, multiple layers of necklaces, chunky black boots, dark hair pushed back with a few strands falling into his eyes. He somehow even manages to make wearing sunglasses indoors look cool– probably because they’re immediately offset by the wide, sweet grin of his mouth as he addresses the crowd. You can hear that he’s nervous by how hard he’s trying to keep his voice even, and it’s enough to make you feel the flutter of butterfly wings in your throat.

As you pick your drink back up for another sip, you can’t help but wonder if Jin can literally see the hearts in your eyes, or a nervous little teardrop floating above your head like an anime character. You do your best to hide your smile behind your glass.

“J-Hope is pretty cool, huh?”

You bite down on your bottom lip, answering Jin’s question with a shy nod.

Hoseok descends the stage as the lights lower, and then the album intro is starting and there’s no more time for conversation. You watch from across the room as he drops down on the large built-in stairs next to Jungkook, who immediately wraps a supportive arm around his waist while Hoseok laughs like he’s embarrassed. You’ve always been in total awe of the way Hoseok can light up and command the energy of a room easily, then squirm away from it at the next second.

Jin gets waved over and gives you a small nod as he departs, and then you’re alone again with the champagne in your hand and the wall against your back and Hoseok’s music thrumming through your nervous system.

The album is nothing like you expected– you didn’t know what to expect, really– and you absolutely love it. You’ve always felt like you have a stupidly limited vocabulary when it comes to talking about music, particularly around Hoseok, but even you can manage to string together the thought that these songs are fucking special.

But then again, so is he.

In what feels like the blink of an eye Hoseok is taking the stage again to giggle through his thanks, bent slightly at the waist in overwhelmed appreciation, and then the pop playlist is switched back on and the lights are dimmed and you suddenly feel your palms start to slick up against your champagne flute.

You can’t help but wonder what the fuck you’re supposed to do now.

The obvious choice would be to finally go talk to Hoseok, but of course, he’s the man of the hour, so every other person in the room seems to have the same idea. You choose to hang back and watch as he weaves through the growing crowd, putting on a bored expression to pose for pictures, laughing excitedly as people shake his hand and speak to him in hushed tones, and flashing thumbs ups and peace signs left, right and center.

It looks exhausting, you think to yourself with a small smile. And this is why you’re not famous.

For the second time tonight someone manages to sneak up on you, and this time it’s accompanied with a gentle call of your name. You nearly drop your drink as you whip around.

When you find yourself face-to-face with Park Jimin, it takes a few seconds for you to remember how to close your mouth. What is going on?

“I thought that was you.”

You double-blink, unable to find any words at all. You have never met this man before in your life. Seen him dozens of times on your TV screen, sure, but certainly never formally introduced.

“I’m Jimin,” he says, and you have to swallow the urge to giggle in his face because, yeah, no shit.

“Hi, Jimin.”

“Hoseok is going to be excited that you’re here.” Jimin scrunches his face up a little, like he knows he shouldn’t be telling you this. “He kept asking me if I thought you would show or not. He really wouldn’t shut up about it.”

You find yourself stammering again, trying to figure out how the hell to respond. Why, out of everyone on the guest list, would Hoseok be concerned about you? And he’s talked to Jimin about you enough for him to know who you are, that he can recognize you on sight alone? Your head starts to spin, despite the fact that you’re only halfway through your glass of champagne.

“Since you don’t like parties,” Jimin says, like it’s common knowledge, as if it’s totally normal for this very busy and famous kpop idol to keep tabs on your socialization preferences.

You nod dumbly. “I, yeah. I’m just not very good at them.”

Jimin nods, pushing up the sleeves of his white Chanel sweater. “You just have to get comfortable with talking to people about boring shit. Did you try the food?”

You shake your head– the very thought is enough to make you feel a little sick. “I get, like, a nervous stomach?” You hate that it comes out like a question when it clearly isn’t.

“Aish, you and Hoseok are so alike,” Jimin rolls his eyes, hands on hips, but you can see he’s smiling a little. “I haven’t been able to get him to eat anything all day. And we ordered so much food, I don’t even know why. Like half the people in this room aren’t on fucking diets.”

“Jimin-ah!”

Both of your heads snap up at the sound of Namjoon’s voice from the other side of the room, distorted slightly by the thudding bass.

“Ahh, they’re doing pictures,” Jimin says with an exaggerated sigh, like it’s just so hard being desirable and photogenic. “Do you want to get a photo?”

You shake your head as emphatically as possible. “No, nope, absolutely not.”

Jimin pauses, squinting at you for a second in a way that makes you think that if you were closer friends, he’d be dragging you across the room regardless of your answer to the question. You watch as he clearly attempts to restrain himself.

“Well, don’t drink too much on an empty stomach, okay? I’ll make you a to-go plate of food before you leave.” He starts to walk backwards away from you, raising his voice a little so you can still hear him. “And please talk to Hoseokie when we’re done! Maybe then he’ll calm the fuck down!”

You can’t hide the smile that blooms across your face, and Jimin wiggles his eyebrows for emphasis before turning around and pressing his way through the crowd to the photo wall.

The members take turns passing Hoseok around, punctuated by the snap of the camera: pinching his cheeks, leaning into him, clinging to his shoulders, wrapping an arm around his neck. You laugh out loud when Taehyung hikes a leg up high on Hoseok’s hip and tips back, a hand draped across his forehead, eyes shut, so fucking dramatic.

Hoseok stares down the camera like a professional, only to immediately dissolve into giggles between shots, tongue poking out between his teeth like he can’t quite handle all the attention. It’s enough to have you nearly fighting for your life.

The members crowd in for a few group shots, posing cutely until Jimin finally waves everyone back off to the dancefloor. He keeps Hoseok behind with one hand gripping his bicep, and your heart drops into your stomach when Jimin leans in to whisper something in Hoseok’s ear.

Oh, fuck.

You try to calm yourself down, reasoning that he could be talking about any number of important things, but then Jimin pulls Hoseok’s sunglasses off his face, turns him unmistakably in your direction, and gives his shoulders a hard push. It’s clear Hoseok doesn’t quite know where he’s going as he stumbles forward and squints at the party lights, so you throw back the last of your champagne for some assistance, set the empty flute on a table, and force yourself to be brave.

You run your palms nervously over the sides of your dress, trying to focus on the feeling of smooth satin as you cross the room to meet him.

“Hobi.” His eyes find yours and you watch as his face, still in party mode— all perfect straight lines and severe grace and supermodel apathy— softens, brightens.

“Oh thank god, you made it,” Hoseok huffs a disbelieving laugh. “Come here.”

He pulls you in for a hug, not the lazy one-armed greetings you’ve seen celebrities give each other all night but a real, solid embrace, both arms crossed firmly over the small of your back. You press your nose into the crook of his neck, the thin fabric of his tank top brushing against your skin. Heat radiates off of him in waves, and he smells so good, like expensive cologne. It’s dizzying.

“Hi,” you murmur, and it’s punctuated with a soft giggle when you realize you’re speaking directly into his collarbone. You move to extract yourself, but his grip tightens.

“Five more seconds,” Hoseok says with another half-laugh, and you gladly allow yourself to melt back into his arms.

He sounds slightly hoarse, you notice, probably from talking all night. You think for easily the millionth time that you have no idea how he does it, but this moment of softness makes you wonder if being the life of the party is a little more difficult than he lets on.

Hoseok hums a little, and the feeling rumbles through your chest, buzzing all the way down to your fingertips like an electric current. When he finally releases you, it’s with a soft sigh, something that almost sounds like reluctance. Your heart backflips at the thought.

The lights flash waves of rainbow color over his face, each one painting his perfect features with a slightly different energy: pink, blue, orange, green. You momentarily forget how to talk, but Hoseok doesn’t miss a beat.

“Are you having fun?”

You nod as decisively as you can. “I’m just awkward, but that’s not your party’s fault.” He giggles, gaze flitting nervously around the room, as you continue. “Seriously, it’s a great party. And I’m not just saying that because you have free booze.”

“Did you want more?” He asks quickly, then seems to think better of it. “Or, well, how much have you had? Do you need water?”

You smile a little despite yourself. “I’m fine, Hobi, thank you. You have better things to do tonight than look after me because I nursed a single glass of champagne. And besides, Jimin already tried to mother hen me earlier.”

A look of serious anguish crosses Hoseok’s face, and he glances back over his shoulder, but Jimin has evaporated into the crowd of beautiful people. “God, I specifically told him to leave you alone.”

You shrug. “It’s not a big deal. He was sweet.”

Hoseok’s gaze lands back on you, and it feels like your chest lights up from the inside out. You almost can’t look directly at him– it’s not unlike staring into the sun. You blink up at him once, twice, more than dazed, and then he laughs again, nose scrunching slightly as if to cringe at himself.

“Agh, I feel awkward. I don’t know what to say.”

You’re smiling, too. “That’s okay,” you say, because it is. You’re perfectly content to just stand here with him, unconcerned with the chaos of the party around you.

“I’m really glad you’re here.”

“Me too.”

“And– well, I guess you’ve never been here before, right? Can I give you a tour? I can take you downstairs and show you my studio.”

Your cheeks start to burn from all the questions, from how fixed his gaze is on you. It’s overwhelming. “Hobi, this is literally your party. You should stay here. I was doing fine holding up the wall over there.”

“Come on, I really want to. Please?” He leans in towards you slightly, glancing around as if to make sure he’s not being overheard. When he speaks into your ear, his voice drops to a lower register for privacy, and you can’t ignore the chills that dot up your spine. “I can’t talk to one more person that isn’t you right now.”

You nod, every nerve ending in your body now hyper-aware of how very close he is to you. “If you’re sure. I’d like that.”

“Thank you,” he says softly, and you breathe a soft giggle at how ridiculous it is that he’s the one thanking you at this moment. Before you even realize what he’s doing, his hand finds your hand, delicate fingers intertwining with yours. The skin of his palm is soft and warm. “Let’s go.” He chases the words with a gentle squeeze.

Hoseok leads you into the elevator and presses the button for a lower floor. You’re a little surprised when he slumps back against the wall with a heavy sigh as the doors close, still holding your hand.

“Oh, I’m tired.” He says quietly, almost like he’s talking to himself rather than to you. “It just hit me now. That was a lot.”

You squeeze his hand back, and his eyes flutter open to look at you. You press yourself up against the wall next to him. “You sound like me after any social event. And here I was thinking all night that you made it look so easy.”

Hoseok smiles. “I’m good at faking it. But I always collapse after stuff like this.” His eyes drift away from you and he stares into the empty space in front of him, his expression darkening slightly. “I just really hope they liked it. It’s so hard to tell what people think, or who’s only bullshitting you when they tell you it’s good. I’d rather they be honest with me.”

“Well, if it means anything, I loved it.” You say softly, your eyes searching his face. “And I’m not a bullshitter.”

Hoseok blinks, then nods once, his eyes not meeting yours. “You’re not. I appreciate that.”

The chime of the elevator seems to snap him somewhat out of his headspace, and he tugs on your joined hands to pull you through the doors as they slide open. “It’s just at the end of the hall.”

There’s something about Hoseok that comforts you all the way to your core, laps gently at the edges of your shyness until it recedes a bit. He just makes you feel like you can say anything without fear of judgment. Conversation comes easier with him, like this.

“How do you feel about it?”

“The album?” He asks.

You shrug. “Everything.”

“I’m very nervous,” Hoseok answers immediately with a bright peal of laughter, squeezing your hand again for emphasis. “I’m working really hard but… it all feels like uncharted territory. It’s so different to do it alone.”

His eyes jump from studio door to studio door as he leads you down the hallway. “I don’t know if people are going to like this side of me or the things I have to say. I don’t know if anyone will still care now that it’s just me. And ugh, I’m so unsure about the music festival. I’ve never done a whole show on my own before. I practice so much every day and I still don’t know if I can do it. Or if it will be any good.”

When he stops you outside of the final door at the end of the hallway, he seems to remember himself. “Wow, look at me. You were probably only being polite and I threw so much at you. This is just what goes around in my head. Every day and every night.”

“You sound stressed,” you say softly.

Hoseok purses his lips for a second. “I guess. I just really want to do well. I don’t want to disappoint anyone. I would– what?”

It isn’t until he asks the question, regarding you with a confused expression, that you realize you’re shaking your head. The smile that has crept across your face is a mixture of disbelief and appreciation.

“I’m sorry,” you’re practically laughing. “Please, keep going.”

“No, no, what is that face?”

You chew on the corner of your lip, trying to figure out the best way to word it. “I just… I don’t want to dismiss your concerns, because I absolutely understand all of them. And I would be shitting a brick, no question. But you…” Hoseok’s eyes widen a little as you pause, drinking him in, the way concern tugs down the corners of his mouth. “You just have no idea. No idea what it’s like to watch you from out here. And I wish you could see yourself the way I do.”

He pauses as if to consider your words. “What do you see?”

You don’t even have to think about the answer. It feels as steady and honest as the beat of your heart behind your ribs. “I see a fucking star. I see somebody who was born to do exactly what he’s doing. And, I mean, I think being nervous is a good thing, and I don’t say this to try and invalidate how you’re feeling at all. But I don’t see any possible future where you don’t succeed, Hoseok. It’s just... not an option. You’re going to get up there and kill it, I know you are. Because it’s you.”

Hoseok’s hand slips out of yours, and you can feel the warmth of his palms as he presses them to your waist to pull you close. Anticipation sparks through you. His eyes search yours intently, like he’s looking for something. “You really feel that way?”

“Completely. There’s no doubt in my mind.” Your gaze drops to his mouth, the way his full lips are parted slightly, and it occurs to you that maybe you’re talking about more than one thing now. “It feels predestined, to me… I don’t know. Inevitable.”

Hoseok makes a soft noise as he continues to close the distance between you. “Inevitable?” You tilt your chin up towards him, every cell in your body humming. “Like this?”

The way he kisses you is so gentle and sweet, you swear your heart leaps into your throat. You allow a second, maybe two, to move your mouth against his and get lost in it, and then you force yourself to break away, your mind reeling.

“I’m sorry,” he says automatically. “I’ve been wanting to do that all night.”

“Hoseok,” you murmur, eyes squeezing shut as you attempt to navigate the discomfort of being vulnerable. “I– you should know that I really, really like you.”

“Really?”

The shock in his voice makes your eyes snap open again, and you can’t help but make a face of utter disbelief. “I thought it was obvious.”

“Looks like I’m not the only one who doesn’t realize how other people see me. You’re actually very hard to read.” Hoseok slips one hand off of your waist to push down on the door handle behind you, then gestures for you to step through. He keeps talking as he follows in after you, letting the door shut behind him. “I second-guess myself all the time with you. Jimin is so fucking tired of hearing about it.”

“Wow,” you say dumbly. “I had no idea.”

“You didn’t even text me back about tonight! I had no idea if you were coming.”

You start to laugh as the realization washes over you: you’d been so busy sighing forlornly and stressing about what to wear, you’d forgotten to actually reply to his messages.

“Okay, this time was actually an accident. But…” You sweep your gaze over his studio, trying to think. “I don’t know, I just always feel like I’m bothering you. Your life is so big and important. Even now: you should be upstairs being the star of your own party. Not down here with me.”

Hoseok shakes his head immediately. “I don’t want to talk to anyone up there the way I want to talk to you. I was such a wreck today when you didn’t answer.”

You can’t believe what he’s saying, even as he takes a step in towards you, his mouth invitingly close to yours again. “Why? I am quite literally the least important person on the guestlist.”

“Because,” Hoseok pauses for a second, then sighs. “I like you, and I was scared that you’d decided not to come, when I…” He’s practically grinning, and the tell of his scrunched up nose makes you realize– he’s embarrassed. “I threw this whole party just to have an excuse to see you.”

Your jaw drops open. “You what?”

“Please don’t make me say it again.”

“Hobi.” You both start to laugh as you stare in disbelief, trying to process the most ridiculous statement you’ve ever heard in your life. “You could have just called me.”

“I tend to overthink these things.”

He’s close enough that you barely have to move to slide your hands up his chest and grip the lapels of his white button-down.

“I think I can help with that,” you murmur, and then you tug him back down into a kiss that makes your head spin.

The sweet nervousness of your first kiss has been replaced with urgency now, Hoseok’s mouth moving over yours like he’s hungry for it. You tug gently on your fistfuls of his shirt to move him towards you, stumbling backwards until you find purchase against the door of the studio.

Hoseok moves skillfully, tongue licking into your mouth while one of his strong thighs shifts to tease your legs apart and press between them. The quick succession of the two is enough to make your breath hitch, and it seems to encourage him more. The rough denim of his jeans grinds into your center, and your already-short dress has ridden up enough that the pressure drags hot sparks right over your core.

Your jaw goes slack as your focus slips, and you tip your head back against the door with a soft whine, circling your hips for more friction. “Fuck, Hoseok.”

His lips drop down to the exposed skin of your neck. The warmth of his mouth has your back arching, your nipples rubbed into stiff peaks under the thin fabric you couldn’t wear a bra with.

“You look so fucking good tonight,” Hoseok groans. “Driving me crazy in this little dress.”

There’s the soft brush of a hand on your thigh, and he teases the hem of your dress up higher and higher as your hips keep moving; his tongue darts out to lick a languid stripe over your collarbone. His other hand slides up from your waist to cup your breast over satin, deftly rolling the bud of your nipple between his long fingers, pinching with just enough pressure to coax a moan out of you.

“I like the sounds you make. Don’t want you to be shy with me.” Hoseok murmurs over your skin before he starts to suck deliberately at your neck, right on your pulse point. You couldn’t stifle the sound his mouth pulls from you even if you wanted to.

With all your attention drawn to grinding your clit against his leg and the warmth of his palm cupping your breast, your grip on the fabric of his shirt has loosened. Moving in a haze of pleasure, your hands fumble at his denim jacket, attempting to push it down his shoulders. Hoseok pulls back slightly when he realizes what you’re doing, though his fingers still lazily squeeze at your nipple.

“Let me just– hang on–” Hoseok untangles himself from you entirely with a sheepish grin, and you take the moment to collect yourself, your chest heaving in shallow breaths. You can feel the way your panties are soaked through as you press your thighs together, desperate for continued friction.

He’s moving quickly as he slips out of his oversized jacket and button down beneath it. You can clearly see the wheels in his head turning as he lays the pieces over the back of his desk chair, then immediately scrunches his face up as if to think better of it.

“Agh, sorry, sorry, one second–” Hoseok shakes out the jacket, then the shirt, folding both in quick yet precise succession before stacking the neat rectangles together and gently setting them on the small couch next to his desk.

Even in the dim studio lighting you can see his face is flushed pink with embarrassment as he returns to press you back against the door.

“I just– I don’t want wrinkles,” he says softly, and you’re very grateful that you no longer have to suppress the urge to take his face in your hands and kiss him.

“I like you so much,” you giggle into his mouth, and it’s punctuated with a squeak when his hands slide down to firmly grab your ass. The fabric of your dress is so thin that it hardly feels like it’s there at all.

Hoseok must have the same thought, because he releases his grip only for as long as it takes to push the skirt of your dress up over your ass; now there’s nothing separating his fingers from your skin when he squeezes you again.

“Like you,” he agrees, his voice husky. “Want to taste you.” Your core aches for his touch, clenches around nothing when he releases his grip and cracks a hand over the soft flesh of your asscheek.

“Please, Hobi.”

You find his mouth with yours again for a needy taste of a kiss, tongues sliding together. Your arms wrap around his shoulders in an attempt to pull him impossibly closer.

In one swift move he presses you flush against the door, and his hands slip to hitch your legs over his waist before moving back to your ass, hoisting your hips up to properly straddle him. You whimper at the grind of his erection through his jeans, right over your rubbed-sensitive center, and at the thought that he could fuck you just like this, up against this door.

Hoseok’s mouth doesn’t leave yours as he turns and carries you the short distance across the room, hands sliding to your hips so he can set you down on the desk. His lips are full and kiss-bitten red when he pulls back to look at you, pupils blown dark with lust.

“Sure this is okay?”

You meet his gaze, reaching up to dust strands of hair out of his eyes. His mouth chases the heel of your hand so he can press those soft lips into the center of your palm, chaste and sweet. 

“It’s so much more than okay,” you murmur.

He’s smiling as he leans forward for another kiss, only pulling back to press his forehead to yours once you’re both breathless. “I have wanted to do this for so fucking long. You have no idea.”

His hands hook under the backs of your thighs to scoot you gently forward until you’re perched at the very edge of his desk, and then he sinks to his knees. Your legs that were slipped around his waist find new purchase thrown over his shoulders and you tense a little when your high heels scrape over his back.

“I can take these off,” you start, but he’s already shaking his head as his palms encourage your thighs apart.

“I like it.”

You’re nearly gasping for breath with anticipation as his long fingers slip under the band of your panties and you lift your hips up so he can pull them down. You manage to extract one leg to drape back over his shoulders, leaving the lacy fabric to dangle off the other as you open up for him.

Hoseok’s thumbs press to either side of your pussy, gently spreading your lips apart to admire how soaked you already are. Anyone else examining you like this would have you squirming away self-consciously, but there’s just something about Hoseok that’s different. You want him to know every part of you fully, intimately.

“God, you are so gorgeous.” His breath is hot over your skin, makes your cunt tighten needily as if to beckon him closer.

You lean back to brace your forearms on the desk behind you and Hoseok’s gaze jumps up to meet yours. He doesn’t drop eye contact as he leans forward to press an open-mouthed kiss to your slit, both of you groaning at the contact.

His mouth moves just as it did against yours, and you let your eyes flutter closed as pleasure sears through you like a hot knife. Hoseok grunts a little, low in his throat when he adds tongue to his kisses, licking softly but deliberately to part your slick folds.

“Hobi,” you whine, rolling your hips up into him as he starts to apply more pressure with his tongue. “Fuck, ah, feels so good.”

Hoseok pulls off of you with a throaty gasp, like maybe he was so focused on eating you out that he didn’t quite remember to keep breathing. When you look down at him, his lips are wet and glossy, spread in a wide smile. “You taste so fucking good.”

You don’t even have time to ask for more before he’s hooking his biceps around your thighs and tugging your hips towards him, pulling you even closer to bury his face between your legs. This time he licks a stripe straight up to your swollen clit, pulling the bud into his mouth to suck on.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, digging your nails into the desk beneath you as sparks shoot through you and your clit twitches in his mouth.

Hoseok hums steadily around you, as if to once again encourage you to be vocal. He starts to nod his head as he sucks, his nose pressed flush against your pubic bone. Your hips fall in time with his rhythm, grinding back down on him.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you whimper. “Shit, Hobi.” Your voice catches on a dazed, disbelieving laugh. “You’re gonna make me come if you keep doing that.”

He doesn’t let up, squeezing his grip on your thighs that much tighter when you start to quiver beneath him. Your arousal coils tight and hot in your core as he works more not-so-shy noises out of you, breathy moans, needy whines.

You cling desperately to the edge of his desk, teetering equally on the edge of your own release. The wet slick wash of his tongue is lush, decadent, lapping at your clit between pulses of suction, and it’s all too fucking much.

“Yes, Hoseok, fuck!”

You cry out, your heels digging into the hard plane of Hoseok’s back as he works an intense, shuddering orgasm out of you. Your cunt throbs over and over as you come, a rush of arousal painting the crux of your thighs.

When you catch your breath it’s in uneven, shaky gasps, and the movement of your hips sharpens into jolts as you become hypersensitive to Hoseok’s mouth. He releases you almost reluctantly, still hovering close, continuing to dart his tongue out to gently lick up your folds.

“I don’t want to stop,” he says with a shy, blossoming laugh, the light catching the shine of his lips and chin when he glances up at you.

You’re dazed, beyond blissed out, unable to believe that any of this is real. You like him so much.

“Can I keep going?”

Just that sentence is enough to make you tighten all over again with anticipation. “I–” you laugh a little too despite yourself. “I want that. But I think my clit needs a second.”

Hoseok’s touch is featherlight as he circles a digit lower, over your entrance, as if to ask permission. “What about here?” Your pussy lips twitch even under so gentle a touch, but you ache for more; you like that it’s overwhelming.

“Yeah, yes. There, please, fuck,” you babble. He’s added a second finger to tease now, and you whimper when they finally press together into your sensitive cunt.

Hoseok is watching his fingers intently, and you can hear the way your pussy squelches as he pumps them slowly, can feel the tremors of your orgasm still shuddering through you, causing slick to drip from your center. You can only imagine what his view must be like, how you must look: dripping, needy, trembling for him, fingers gripping the desk and head lolling back.

“So pretty,” he murmurs, his voice low and soft, and then he dips his head down to lap below your entrance, tasting the juices that have leaked out of you. He pulls back to smack his other hand over your whole cunt, light enough that you barely feel the tap, but just the visual of it makes you squirm beneath him.

“So cute,” he smiles. His fingers rub circles into your front wall, becoming more insistent, and you breathe in shaky waves as you start to grip tightly around him.

“Hoseok,” you breathe, letting your eyes drop closed. Arousal blossoms through you like a heavy weight, your second climax already building, when you feel his other hand cup the join of your ass and thigh.

A soft whimper spills out of you as Hoseok starts to massage below your entrance, thumb working at a new bundle of nerves, like nothing you’ve ever felt. It’s pleasure that makes you hot all over, makes the muscles in your legs shiver and tense when it’s paired with the crook of his fingers still working your pussy.

“Fuck,” you pant, “Hobi, what are– that feels so–” You’re starting to lose a grip on your words, sentences going incoherent as your head spins. It’s hard to think over all the sensation, the way your body is lit up like a live wire, and the sound of your cunt gushing around him as he fucks into your g-spot.

“Has anyone touched you here before?” He asks softly, thumb tapping at the thin bridge of skin between your pussy and your ass. His head dips down for a chaste kiss there, then a second, adding a languid lap of tongue.

“N-no,” you whimper, toes curling in your shoes as he continues to drag his tongue over this delicate, sensitive place. “Keep going.”

Hoseok pulls back, a string of saliva still connecting him to you, and he lets it loose with a swipe of his hand over his mouth. His fingers slip out of you as he pairs a question with a smile. “Turn over for me?”

Your legs would be shaking even if you weren’t in fancy party heels, and you do your best to be graceful as you unsteadily spin, one arm keeping the fabric of your dress hiked up over your hips.

“Brace yourself on the desk,” Hoseok instructs, and you do, leaning forward until your stomach and forearms are flush with the wood, your bare ass hanging off the desk, presented for him. You spread your legs apart again and can feel the way your pussy drools arousal down your thighs. “That’s it,” he coaxes.

His fingers massage firmly into the flesh of your asscheeks, and your back arches up as you groan at the feeling. He spreads you just a little, enough for cool air to tease at your slick center; your hips wiggle towards him on instinct.

“Pretty back here, too,” he murmurs. “Tell me how it feels, okay? Won’t do it if you don’t like it.”

You clench for him in both places, even your fists grip tight in the fabric of your dress. “I’ll like it. Please, baby.”

“Baby,” Hoseok repeats back with a shy exhale. “I like that. I like you.” He leaves a sweet kiss pressed halfway up your thigh.

“Hobi–” you choke out a whine of his name as his breath ghosts over you, hands still firmly keeping you spread. His tongue returns to your perineum again, licking a hot, slow stripe that keeps moving up, up, until you feel the tease of warmth and wetness over your ass. “Oh, fuck.”

You’re so sensitive here, just the lightest drag of his tongue over your rim makes you moan, feet kicking listlessly as pleasure shudders through you.

“It’s good–” you manage to whimper, voice muffled slightly as your forehead drops against the desk, too, your whole body pinned down by his mouth. “–ngh, really good, Hobi.” Your cunt throbs when he does it again, as he falls into a consistent pace of long, steady laps that set off fireworks behind your eyes.

The ache in your core begs for touch, friction, and you oblige needily, tucking a hand under the weight of your hips pressed into the desk, a sweat-slicked palm for your mouth-wet clit.

Hoseok doesn’t miss a thing. It’s only for a second that he pulls off of you, but you whine at the loss of his tongue, sated slightly by the gentle brush of his lips over the small of your back. “Gonna get yourself off while I eat you out?”

You grind a circle down with your hips, hissing at the white-hot pulse against your hand. “Yes, baby, please.”

He doesn’t need any more encouragement to dive back in, fingers gripping harder to spread you and tongue licking deliberately, tracing patterns that work more arousal out of your pussy. You’re unraveling fast from humping against your palm, hips jolting forward to make your clit twitch and backwards to press towards Hoseok’s mouth.

You’re already wound so tight that you’re too desperate for words, reduced instead to little breathless gasps– “ah, ahh”– as you speed up the rub of your hand, your hips. Hoseok’s tongue never falters, firm pressure laved over and over your sensitive, flexing ass.

With a soft hum of effort, you feel him press a little harder, tongue barely dipping in past your tight ring of muscle, and the sweet stretch of it is the final push you need.

You roll your clit just right over your palm a final time and then you’re shaking and moaning as everything starts to pulse. The all-over clench pushes a fresh wave of fluid from your cunt, rolling down the backs of your thighs, fat droplets of arousal that Hoseok chases with sloppy kisses as the waves of your orgasm shudder through you.

It takes a moment before you can say anything, do anything, limbs too heavy and brain too fucked-out dumb. You do your best to slide gracefully off the desk, but your legs shake with aftershocks that betray you, and you stumble.

Hoseok is quick to wrap his arms around you and guide your hips down to the floor next to him. You collapse in a heap of giggles, him tangled over your waist, the skirt of your dress still pushed up, your bare ass on his studio carpet.

“Are you okay?” Hoseok laughs, and you bury your face in the fabric of his tank top as an answer, not convinced your coherency has returned to you yet.

“Too good,” you murmur, words slurring. “Fucked me too good.”

“You’re so hot.” You can tell he’s blushing just by the tone of his voice, and you start to come to a little, slow-blinking back to reality and rolling over to look up at him. His dark eyes shine as he smiles. You don’t want to come all the way down from this dazed, happy place yet, you realize, and you curl a finger into the loop of his jeans, tugging him closer.

“My turn.” Your hands start to fumble to undo his belt buckle. His jeans are oversized, but not enough to obscure the print of his hard cock pressed against his thigh.

“Let me take you home,” he says softly, running a fingertip along your jaw. “This should be– I want you to be comfortable. I want it to feel good.”

“It all feels good,” you say earnestly, sitting up to tug at the button of his jeans, undeterred. “And you can take me home. But you’ve been so good to me, Hobi.” You manage to work his fly open, and you lift your gaze to meet him. “Let me be good to you.”

You resume your work, wriggling Hoseok’s jeans down his thighs until his hands cover yours and he takes over, stripping himself of his shoes as well. He reaches back between his shoulder blades to pull his tank top over his head, and your eyes sweep over his body, taking in his lithe figure and smooth, hard muscles. You trail the tips of your fingers down the defined lines of his chest.

“Fuck,” Hoseok starts to smile self-consciously, one hand drifting over his dick straining against tight black briefs with a slightly darker spot in the center where he’s left a kiss of precum on the fabric. “I don’t have any condoms here.”

You sit up on your knees in front of him, considering this. “Use my mouth.” The high of your orgasm has subsided enough now that you’re not quite shameless anymore, and heat blooms in your face as you continue. “Like, fuck my throat.”

He tries and fails to suppress a groan, and his delicate hands reach to cup either side of your face, thumbs rubbing circles into the hinge of your jaw. “You–” he laughs softly. “You can’t just say things like that.”

“I mean it,” you say simply.

“But you really want to?”

You nod, half play-acting your shyness now, letting your lashes flutter as you blink up at him. “I’ve done it before. I like it.”

“Fuck,” Hoseok breathes. “I want to do everything you like.”

“Please?” You ask sweetly, and Hoseok is already getting to his feet, one hand still cupping your jaw.

“Pretty,” he murmurs, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “So pretty when you beg to suck my cock.” You’re smiling, your fingers slipping under his waistband to slide his briefs down his legs.

“Take your dress off, baby,” Hoseok instructs as he steps back to finish pulling off his underwear. “Don’t wanna ruin it.”

You do as you’re told, staying on your knees to pull it over your head, your heart squeezing again when he takes it from you and treats it as gently as his own clothes. It’s oddly domestic to watch him fold the smooth fabric with shaking hands, naked except for his jewelry, his hard dick leaking against his stomach.

When he turns back to you, you take the opportunity to properly admire him. His cock is as flushed and gorgeous as the rest of him, thick and dripping wet from his tip. You duck down to press a kiss to the sensitive spot under his head, then slide your lips up to gloss over his slit, slicking your mouth with his precum.

You look up at him, hands gripping the backs of his thighs; Hoseok’s eyelids are heavy with lust as he watches you work, tongue toying at the corner of his mouth. He groans a little as you pop just the head into your mouth and swirl your tongue over it, tasting the salt of him.

His hand slides to the back of your head, tangling in the hair at the nape of your neck, and his adam’s apple jerks in his throat as he swallows.

“Tap my foot if you need to stop.” Hoseok’s voice is quiet but firm, and his socked toes wiggle, brushing against your knee pressed into the carpet. “Okay?”

You hum your acknowledgement and maintain eye contact as he holds you still and slides his cock into your mouth. He starts off at a gentle pace, and you hollow your cheeks around him, pressing your tongue flat so it drags over his shaft as he starts to pump in and out of you.

As much as you want him in control, there’s a part of you that can’t help yourself– you lean forward, eyes fluttering closed, wanting to prove to him how much you can take. The head of his cock starts to stretch down your throat and you focus on breathing steady through your nose, your muscles jumping around him in a half-swallow.

“Fuck,” Hoseok groans, his voice dark and rough-edged. You can feel drool starting to leak out of your mouth, and the mess just makes it better. “You take it so well.”

His hips keep rolling, withdrawing his cock into the heat of your mouth only to push it back down the tight clutch of your throat. It gets easier as he starts to move faster, the weight of him pressing bright on your gag reflex in shorter and shorter bursts. It’s just enough to make tears well up in your eyes. They eventually spill over, staining your cheeks until your face is slick and wet, like the sounds of him hitting the back of your throat, all of it obscene and hot.

The hand in your hair tightens as he pulls you all the way down on his shaft until your nose is flush with his abdomen and your throat bulges, filled with him. He holds you there, eyes roaming hungrily over your face.

“You look so sweet with my cock down your throat, baby.”

The hum of agreement you try makes you gag a little, and he quickly releases, pulling out to let you gasp for air. Your tongue lolls out of your mouth as you smile up at him, dazed, and catch your breath.

“Was that too much?” His brows pinch together slightly with concern. You wipe a hand over your nose and shake your head.

“I want more, Hobi,” you purr, moving your face back towards his dick. You lean forward to lazily drag your tongue up his shaft for emphasis. “Want you to come on my face,” you admit as you fix your gaze on him.

You swear you feel his knees almost buckle when you take him in your mouth again.

“You are so fucking sexy,” Hoseok practically growls, hand returning to the nape of your neck. He pushes himself back down your throat and starts to pick up the pace. You want him all and take it easily now, drool slicking your neck and chest when you swallow around his length.

“Oh my god,” he gasps, and you can feel his cock twitch on your tongue as he fucks roughly into your mouth, chasing his orgasm. “Oh my god.”

Hoseok’s grip on your hair goes slack and he pulls out, hand pumping fast over his drool-glossed cock. He tips his head back, exposing the column of his throat with a heady whine when he starts to come. You’re up on your knees and ready for it, nose bumping his fist, face presented for him to paint. Warm spurts of cum hit your cheeks, tongue, lips, and you giggle a little as you try to hold still, as he makes another throaty grunt of effort and release.

“Shit,” he hisses as the movements of his hand slow, as he works out the last of it, stray drips already trailing down your neck, between the valley of your breasts. “Fuuuck.” His breathing is ragged, and you press a wet kiss to the tip of his dick as he recovers.

He’s clearly already focused on the mess he’s made of you, spinning in a dazed semi-circle before reaching to grab a box of tissues off of the desk. His bare knees thud on the carpet as he sinks down next to you.

You’re surprised when he leans in to kiss you, humming softly against your mouth, tongue even darting out to lick at the cum that drips off your lips. You smile into it, teeth gently grazing over his bottom lip.

“Hi,” he huffs a laugh as he leans back. “Was that okay? Not too much?”

You shake your head. “I liked it,” you say again, though your voice comes out a little hoarse. “Wouldn’t have asked for it if I didn’t. I like you. I–” your breath hitches slightly with nerves, and it’s funny to you, that it’s easy to ask him to fuck your throat, but hard to talk about the bigger feelings underneath. It’s more intimate, somehow, to be earnest. “You always worry so much about everyone else. I just want to take care of you.”

“You can.” Hoseok’s voice is gentle and warm. “We both can.” He pulls a tissue loose from the box, hovering close to you. “Let me clean you up.”

You’re too blissed out to stop yourself from giggling. “You have a whole party to get back to.” You nod dumbly at the verity of your own statement as he uses tissues to wipe cum and drool off your face, tear stains and smudged makeup from your cheeks.

“This,” he swipes a thumb down over your bottom lip, chases it with another quick kiss, “was so much better than a fucking party.” He adds the last of the dampened tissues to the small pile he’s made on the floor, tilting your jaw with his hand to inspect his work, to ensure perfection as he does with everything. “But I probably don’t have much longer before people start looking for me.”

“You should go,” you say quietly, trying to ignore the drop in your stomach.

His hand slips into yours for the second time tonight. “Will you come with me? I know it’s not really your thing.”

You falter momentarily– not because you don’t want to, but you can’t shake your own self-consciousness, this sense that you don’t belong here, rubbing elbows with all these famous people. But it’s hard to feel like any of that matters with the way Hoseok is looking at you, the soft turn of his lips in a barely-there smile.

“Are you sure?”

“Very.” He gives your hand an affirming squeeze. “Do I need to remind you that this entire party is literally for you?”

You shake your head, rolling your eyes at his antics despite the laugh that bubbles up in your throat. “I still can’t believe you. What is this, The Great Gatsby?”

His laugh is high and sweet, hand untangling from yours to wrap both arms around your waist, and he pulls you into his chest, bare skin on bare skin, hearts beating together. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes, Hobi,” you relent. “I’ll go back with you. Besides, Jimin promised to feed me.”

You can feel Hoseok’s smile as he presses a kiss to your temple. “Come on, then. I promise it’ll be fun. If we get Jungkook drunk enough he’ll probably start dancing on the stage.”

“Now that I have to see.”

[wkemeup]

Sunrise (2)

summary: After an explosion takes his arm and his only sense of belonging, Bucky is content to live out the rest of his days in the hollow comfort of the dark. This is, until Sam drags him down to the local VA and he meets you. (Modern AU) pairings: bucky x reader chapter word count: 3.5k warnings: heavy focus on Bucky’s PTSD/anxiety, hella nervous!bucky, dangerously sweet!y/n  🧡 series masterlist / series playlist

“What the hell do you mean ‘you’re not going’?”

Bucky shrugged, taking a bite of the bagel Steve picked up on his way to the apartment. He flinched as Steve flung open the curtains, expelling a cloud of dust as the sunlight invaded the living room, illuminating over months of untouched mail on the coffee table and crumbs in the carpet.  

Sam kept his eyes burning on Bucky from the other end of the table. “You can’t back out now, Barnes. She’s expecting you!”

“What’s this about again?” Steve asked as he slid into the chair beside Bucky.  

“Book club. Y/n. Barnes is being a coward again,” Sam explained a little too nonchalantly for Bucky's taste.  

“I’m not being a coward,” Bucky grumbled, avoiding Sam’s eyes and very much proving his friend’s point. “I’ve just— I’ve got better things to do.”

He regretted it the moment it left his lips because both Sam and Steve exchanged a less than subtle, irritatingly familiar glance.  

“Yeah, like what?” Steve scoffed. He extended his arms out to gesture to the empty apartment. “You got tons of plans this week? Think you might see sunlight again or did someone hang garlic in the hallway?”

“Shut up,” Bucky warned, rolling his eyes. It had been a few days since he’d ventured out to the VA for the first time and it was more than he’d done in weeks. It should have been enough for these two, but it never was. They always wanted more out of him. They couldn’t just leave him to rot in his apartment, could they?

“It’s Sunday, you know,” Sam said, devilish smirk rising on his face.  

Bucky gritted his teeth. “Yeah, I’m well aware.”  

“Come on, man!” Sam groaned, slamming his hand on the table enough to cause a ripple in the coffee mugs. “I saw the way you were looking at her. You can’t tell me seeing her again isn’t a good enough reason to go...”

Bucky’s cheeks flushed red. They burned hot on his skin and it only seemed to make it worse. He’d never been like this before he was discharged – flustered and easily embarrassed. He supposed before he came home with one less limb and baggage the size of his living room, he didn’t have much to be embarrassed about. He was a flirt, a bit shameless about it, too. He’d had girlfriends and hookups and never thought much about it.  

But now? The vague idea of even presuming to be interested in a woman was borderline laughable. What chance could he possibly have? He was washed up and broken, missing a few pieces, and half off his rocker. There wasn’t a chance in hell you’d go for a guy like him. It was easier to just pretend like he didn’t care, give into the empty void he believed his heart to be, and waste away.  

“Seeing her again isn’t a good enough reason to go,” Bucky said flatly, much to Sam’s annoyance. It was a bold-faced lie, one all three of them were well aware of, but it didn’t mean Bucky needed to give them the satisfaction of admitting it.  

He thought of you in that sunset red sweater, holding a book tight to your chest with that sort of bright starlight look in your eyes as you listened intently to a retired vet go on and on about his personal connection to some corny book. He’d only met you for maybe a span of a few minutes, and still, he could somehow still picture your smile. He wanted to see it again.  

But there was a sharp pain in his left arm; it burned, enough for Bucky to reach across his chest and try to put pressure on it, only to slip through thin air and land against his ribs. The pain remained, like an extension of himself, on an arm that was no longer apart of him. There and not there all at once. He groaned.  

“It’s not a good enough reason, Sam,” Bucky repeated. “I’m not going. She probably won’t even notice.”

Another lie.  

Sam shook his head, the smile quickly leaving his face in favor of one Bucky knew all too well. Disappointment. Frustration. The thing was, it didn’t hurt as much when Bucky was purposeful in creating it.  

“I thought you liked her?” Steve asked cautiously, eyes catching Sam’s for only a moment before he turned back to Bucky. They’d been talking about him. He hated when they did that.  

“I don’t even know her, Steve,” Bucky shot back. He shouldn’t be getting angry with them. They were only trying to help. And yet here he was – pushing away the only two people left in his life that still managed to tolerate him. He rubbed at the stubble on his jaw, trying to push past it. “She’s nice, okay? She’s pretty. Is that what you want me to say?”

Steve sat back in his chair, exhausted. “I want you to be happy, Buck.”

Bucky scoffed. “Yeah, well, shoulda thought of that before I got myself blown up.”

“Bucky--”

“Let it go, man,” Sam sighed, setting a hand on Steve’s shoulder.  

Bucky felt like he could sink straight into his chair. Why did he always do this?

“I hope you change your mind,” Sam said simply, gathering up his things as he and Steve started to make their way to the door. “It could be good for you.”

Bucky knew what he meant by that, the underlaying message hidden just beneath the surface: she could be good for you.  

Right on cue, the pain started up again in his arm that was both there and not there, and Bucky tried to grit his teeth through it, though Sam could spot the tells almost immediately: his right-hand gripping to the arm rest, the flinch in his jaw, the short tense breaths.  

Sam sighed, pausing in the door frame. “We’ll be back in a few days. Try to clean up the place, will you? It’s a shithole in here.”

“Ma said she’d bake you cobbler if you promise to eat it,” Steve offered, too hopeful for his own good. It had been Bucky’s favorite once; the sort of dessert he talked about on desert nights when the mess hall served day old meatloaf and bland potatoes. He didn’t have much of an appetite these days.  

Bucky forced out a smile for his friend’s sake and nodded.  

A familiar silence swept over the apartment as the door closed behind them. It had been a comfort once; a darkness that swept around his shoulders like a blanket. It kept him isolated and suffocated and still, safe.  

Now, it mocked him.

He stared at the knob on the door, tapping his fingers against the edge of the table. He’d done this about a dozen times before, trying to convince himself to do something more with his days than waste away in an expensive one-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn.  

Steve was right. What the hell else was he going to do today? Stare at the wall for a few hours? Pretend to watch TV and not catch a single word of dialogue? Make a meal he wouldn’t eat?

He thought of you again. How you might scan the room in search of him and a frown might pull at the corner of your lips to not find him amongst the crowd. He wondered if you’d be dressed in yellow or orange or if you’d resemble a cloudless sky as the sun touched over the peaks of the city in soft pinks and purples.

He wanted to know so badly it was killing him.  

“Fuck.”  

He dragged his feet to the bedroom to find something half decent to wear.  

***

It had been a less than ideal start to your day.  

The children’s reading presentation at the library got a little out of hand when the speaker – a local theater student – got caught up in the voices and scared half of the toddlers to tears as he took some interesting liberties with The Cat in the Hat.

Then, a rather unpleasant woman yelled at you for twenty minutes about a man sleeping on the bench outside the near the entrance as if it were a personal affront that this man, a little down on his luck, dared to catch a few minutes of sleep in a public place.  

The internet was shotty all day, leaving a few college students red in the face and with fat tears matching those of the toddlers in the next room over when hours' worth of work had suddenly disappeared in front of their eyes.  

And of course – the teenagers. A band of four boys who hid under the brim of baseball caps with skateboards tucked under their arms, who found it rather amusing to stalk out the adult section and flip through the sorts of novels with bare chested men on the cover until their snickering could be heard from the floor below.  

It warranted a coffee, at least.  

The only solace was that it was Sunday. Your favorite day of the week. It meant a few hours at the VA and catching up with the guys. You hadn’t seen Natasha in a while and you were hoping to see how her new job at the security firm had gone. She was exceptionally qualified and you were almost certain you had her interview answers memorized by the time you’d finished practicing together.  

But there was something different about this Sunday, something that left a few butterflies in your stomach where an easy contentment usually belonged. You were nervous, but there was an excitement, too.  

There’d be a new face in attendance.  

A beautiful face.  

A face that you imagined required a double take were you to see it for the first time on a busy street.  

“You’re smiling again there, darling.”

You looked up to find Mrs. Jefferson keeping a careful eye on you from over the top of her reading glasses. She wore a smile upon her face, one that blended into the laugh lines by her eyes. Her hand trembled with a familiar quiver as she reached up and slid the glasses off her nose. They rested comfortably on a purple beaded chain as they hung around her neck.  

“You always have so much going on inside that head of yours,” she quipped, chuckling to herself. She was a slow mover as she turned to the computer to begin typing in her code. “Have you checked out the books for the VA yet?”

“Already done,” you confirmed, your mind still a little in the clouds. Coffee would definitely need to be a requirement before you stepped foot in the VA.  

“Get a move on then,” Mrs. Jefferson said, gesturing to the door with a trembling hand. “I know you like to get donuts for the kids.”

You still had a few minutes left on shift, but Mrs. Jefferson was always so understanding. She had a son who was in the military once who saw about four tours. Always had a habit of going back, she’d said, like he was testing his luck. You weren’t sure how he’d died, but you knew he didn’t have the chance to go back for a fifth.  

She was a part of a group no one wanted to be in: those who have lost someone to war. Membership cost was steep and there was no going back once it was paid. It was a lonely group, one far too many people occupied. Your own membership card was heavy in your pocket.  

You glanced toward the door. The sun was shining bright on the pavement. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

She smiled. “Yes, of course, dear. Tell the boys I said hello.”

“Yes, ma’am!” you called as you gathered your things and the shoulder bag stuffed with books and quickly scurried out the door before another disaster could reel you back inside.  

The sun was warm on your skin and you took a minute to savor it before shoulders started to bump into you, forcing you off balance. You could see your breath in the autumn air, and still, the sun touched your cheeks and left behind a comfort there. Smile on your face, heavy bag draped over your shoulder, you resided to grab coffee and donuts at a café close to the VA before book club started.  

It was one you visited a few times before, right across the street from a painfully busy Starbucks. The quaint coffee shop was often empty inside, save for a few college students with headphones in, typing away at their laptops, and a regular you often saw nursing a black coffee by the front windows, watching the people as they walked by.  

It smelled of coffee beans as you stepped inside. Fresh. Aromatic. You took in a deep breath.  

“Ah, Y/n!” a voice called from the back in a thick Colombian accent. “It’s good to see you again!”

“Hi, Luciana,” you laughed as the woman who owned the shop rounded the corner behind the counter and ran out to give you a hug. She was a tiny woman, short and shout, but her hugs could render even a giant of a man to a puddle.  

“Donuts for your friends down at the VA again?” she asked, releasing you from her embrace, though she still managed to pinch your cheek on the way out.  

“Yes, please!”

“And coffee for yourself?”  

She knew you too well.  

“I could use a bit of a pick-me-up,” you admitted. She knew your order by heart.  

“You should see if that Sam wants to have some good coffee for a change at his next event instead of the bean water he serves our veterans now,” Luciana inquired as she pulled on a pair of gloves and began to stack your box with assorted donuts. She had that smile on her face you recognized well. She asked about Sam a lot.  

“I’ll be sure to get his thoughts,” you replied, trying to stifled a smile.  

“Have him come by,” she offered rather smoothly. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen his pretty face and I could use a little pick-me-up myself.”

She winked at you and set the box of donuts on the counter. Then, your coffee; lid pressed on top, cardboard around the edges to protect from heat. You reached for your wallet but she snuck her hand over the counter and grabbed your wrist.  

“No, no, not today, my dear. My treat.”

You parted your lips to protest but she shook her again.  

“Tell those kids to come visit me every once in a while, okay? I’ve got a discount for ‘em,” she offered, bright smile over painted red lips. She waved you off and you knew there was no arguing with her.  

“That’s very kind of you, Luciana. I’m sure they’ll appreciate it.”  

“So will my business, dear.” There was that wink again.  

You laughed, heading for the door. “I’ll see you next week!”

The bell rang on your way out.  

The VA wasn’t more than a few blocks from Luciana’s, but the bag piled high with books was starting to weigh on your shoulder. It didn’t help that you had to weave expertly between the pedestrians to balance your coffee and the donut box, too; tourists walking about 10 mph too slow and locals stuck in their path with no qualms of shoving you out of their way if you managed to jump in their trajectory.  

As you approached the VA, the crowd began to disperse. There weren’t too many people who frequented this street as there was little more than the VA building itself to occupy the tourists. You were surprised to find a man standing in front of the doors, staring up at the building as if it offended him in some way.  

Dark brown hair tucked under a baseball cap, just barely peeking out at the nape of his neck. Right hand tucked deep into his pocket, rigid in his stance as he stared down the double doors. He was talking to himself, you realized, judging by the soft clouds of chilled air by his mouth.  

James Barnes.

Bucky.

A smile suddenly took over your face, enough that you had to bite down on the edge of your lip in an effort to suppress it. You’d hoped he would come, but Sam had talked about his friend Bucky long before you met him in the empty library of the VA a few days prior. He didn’t say ‘yes’ to much of anything and he seemed to be the sort of soldier that got left behind by the system when he returned home.  

But he was sweet. You could tell that just from the small interaction you’d had. Quiet. A little flustered. Maybe reserved. But he had beautiful eyes; blue, like they could capture even the faintest colors in the sky and the sweep of a current in the Mediterranean. He’d only barely lifted the corner of his lips to a smile that day and it left you wondering how lovely he was when it touched his eyes.  

“Bucky!” you called, moving a little quicker now as you approached, but he didn’t seem to hear you. Still focused on his staring match with the building, it seemed. For a moment, it seemed as though he might be turning to leave and your stomach twisted.  

You were nearly at his side, a little out of breath when you called his name again and it registered this time. Only, it must have startled him because an arm jutted out in your direction, knocking the coffee from your hands. You were too stunned to do much of anything about it as they coffee flung itself to the pavement, the contents spilling to the ground and over your sneakers. You clutched the box of donuts tight to your chest.  

Bucky froze, almost as still as a statue, his eyes focused on the coffee spilled on the sidewalk. His jaw clenched so tight you could see the muscle twitch and slowly, his eyes drew up to meet yours. He stared at you for a moment, mouth falling agape. His ears were burning red.  

Then, he seemed to come back to reality as he blinked a few times, his eyes darting from the shock on your face to the coffee on the sidewalk.  

“Y/n! Shit—fuck! I am—so sorry,” he started to ramble, his hand reaching out, though he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. “I didn’t realize you were-- fuck—”

“It’s alright, Bucky,” you tried to ease him, a laugh in your voice. “Don’t worry about it. Probably didn’t need the caffeine anyway.”  

“I should, um,” he looked around desperately, scanning the street for the nearest coffee shop, his hand clenching and releasing at his side in a repetitive squeeze. It was really sort of sweet. “Let me buy you a new one.”

You smiled at him and he softened a bit. “That’s really not necessary.”  

He gritted his teeth as you bent down to pick up the empty cup and shook the excess coffee off your shoes. They were old sneakers anyway and you were looking for a halfway decent excuse to get new ones. Then came a shy ex-soldier barreling in from the sky with a strong aversion to your coffee.  

“I knew this was a bad idea...”  

He was talking to himself, grumbling under his breath, and you realized why he was staring at the building for so long. You took a step closer to him, studying the way his chewed on the inside of his cheek and shoved his right hand into his pocket.  

“Is it?” you asked.

Blue eyes flickered to yours, brows furrowed. He didn’t think you’d heard him. “Sorry?”

You just smiled at him, shaking your head. You’d been working at the VA long enough to recognize the man behind the soldier; one who’d been beaten and bruised and left to waste the second he was dropped back on American soil. Constantly beating himself up, constantly wondering if he was doing the wrong thing and struggling to be the version of himself he was before the war.

“So, James Barnes,” you grinned, “you decide if you’re coming in or not? It’s a little chilly out here. Don’t want you catching a cold.”  

Bucky stared back at you, unsure. But you could see the tension easing off his shoulders. His right hand was hanging back at his side again as his eyes flickered up to the doors again.  

“Come on.” You smiled at him again and you noticed pretty quickly that he softened when you did that. It made your stomach flutter. You took a step forward, hoping he’d follow behind. “There’s shitty coffee inside we can share before book club starts.”  

“I don’t even know what you’re reading,” he admitted, that sweet nervousness taking over again.  

“You don’t need to,” you shrugged and his brow scrunched up again, confused. You glanced back at the doors. “Well, I’m going inside. I hope I see you there.”

With that, you turned and shouldered your way through the doors, donut box clutched tight to your chest. You waited by the entrance until you heard the soft grumble of a graveled voice outside, and then, footsteps as they approached the door.

You smiled.

[hawaii5-0gurl]

Enough

Characters: Steve McGarrett X Reader, Danny Williams, Kono Kalakaua, Chin Ho Kelly

Word Count: 2640

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Insecure Reader

A/n: I Loved this request. I rewrote it quite a few times, and every time it went to an angsty place... I guess that's just who I am

Request from: @lovely-lady-lumps

I just found your page and I'm SO EXCITED! I love H50. Could you write a Steve McGarrett x reader where she's insecure about her body and comments about how she's too heavy, so Steve just casually picks her up with no problem? Please ❤

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You were getting ready for work, but there was one last thing you had to do before leaving. Standing in front of a mirror to check if everything was in its place. This was one of the worst parts of your day. You hated looking at yourself. It just reminded you of all the things that you hated about your body. Everyone has insecurities, you know that but some days the little voice in your head is louder than normal. Today was one of those days.

After a quick check, everything looks okay.

“Well, this is as good as its going to get.” you shrugged your shoulders.

You pulled on your shirt to make it poof out just a bit so that it wasn’t laying right on your stomach. This is something you have done since you were a teen, just another attempt to make your stomach look a little flatter. You weren’t the skinniest girl, but you also didn’t consider yourself fat either. You had put your head in this weird in-between area. You honestly believe nobody would understand because you didn’t understand it yourself.

You turned away from the mirror and headed to the door. You grabbed your backpack and keys before heading into work. Before you could even get to the office you had gotten a call from Steve telling you to meet him at an address.

Kono was able to get a lead on one of your cases. This was the house he used to live in before it was foreclosed on. When you had gotten to the house you saw Chin, Danny and Steve standing by Danny’s car. You got out of your truck and went over to the guys.

“Hey guys.”

“Hey Y/n.” They all said simultaneously,

“I was able to talk to a few of the neighbors, they said that there were noises and lights on at night. Nobody is supposed to be here since it was foreclosed on almost two months ago.” Chin said as he looked around at the neighbors.

“So do you think that our guy is in there?” You were looking at the house.

“Maybe. This is the only lead we have right now.”

“Guys…” You could have sworn you saw a face in one of the upper windows, but as soon as you said something it was gone.

“What?” Steve was looking from you to the house. “Did you see something?”

“Yes, there was someone in the widow.” You started moving towards the house, the guys close behind you.

Steve kicked the front door in, you were the first one in the house. You and Chin took the upstairs while Danny and Steve took the main floor. When your search came up empty, you all regrouped.

“We got nothing down here, are you sure you saw someone?” Steve questioned you.

“Yes, I did. I don’t understand how they would have gotten out without us seeing them.”

You started looking around. There had to be some way for them to escape or hide. You went back upstairs. This time you were taking your time, you were looking for anything that looked out of place. That’s when you realized you couldn’t find the access point for the attic. You went room to room looking for one, looking at the ceiling in the hallways as well. You found what looked like it could be a way into the attic, only problem was it looked too small to fit in.

Steve and Danny came up the stairs to see what you were doing. They saw you staring at the ceiling, they looked up as well. You started looking around for something to boost you up high enough to be able to look inside.

“Y/n what are you doing?” Danny watched you closely.

“Looking for a step stool or something that can give me a boost. I know it’s too small for me to fit in so I figure if I can at least get my head in there to see. Hopefully, I can find a way to get up there.”

Steve and Danny looked at each other confused. You could easily fit in the attic access point.

“I can give you a boost Y/n.” Steve stopped you.

“No.” You said it a little too quickly. You moved and grabbed a step ladder that was leaning up against the wall in the room you were about to enter. “I found one. Plus, if he is up there you need to be able to catch him and you can’t do that if you are holding me.”

You were hoping that this would be a good enough excuse for him to drop it. Steve on the other hand didn’t believe you. You set the ladder up, climbing up to the top. You had to lean off to the side or else you would hit your head. You pulled out your pistol and flashlight, moving the board that covered the opening. You pointed your gun and flashlight in and looked around.

You light glazed over what looked like a person, it was only confirmed when he turned to face you.

“Five 0 freeze! Put your hands behind your head and slowly move this way.” He complied with your orders. “How did you get up here?”

“Through that opening.” He pointed with his elbow to the opening you were poked through.

“Shit... Lay down on the ground. You try anything I will shoot.”

You put your flashlight in your pocket. Then you laid your gun down on the opposite side far away from him. You reached up and braced yourself on both sides, you were going to try to get up there. You were on your tiptoes, you gently pulled yourself up. Then you felt a set of hands under your feet pushing you as well. You ended up hitting your hip on the side of the opening. Once you were up there you grabbed your gun. Then went and handcuffed him.

“Is there any other way to get out of here?”

“Yeah. There is a small staircase that leads to one of the closets.”

“Get up, let’s go.”

He led you to the end of the attic. You had him go down the stairs first, but you had to reach around him to open the door.

“Guys over here.” Danny and Steve came over and grabbed him. “Let’s get out of here.”

They put him in the back of Danny’s car to transport him to HQ to interrogate him. You went to your office to start on the paperwork. When you were done, you got up to go put the file on Steve’s desk. As soon Steve and Danny were done with the interrogation. Steve ended up cornering you in his office.

“Hey.” He came into the office and closed the door.

“Hi, did you get him to confess?” You were leaning against his desk.

“Yeah, but you know at first he swore he was innocent.” He walked over and stood right in front of you.

“They always do.” You tried to get around him, but he wasn’t letting you move from your spot. “Steve, I have work to do.”

“I have to ask you something first.” He was looking directly into your eyes.

“Okay…” You raised one of your eyebrows.

“What’s going on with you today?” “What are you talking about? Everything’s fine.” “Okay… Why wouldn’t you let me help you into the attic today, and don’t say that it was because I needed to be able to catch the guy. Danny was there and Chin was downstairs.”

“That’s exactly why. There’s no other reason.” You crossed your arms, and you may have started avoiding eye contact.

“Y/n, I can tell when you’re lying to me.” He put his hand under your chin to make you look at him. “You can tell me anything sweetheart.”

“It’s because I’m…...” Your voice got quiet as you talked, and you looked down at your hands.

“What?”

“I’m too heavy! Okay!” Steve was taken back by this. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“You are not too heavy. Why in the world would you think that?”

“Because I am. Look at this.” You lifted your shirt up to show him your stomach and the bruise on your hip. “You’re going to stand there and tell me that I’m not too big or heavy. I hit the sides of the attic access point trying to get up there. I couldn’t even pull myself up all the way. I’m sure that’s why you and Danny had to help me up there.” You put your shirt down and started walking to the door. He put a hand on the door to stop you from leaving.

“Y/n, you hit your hip on the side because you were off center. You had way more than enough room to get up there. If a man that is over twice your size can make it up there, you would make it up there with absolutely no problem. Also, you were the one to pull yourself up. I barely touched you, Danny wasn’t even near us, he moved to see if he could find a different way in.”

“He was right there, I saw him. Don’t lie to me to try to make me feel better. It will only make it worse.”

You pulled the door open and started walking out. You could see everyone staring at you as soon as you opened the door. You were so embarrassed, and you just wanted to go home.

“Y/n, I’m not lying to you!” This caused you to turn around. You could see now everyone is staring at you.

“Is everything okay?” Danny started walking towards Steve and put a hand on his shoulder.

“No, she thinks that…” You cut him off, you really didn’t want to pull them into this.

“Steve, just drop it.” You started walking back to him. “Let it go.”

“No, I’m not going to drop it or let it go. You can’t just say that and expect me to not say anything. Especially when it is the furthest thing from the truth.”

“It’s not!” Tears were starting to well up in your eyes. You turned back around and left.

“What’s going on?” Danny was trying to get Steve to talk to him. Kono and Chin had moved up and were now standing next to Danny. Steve let out a sigh before telling them what happened.

“I’ll go talk to her.” Kono knows how you are feeling, a lot of girls go through the same thing.

Once you got into your truck, the tears started falling. This was so stupid; how could you get so worked up over this. Why can’t Steve just understand this. Then again that was completely irrational. If you couldn’t understand what your brain was doing, then how could he.

You sat in the parking lot for a few minutes, before leaving. Knowing that you would have to go back soon, you decided to just go to the beach. It was close enough that you could be back in a matter of minutes if need be.

You got out of your truck, taking your boots and socks off. you walked till you were about 10 feet from the water. You sat down, bringing your legs up as far as you could, wrapping your arms around them. You were trying to make yourself as small as you could. You just sat there watching the water, the occasional seagull flying by and the people walking around and having fun.

You had left your phone in your truck, so you didn’t hear all of the texts and calls coming in from Steve. You were able to focus on you for a few minutes. You were so focused that you didn’t notice Kono sit down next to you.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” You didn’t look at her, you just kept your eyes on the water.

“You ok?”

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah, and I’m the queen of England.”

The both of you laughed. You sat there in silence for a little while. You didn’t know what to say, you were still embarrassed from what went down at the office.

“Ya’know he’s telling you the truth, right?” You finally turned to look at her, and just sighed.

“I guess… It’s just been one of those days, more like years. My brain is just…”

“Your brain is lying to you. I know what’s going through your head right now, I have the same problems.”

“How do you get past it?” “Honestly, you have to just take it day by day. Its not going to be something that you can fix overnight. The thing is that you should talk about it. If you don’t want to talk about it get a journal and write. Just know you have a bunch of people that are here for you no matter what.” She wrapped her arm around you, pulling you closer to her side.

Kono’s phone started beeping, she pulled it out.

“I guess its time to go back.”

“Yeah.” She got up and stood in front of you with her arms extended. “Come on, give me your hands.”

Reluctantly you put your hands in hers. She was able to help you up without a problem. You grabbed your shoes and started walking to your truck. Before getting in you wiped all of the sand off of your pants and feet. After putting your shoes back on, you headed back to the palace.

When you got back, you went to your office to take your jacket off and put your keys up. Also, to mentally prepare yourself before walking out there. After a few minutes you walked out of your office to everyone. You stood at the end of the table next to Danny, you started looking at all of the information that was out.

Chin started going over everything that he had, you were trying to listen, but you could see out of the corner of your eye, that Steve was staring at you. It was making it hard for you to focus. Chin had finished going over everything, everyone had started walking away to head out. You unconsciously wrapped your arms around your stomach, it was something that you did when you were uncomfortable. What came next was something that you didn’t expect.

“You know what. That’s enough.” He walked up right behind you and picked you up in one swift motion. You didn’t even have time to react, you let out a loud squeal.

“Steve put me down!” You looked directly at him. “Put me down before you hurt yourself.” You were trying to get out of his arms.

“Y/n stop.” You quit moving, not wanting to hurt him. “I’m not going to hurt myself.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” He maneuvered your body so that you were facing him. Your legs were now wrapped around his waist and his hands were under your legs holding you in place. “Sweetheart, your body is amazing, beautiful, sexy and perfect. I wouldn’t change anything about it.”

“Really?” you were looking at his face, to see any hint of a lie, but what you saw was a hundred percent genuine.

“Absolutely.”

You grabbed his face in your hands, smashing your lips to his.

“Come on I don’t want to see that.” Danny had his hand covering his eyes. “Plus, we have a case guys, let’s go.”

You pulled back laughing at Danny, but you were still looking at Steve.

“I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” He set you down. “Just promise me that you will talk to me, and not hide or leave.” You smiled and nodded.

“We should go before Danny loses it.”

“We wouldn’t want that.” He started laughing, putting his arm around you and headed out the door.

Tags:

Ohana (Everything)

@camillyb​ @gurkiloni @wanniiieeee​

Steve Taglist

@hails-halstead​  @healojane  @summer-children​ @multiplecelebritycrushesat16​​

[robert-de-niro-only-fans]

Dewey Decimal System

Max Cady x Reader in the library, no plot, just smut

Dedicating this little work to @droogiesanddiscourse who just today found out she's graduating with honors!!! I'm so proud of you bb!!!!!!!! ❤️❤️❤️

TW: smut, public sex, explicit/raunchy dialogue, Max Cady in general?

Word Count: 2.2k

“My baby’s so smart, knowing how to find any book in the library,” your boyfriend, Max, coos quietly to you as you saunter through the aisles and aisles of books, softly leading him with his hand in yours. “You know I didn’t learn to read until my stay in the big house, but I never did learn numbers all that well. I’m glad my little princess can navigate this, uh, what do you call it? Dew something?’

“The Dewey Decimal System!” you whisper in a giggle.

“The Dewey Decimal System...” he tried the words out on his tongue, “Well, I’m glad you can lead me in the right direction, angel.”

“Oop, right here!!” you point up at a tall shelf. Max’s body crashes into yours, nearly landing you both on the floor, as you stopped so suddenly.

“Goodness gracious, girlie, you must be excited to do some reading, huh?” his voice rumbles lowly next to your ear. His muscular arms wrap tightly around your midsection, pressing your backside against him. You can feel his arousal stirring already; he really has no qualms about doing nasty things to you, any time, anywhere. “Oh, baby, I’m already thinking about you reading to me... Hearing that sweet little voice say such naughty things, those pretty little lips forming unholy syllables...” And in true Max Cady fashion, his fingertips are already teasing at the edge of your skirt, threatening for his rough palms to attack your delicate thighs.

You feel a single finger creep up to your hip, teasing at the waistband of your panties, “I hope you aren’t particularly fond of these, ‘cuz they’re coming off now, honey.” And with that, his other hand quickly follows the first one up your skirt and before you could even protest, the man is on his knees and the lacy underwear around your ankles. He helps you out of them as is you were a toddler, getting them over your shoes.

He quickly snatches a book from the bottom shelf and flips it open to a random page before stuffing your panties in it and shoving it back on the shelf. “Max!!!” you whisper-yell.

“What?” he plays dumb, standing back up to press himself into your backside again. “You don’t want someone findin’ your panties? Knowin’ what we did in here? Mmm, well I wanna spread the word about you, baby... Besides, they can use it as a bookmark.” His hands grip your hipbones and he gives you a sloppy kiss on your neck, making a loud slurping noise.

“Max! Shhh!!”

“You’re so cute, all worried about getting caught. You think we’ll get in trouble if someone sees us, or god forbid if someone hears us in this quiet place?”

“Maaaaxxx...” you whine.

“Mm, yeah? You like that idea? Someone hearing the way I turn you into a whore for me? You don’t sound as innocent as you look once I get you goin’.” His hand slides around to your sex, teasing you roughly through the smooth fabric of your skirt, and when you let out a little whimper, it only proves his point.

"Alright, princess, why don't you grab us that book we're looking for?" Following his question, Max's strong arms easily hoist you off the ground, lifting you up, up, up to reach that top shelf and pull down one of Max's favorite books: 𝘛𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘪𝘤 𝘰𝘧 𝘊𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘳. Oh, and don't think that he missed the opportunity to peak under that skirt...

• • •

As you and Max relax in two adjacent armchairs that he scooted close together, you recite prose from your boyfriend's favorite author. Just a few pages in, you're already at one of his favorite parts. You can read the sheer excitement on Max's face when he says, "Alright, darlin', you better speak up for this next part, you know how much I like the dirty bits."

You look around, making sure no one is nearby, and you start, "'At night when I look at Boris' goatee lying on the pillow I get hysterical.'"

"Louder," Max tilts his head forward, looking at you from under his brow bone.

You raise your voice only slightly, "'O Tania, where now is that warm cunt of yours, those fat, heavy garters, those soft, bulging thighs?'"

"I can't hear you..." he chimes devilishly.

"'There is a bone in my prick six inches long...'"

"And what's he gonna do with it?" Like he doesn't already know.

"'I will ream out every wrinkle in your cunt, Tania, big with seed,'" you look around again, checking for any poor passersby, "'I will send you home to your Sylvester with an ache in your belly and your womb turned inside out.'"

Max let's out a low whistle, "That Henry Miller suuuure knew what he was talking about, huh?" He leans forwards and rather directly slides his hand under your skirt, thumb quickly parting your lips to find that special little bundle of nerves.

You gasp loudly, and Max continues, "Yeah? You want me to turn your womb inside out like he did to Tania? Make that little cunt smooth with my big cock?" His voice is just loud enough that it still sounds intimate but anyone walking by could easily hear.

In an attempt to quiet your moans, you press on reading, "’Your Sylvester! Yes, he knows how to build a fire-‘"

"’But I know how to inflame a cunt!’" Max finishes your sentence for you before pulling you up out of your chair and into his lap, where his fingers quickly find their place between your thighs as if it is the most natural thing in the world to him. "Keep reading, princess," he whispers softly in your ear.

You become aware of his hard length pressing into your thigh, as you read the line, "’I shoot hot bolts into you, Tania, I make your ovaries incandescent.’”

Max lets out a deep moan that rumbles your eardrums and presses some kisses to your cheek and jawline.

“‘Your Sylvester is a little jealous now? He feels something, does he? He feels the remnants of my big prick. I have set the shores a little wider. I have ironed out the wrinkles,’” Max starts to rut against you in his lap. His hands take a firm grip on your hips and slide you back and forth against the erection trapped in his pants. You keep going, “‘After me you can take on stallions, bulls, rams, drakes, St. Bernards. You can stuff toads, bats, lizards up your rectum. You can shit arpeggios if you like, or string a zither across your navel.’”

His moans become quite noisy and his hands search for your flesh; one hand slipping under the edge of your shirt to feel the soft skin of your tummy, the other getting an anchor hold on your hair and giving it a rough tug. You inhale sharply wincing at the pain. You can tell Max is getting needy for you; it would never cease to fascinate you how some little girl (anyone is small next to his towering muscular frame) could have so much control over him.

“‘I am fucking you, Tania, so that you'll stay fucked. And if you are afraid of being fucked publicly I will fuck you privately-‘“

“Damn, that sounds like a good idea,” Max grunts out and unzips his pants, “I sure hope you aren’t afraid of being fucked publicly.”

His next few actions only take a few seconds, and before you can even realize it, you’ve been hoisted up and swiftly dropped down onto your boyfriend’s thick cock. You somehow let out a gasp and a squeal at the same time, and Max claps his hand over your mouth. The only other sound is the thud of the book hitting the floor and closing. Where Max wanted you to speak up before, now it’s time for the quiet game...

“How’s that feel? Daddy’s big cock stretching out those tight walls, huh?” Clearly, it’s a rhetorical question since his hand stays clasped over your mouth. It’s Max’s turn to tease you with his words. “You always take me so well, my little princess. You think if anyone walked by they would know that you’re filled to the brim with my prick? You’ve been trained well, baby girl, you can take me and no one knows I’m inside you, but I know how turned on you are, I felt how wet you were when I was touching you. You wanted this, and I bet everyone knows how much you wanted it, I bet that librarian in the next room knows you have your pussy stuffed right now.”

In all honestly, this guy Ryan had just started working at the library; he had hoped it would be more a bit more relaxing than his job at the local drive-in movie theatre. But Ryan recognized you and Max when you came in, and he really, REALLY doesn’t want another awkward interaction with your boyfriend, so he’s gonna leave you to do whatever you want in the back room of the library...

His hand still covers your mouth as you lean your head back onto his shoulder, looking at him out the corner of your eye. His other arm braces your hips, keeping you flush to him so you can feel every time his member twitches. “You feel me, princess? Feel that ‘bone in my prick’ and how bad I want you?”

You nod your head as much as his grip will allow, eyes never leaving his.

“If I can be frank, sweetheart, Daddy’s never been good at this whole cockwarming thing like you are. It always leaves me wanting more, and you know Daddy can’t resist having more of you... Whaddaya say we play horsey instead? I’ll bounce you on my lap like the dumb little baby doll you are, just like your old man did for you when you were a kid."

You let out an excited little whimper, and Max moves his hands to your hips. "Now I can't keep a hand on your mouth anymore. Think you can keep quiet for me?"

You nod your head excitedly and whisper as quietly as you can, "Yes, sir, Daddy. Can I have a kiss?"

"Aww, of course you can, angel," his lips meet yours in a wet, unrefined fashion, giving you the rough kind of kiss you need. Max also takes this moment to start bouncing you in his lap, just like horsey. With your lips pressed to his, it muffles any sounds that escape the two of you.

His thrusts are small and quick, but actually really satisfying at this angle. The girth of him presses against that special spot inside you. That combined with the thrill of possibly getting caught already has that feeling creeping up in your belly. Your nails dig into his hips looking for something to ground you as you find ecstasy in your orgasm.

But your climax isn't gonna stop Max from what he's doing. He continues to bounce you on his lap, whispering, "Mmm, finished so soon? You must like bouncing on my cock. Bouncy, bouncy..."

You bite your lip, still riding out your orgasm as he continually slams into your g-spot. When a drawn out little whine hums out of you, Max shushes you with a "Shhhh, shhh, baby. You're doing so good, such a good girl for Daddy. Just a little longer, I'm so close, princess."

With your brows furrowed and eyes closed tight, you brave yourself on the arms of the chair. You feel two calloused fingertips at your bottom lip, and you open your mouth, taking them in.

"There that'll keep you quiet for this next part," Max warns before absolutely plowing his hips up into you as fast as he can. His other hand maintains such a firm grip on your side, you think he'll probably leave bruises.

Max chokes back a deep grunt and pulls you down into his lap to spill his seed inside you. You feel his length jolting and that warm gooey liquid. You both sit there catching your breath, and Max wraps his arms around you in a loving embrace.

He gets you to look at him, placing another dirty kiss to your mouth. Then he pulls you off of him, stand up, places you back down on the chair, and gets his pants zipped up.

"Um. Max?" you whisper, a little tense.

"What is it, little darlin'?" He gets on his knees in front of you, placing his big hands on your thighs.

"Uhhh... I think there's gonna be a little mess on this chair," you get right next to his ear and oh so quietly tell him, "it's, uh, leaking."

"Aww, are you worried about leaving some of my cum on the chair?" he places a hand on your chin, "That was the point, baby. The librarian can handle it." Max gives you a wink before taking you by the hand and leading you out of the library.

Poor Ryan.... Scarred again by Max and his girl, and now he has to clean up after them.

[natasha-romanoff-deserved-better]

The Day The Music Died

Summary:

“This’ll be the day that I die,” Yelena had sung those exact words in the car that day, and no lies were told.

Natasha never wanted to hear that song again.

Word Count: 3437

Also on Ao3 here

~~~

Natasha stares at the bandages wrapped tightly around Clint’s left wrist, eyes locked in on the red spots where extra blood had been soaked up by the gauze. Clint’s tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, softly drumming along to the song playing from the radio as he maneuvers the car around a bend in the old back road.

“I can feel you staring.” He says, snapping Natasha out of her trance. Clint takes his eyes off the road for a second to catch her gaze. “Nat, I’m fine. I promise.” It’s not going to change what happened, but he still tries. These types of missions were always hard on Natasha, and it’d only been made that much worse when one of the target’s bodyguards had managed to catch Clint’s forearm with a knife, dangerously close to critical veins. There had been a lot of blood and although Nat was easily able to stitch his skin back together, the close call had scared her - even if she refused to admit it out loud.

“I know you’re fine, idiot. It’s impossible to get rid of you.” She snorts and sends him a small smile. The radio cuts into a commercial, advertising their station and morning talk show before launching into another song.

A long, long time ago

I can still remember how that music

Used to make me smile

Natasha frowns at the song as an alarm bell begins to blare in the back of her head at the notes that drift out of the speakers. She furrows her eyebrows at it, a sinking feeling coming over her. Images from another time threaten to overtake her, and she’s too weak to stop them.

And I knew if I had my chance

That I could make those people dance

And maybe they'd be happy for a while

A blonde little girl, only five years old, prances around the front yard. She’s barefoot and wearing her pink sparkly sundress, hair pulled up into pigtails as she tries to catch a ladybug. Natasha watches from her perch among the tree branches. Mom Melina is kneeled on the ground as she works on the garden in front of the house, planting new flowers to replace the dead ones. She’s brought her portable stereo out, sitting it on the porch and playing at full volume. Natasha isn’t even aware of what song is playing until Yelena is running up to the porch, begging her to play it again. Mom Melina does. And then plays it again with an amused smile and quirked eyebrow when Yelena asks for a third time. Yelena cheers with joy as it starts again and rises to her tip toes as she begins to twirl and dance to the music.

Nobody knows what it is about the song that Yelena likes so much, but she loves it. She constantly asks for it, so much so that Melina loads it onto a cassette tape and keeps it in the car just for her. Natasha doesn’t quite understand what most of the lyrics are talking about, but she decides she doesn’t mind the song for Yelena. In a way, it fits- Yelena is the picture perfect little all american girl, apple pie personified.

Natasha’s frozen in her seat. She pleads with herself to move, to turn off the radio. She doesn’t want to hear this. She knows what verses are coming next, and her breathing catches in her throat as they start. These words hold no comfort for her anymore.

Bye Bye Miss American Pie

Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry

And them good ol boys were drinking whiskey and rye

Singin’ this’ll be the day that I die

This’ll be the day that I die

Her sister’s high-pitched voice singing the words, a beat behind as she moves her hands cheerfully, lost in the rhythm of the song. She’s buzzing with excitement- ready for her promised big adventure, too young and oblivious to notice their parent’s anxiety or her sister’s internal crisis happening in the seat next to her. Natasha can’t look at her sister, she doesn’t want her to see the panic she knows is written over her face. Instead, she keeps her eyes locked out the window, trying desperately to commit everything to memory. The red, white, and blue lights that light up the night, the football game where a band plays and people cheer, the abundance of restaurants where families are sat enjoying dinner. The normalness of it all makes her angry - how can all these people be so casual when her world is falling apart at the seams? Yelena begins to sing the verse about dying, and it takes everything within Natasha to not snap at her. She can’t bear to listen to her little sister singing about dying, so blissfully unaware of the possibility of the verse becoming true at any moment now. Natasha should say something to her, tell her to stop, tell her what was happening. But the lure of pretending one last time is too great for her to give away. She doesn’t say anything.

Did you write the book of love

A photo album, thick with pictures of them all sit on the shelf. It’s Natasha’s favorite thing in the house, and she often sneaks out of bed to stare at the photos. Realistically, she knows they’re all fake. But if she tries hard enough, thinks long enough, she swears she can recall the events. Thanksgiving had been fun; the food had been the best she’d ever tasted. Their summer vacation had been at the beach, and she swears she can feel the sun warming her face and the sand between her toes.

And do you have faith in God above

If the bible tells you so?

She and Clint had gone to a church once, as part of an undercover mission. She’d ended up having to walk out in the middle of the service. It had been too much. She could never believe in it, even if she wanted to. No loving God would ever create the horrors she had seen before her 13th birthday or give her a family purely to steal it all away so violently.

Can music save your mortal soul

And can you teach me how to dance real slow?

Natasha’s feet hit the ground, still en pointe, as she lands the perfect Grand Jete. She tosses her arms out in the landing pose and holds it for a second before excited clapping breaks her concentration. Yelena sits there, smiling wide as possible, clad in her own black leotard and pink tights. She’s in the younger classes, not as advanced as Natasha yet, but it doesn’t stop her from trying. Yelena scrambles to her feet, crossing the floor to stand next to her sister.

“Teach me, teach me!”

It’s a complicated step, and Natasha knows she’s not ready for it just yet. She doesn’t want her to get hurt.

“I’ll teach you when you’re older, okay?” Yelena nods, and turns to the mirror, copying Natasha’s arm positions.

Natasha tries to force another breath into her lungs, but it’s harder now, her throat and chest constricted. She squeezes her eyes closed, trying to block out the flashbacks that continue to assault her.

Now for ten years we’ve been on our own

And moss grows fat on a rolling stone

But that’s not how it used to be.

Fifteen years. It had been fifteen goddamn years since Natasha had seen her sister for the last time. She refuses to let herself think of what might have happened to her. It pains her to think of her baby sister, who had once been so full of life, in such a horrid place.

Natasha wraps her arms around herself, arms holding each other tightly. She digs her fingernails into her skin, attempting to give herself something else to focus on and ground her. It doesn’t work.

Bye Bye Miss American Pie

Drove my Chevy to the Levee but the Levee was dry

Them good ol boys were drinking whiskey and rye

And signing this will be the day that I die

This’ll be the day that I die

Natasha doesn’t know how long they’ve been stuffed into this shipping container, crowded against a hundred other little girls. They’re all dirty, all starving, all terrified. The scent of sweat and urine threatens to suffocate them, the air hot and heavy.

She has tugged Yelena into her lap, arms protectively crossed over her torso to hold her close- hasn’t let go of her since the second they were put into here for fear of losing her amongst the other girls. She’s so tiny, and Natasha doesn’t trust any of the others.

Yelena stirs, a small whimper falling from her lips. Natasha tries to shush her gently, but it doesn’t work, and her sister keeps squirming. Her cries are starting to grow in volume, and one of the girls next to them sends them a dirty look.

“Yelena, Yelena. I’m here. You’re with me.” It’s the only words of comfort Natasha can offer her. She wishes she could tell her they were okay, that she was safe, that they were going to be fine. Instead, all she can do is assure her that her older sister had her. Yelena had stopped calling out for her mom a while ago, after her calls went unanswered and she finally realized no one was coming to rescue them. Natasha shifts them around, turning her back towards the others and away from prying eyes. Natasha turns Yelena on her lap, so that Yelena is facing her. “Yelena, look at me.”

Yelena shakes her head, so Natasha gently cups both sides of her face, titling her face up so that she has no choice. Yelena doesn’t resist, just locks her tear-filled eyes onto Natasha.

“I’m scared,” Yelena sobs through hitching breaths as her body trembles.

Natasha clutches her tighter and brings her closer, so close their noses are almost touching. “Don’t cry, Lena. Just sing with me.” Yelena frowns at her in confusion, and Natasha starts to sing under her breath, quietly, so that Yelena is forced to quite herself down and focus to hear the words.

She starts with the chorus, the part that Yelena knows and likes the best. “Bye, Bye, Miss American pie,” Natasha sings. The corner of Yelena’s lips quirks up in recognition. Nat pauses, prompting Yelena to sing the next line herself.

Her voice quivers, but she sings it anyways. “Drove my chevy to the levee…” Natasha nods in encouragement and joins her for the next verse. “But the levee was dry.” They sing the next few lines together. They near the last two lines of the chorus though, and this time, Natasha can’t allow her to sister to sing the last line. They hurt too much, they’re too real.

So she interrupts Yelena, skipping forward past the “Day that I die” line and jumping right into the next verse. Yelena doesn’t even question it, just follows her sister’s lead and allows herself to be completely absorbed in the whispered song.

Natasha sings almost the entire song to her sister, doing her best to remember as many lyrics as she could, and then starts over. She keeps singing, over and over again, until her voice starts to crack, and Yelena’s eyes are slipping closed in exhaustion.

“Tasha?” Clint calls, picking up the tension in his partner. She doesn’t respond, just stays frozen in her seat, locked in her own little world. “Hey,” He calls, a bit louder this time. He takes one hand off the wheel and places it on her shoulder gently. “Nat. What’s going on?” She’s shaking.

Instead of answering, Natasha claps her hands over her ears and leans forward, bending at the waist so she can rest her head atop her knees. She’s shaking her head, muttering something under her breath.

We all got up to dance

Oh, but we never got the chance

“Teach me, teach me!”

“…When you’re older.”

Natasha never got the chance to teach Yelena that ballet move. She wonders just how many other promises to her baby sister she’s broken.

“I’m going to pull over, Nat, okay?” A male’s voice comes from somewhere close by. His hand moves from her shoulder onto her back, to rub small circles on it.

Do you recall what was revealed

The day the music died?

She had never felt so stupid. Standing on that airway strip, holding a gun out in front of her, blocking Yelena. She had let her fall into the lie, childishly believe that maybe, just maybe Dad Alexei loved them like he said he did. As Alexei kneels before them, showing no sympathy to his daughters tears, she realizes that had never been the case.

The chorus starts again, and she feels bile rise in her stomach. “Bye Bye Miss American Pie” Natasha remembers how she had stolen that gun from a solider, shoved her sister behind her and threatened to kill numerous grown men for touching her. How desperately she had clung to Yelena when they’d been ripped apart. She hadn’t been ready to give up her sister, not ready to say goodbye to the American dream lie they had built side by side. “Drove my Chevy to the Levee but the levee was dry” The memory of Yelena’s face during those few days had haunted Natasha’s dreams for years. It had frightened her- even more so than the men with oversized guns. She had never seen her sister, who laughed at everything and loved the world with everything in her, look so despondent. She had tried telling her jokes to pry some kind of smile out of her. It didn't work. “This’ll be the day that I die” Yelena had sung those exact words in the car that day, and no lies were told. That day, when dad Alexei handed them back to Russians soldiers, they had both died. Died only to be remade and ruthlessly forged into something new, nothing more than weapons of mass destruction and trained killers.

There’s cussing to her left that pulls her back halfway to the present. She’s in a car, and she’s covered in vomit that runs down her front and onto her chest and lap. Clint has a hand on her, and he’s telling her just a second, Nat.

“Clint?” She asks, still slightly confused. She can still feel the weight of a smaller body on top of her, feel the soft blonde curls against her chin.

“I’m here, Tasha. Hold on.”

Oh, and there we were all in one place

A generation lost in space

With no time to start again

Countless little girls standing in a straight line, blank expressions, awaiting their next commands. They’re all mirrors of each other, no identity left for any of them to cling onto. Natasha scans over each girl, searching for the blonde waves she knows so well. She can’t find her.

The song drags on as Clint navigates the car off the road, coming to stop. He jumps out and jogs around, flinging Natasha's door open. She doesn’t move, so he reaches in and unbuckles her before slipping his hands into her armpits and pulling her out of the car. She tumbles to the ground, falling onto her knees.

And as I watched him on the stage

My hands clenched in fists of rage

No angel born in hell

Could break that Satan’s spell

Natasha catches Dreykov’s eyes on them, and she tightens her hold on Yelena’s hand. Her sister makes a small noise - she’s going to have bruises with how tight Nat is holding her- but doesn’t pull her hand away. Natasha curls her free hand into a tight fist, ready to swing if need be.

Dreykov says something to the men with guns next to him and points a finger at them. The soldiers start moving forward, and Natasha backtracks, tries to back up but Yelena stumbles at the sudden change in direction.

I saw Satan laughing with delight

The day the music died

Natasha screams her sister's name, gripping onto her as tightly as she can. Soldiers have hands on them both, ripping them away from each other. Dreykov is standing several feet away, a tiny smile on his face. Yelena is shrieking, hands desperately trying to keep her grasp on Natasha with all the strength in her six-year-old frame.

They lose their grip on each other and are dragged apart. Yelena’s voice dies out as they carry away the only thing Natasha had left.

Bye Bye Miss American Pie -

“Turn it off!” Natasha pleads, before promptly vomiting even more onto the ground. Clint’s hands support her head, keeping her from falling. “Off, please. I can’t. Turn it--” Clint’s hands leave her for a second as he scrambles over her, reaching through the open passenger door and slamming the power button on the radio.

Natasha lets out a breath, thankful for the silence. With the song no longer playing, her head is beginning to clear, the painful images retreating somewhere she could lock them away again.

“All done?” Clint asks her. She spits out one last string of bile and nods her head, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as Clint helps her sit up and lean against his leg. He doesn’t rush her, just allows her to sit and try to regain control of her breathing as he combs his fingers through her hair.

When Natasha can finally think again, she frowns at herself in disgust. “Sorry,” She apologizes.

“You don’t need to apologize to me,” he tells her. Clint reaches over and opens the backdoor, grabbing his go bag and digging around until his fingers find one of his clean T-shirts. He yanks it out, closes the door. “Can I help you change, or do you want to do it yourself?”

He’s honestly not even sure if she could change herself right now, with how much she was still shaking, but he gives her the choice anyways. She shrugs her shoulders, her way of accepting help without actually having to accept. “Okay, arms up.” Natasha raises her arms, and Clint carefully tugs her shift off her by the collar, making sure the filthy outside never touched any of her skin. He crumples up the shirt into a ball and tucks it in a bag. He bunches up his shirt at the neck hole and slides it over her head before gently guiding her arms through. It takes a lot for his partner to get to this state, and his concern grows with every passing second that goes by and Natasha is still out of it. He fixes the shirt over her torso, making sure she’s completely covered and then sinks down to the ground, leaning his back against the wheel of the car. There’s a soft breeze in the air, the slight chill nipping at their skin a welcome distraction. “C’mere,” he says, and guides Natasha into his side. She tenses for a moment, but then lets her head drop onto his shoulder, allowing Clint to take her weight. He wraps an arm around her to hold her close.

“I’m sorry,” Natasha repeats, and this time Clint doesn’t say anything. He knows she’s not apologizing to him, but someone not in their presence. He doesn’t push it. She’ll tell him when she’s ready, on her own time. He has guesses though. Clint had an older brother, and he knows what a protective but burnt-out older sibling looks like. He’s seen the way her eyes linger on certain little girls in public before snapping back, caught the way she had once brushed her fingers over a fabric doll with pink hair on a store shelf, heard the way she is able to understand children’s speech without any effort. She’s never mentioned a younger sibling before, but sometimes in her sleep, she mumbles a girl’s name, her hands clenched in fists as if trying to hold on to her.

He presses a kiss to her temple, a silent promise. He won’t push her- He doesn’t need to know exactly what happened. He knows how to support her and how to take care of her when she needs it and for now, that’s enough.

Years later, Natasha will press her forehead to an adult Yelena’s, both panting from the fight, Yelena upside down and laying in the wreckage of the red room. Dreykov is finally dead, by Yelena’s hand. Yelena cracks a joke, and Natasha smiles. They’ll never again be those little girls they once were, but they’ve finally found each other.

[maybe-itll-be-someday]

After The Rain

For my beautifully bright friend, @sequinsmile-x. 

Happy Birthday, sweet girl. I’d only ever be able to pull 2.5k words out of my math riddled brain for you. 

Read on AO3

--

Aaron always did hate the rain.

The rain always meant that he would have no choice but to stay inside, a witness to the bottles of whiskey that his father would consume and his mother’s indifference to the situation. The rain meant that he’d have to stay home from the library, where he spent hours perusing through books and living in between worn out spines. Instead, he’d stay holed up in his room until his father’s booming voice beckoned him out, the rain aggravating his already delicate temper another notch.

It drizzled the day that they lowered his mother into the ground. Barely 25, his only suit hanging off his shoulders and circles under his eyes from nights he spent reading through cases and making his life more than his father’s ever was. He doesn’t cry as her casket gets lowered six feet beneath them, so the sky softly weeps on his behalf.

It rains the day that Haley leaves him. He comes home to their apartment, a light smattering of rain drops on their window as he takes in the empty space of their living room. Jack’s favorite toys are gone from the living room floor, where he spent hours stacking blocks and attempting to shove shapes into the wrong holes. The clothes she left in their closet were non-essentials - not anything they needed to live their everyday lives.

(It’s only fitting that he gets left behind too.)

It storms the day he makes the decision to send Emily off to Paris, his heart in his throat when he tells their superiors that the only way they could keep her safe is by letting everyone think that she was dead. Tears sting in his eyes and his fingers cramp from the intensity in which he’s holding the pen as he signs away to her new life, one that just recently slotted him in like a neat puzzle piece.

Thunder rumbles above them when he squeezes her hand, promising her that he would find Doyle and that he would bring her home. The skies crack open and the rain starts to fall when he gets to stamp his affection for her on her lips, sealing whispered promises he had no idea if he could keep.

So he takes the assignment in Pakistan, because when the sky splits open on a Wednesday night, he feels like he’s drowning.

At least it didn’t rain in the desert.

--

It rains on their third date, much to his dismay.

He should’ve checked the weather forecast before committing to taking her on a picnic in the park on a rare weekday off. He even goes to a boutique wine store in DC, asking for advice on what kind of wines would go best with which cheese because he wants to impress her. He wants the flavours to melt on her tongue to be the same sharp contrast of salty and sweet that lingered on his tongue when he tasted her. He buys her favorite wine, wrapped in a label that’s worn with time, because he wants to show

He just wants to tell her how he feels, but it’s way too soon. She’s only been back in the States for a few months, their romance rekindled in the past few weeks.

So instead, he tries to plan every moment of their date to the perfection she deserved.

If only he had checked the weather.

Emily had shown up at his door, white linen flowing down from thin straps and cinching around her waist, delicately draping right above her knees and his mouth going dry at the sight of her. She wrapped her fingers around his neck and kissed him in greeting, his own hands greedily grabbing the fabric under his hands and internally debated if they could forgo the picnic and instead eat the overpriced cheese he bought off of her skin.

But her eyes brightened when she saw the picnic basket he had prepared, running a finger and reading the labels of everything he bought in perfect intonation to their native languages.

“Where did you get all of this?” She had asked, cheeks dusted in a light pink at the realization that he had done this all for her.

“Maybe if you’re good, I’ll tell you.” He’s always been attuned to her movements - a careful eye thrown in her direction. It had started just as a precaution, his opinions on her joining the BAU still up for debate.

It had slowly and too easily transformed into something else completely. It was probably the reason why he had gone to four different delis in DC, tracking down cheese he couldn’t pronounce the names of and two bottles of wine that he thinks cost him more than all the wine he’s ever bought in his life.

He remembers the first time he caught it. Reading a report from over her shoulder, their relationship refining its rough edges as they slipped closer and closer together. He remembers the smell of her perfume, the soft scent of something floral in his nose as he read through her report.

“Good.” He had said, a soft hand on her shoulder in approval when her shoulders tightened ever so slightly. Not in annoyance, or in anger, but in a frustration that he thinks had to do with the way her hips shifted in her seat. He was just starting to learn about her, of the mole that was tucked on her collarbone, of the small rose tattoo on her ribs and the dove that flew across her hip bone.

He spent his time exploring which patches of skin produced which noises, which angle of his caused her to grip whichever part of him she was holding tighter, and which words caused his name to roll off of her tongue in a sweet cacophony of moans.

Her pupils darkened at his approval, his touch igniting something under her skin that when he said it later that night, wrapped in her silk sheets - the words good girl dropped in the middle of unintelligible mutters - she had arched into him and her thighs clamped down around his hips as she urged him to go deeper and faster, chasing her release by embedding him under her skin.

Another button he’s learned how to press and his delight grew as her pupils widened at his words.

“As long as I can hold you to that.” He wanted to tug her back into his bedroom, taking advantage of the fact that his apartment was kid-free for once but she just cackled and tugged on his hand, telling him to grab the picnic basket because she was starving .

They find a secluded area of Potomac park and he asks her to explain whatever it is he bought, because he really was only working off of the recommendations of the elderly Italian woman at the first deli who had written down all the cured meats and cheeses that he should buy when he mentioned it would be for his girlfriend.

Emily tells him which wine would go best with which cheese and he feeds her grapes and cherries that stained her lips in a soft pink, stealing soft kisses when he lingers close enough and enjoying the blush that spreads on her skin when his hand draws soft circles on the inside of her knee.

The dark, grey sky looms over them without warning, the clouds splitting open to let fat drops of rain land on the very expensive cheese that he thinks is an absurd amount for pressed curds of milk. Aaron starts to quickly pack their picnic, calculating the amount of time that it’s going to take to get to the car that they’ve parked on the other side of the road and wonders why the rain was determined to ruin what was going to be one of his favorite memories.

“Aaron.” She says, chuckling and running a hand down his back. “It’s only the rain.”

But she also notices the way his body has gone rigid, jaw set in a tight line as he continues to pack the food back into the basket. He flinches when a particularly fat raindrop hits the back of his neck and she frowns at his reaction.

But she doesn’t press, instead helping him pack away all of their food and letting him coral her under a nearby tree just as the rain pelts the ground in heavy, loud waves. The rain was torrential, their visibility limited to the first twenty feet in front of them and Aaron already knows that they won’t make it back to the car without getting soaked, if they could find it in the downpour.

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” He mutters, fists curled tightly and Emily pushes the wet curls across his forehead and brushes off his apology.

“It’s not like you can control the weather.”

“I should’ve checked--” He protests.

“It’s okay, I actually like the rain.” Her head cocks, appraising him with a careful eye and Aaron knows that he doesn’t have to tell her that he isn’t a big fan of the rain. She stares at him for a moment longer and as he is about to suggest they sprint back to the car, her hand slips into his and she tugs him out from under the shade of the tree and right into the downpour.

“Emily, what are you doing ?” He asks, his voice loud to try and compete with the rain that was battering the ground beneath them. Emily doesn’t respond, instead keeping a firm grip on his hand as the drops of water soaked her skin, causing the white fabric around her to cling to her skin.

“Dance with me.” She says, a gentle tug on his hand pulling him closer.

“There’s no music.” He says and she just laughs, his pedantics having the opposite effect on her as she steps closer to him, lifting the hand in hers as his arm loops instinctively around her waist. He’s about to protest again, because they really should be getting back to the car because the food is in a wooden basket under a tree, but she tips her lips on his and effectively stops his protests before they begin.

Her temple brushes against his cheek, and the taut pull of his muscles releasing slightly. She curls into him, her hand resting on the small of his back as his palm flattens across her shoulders, his thumb edging the outline of its blade. A shiver runs up her spine at the contact, the warmth of his fingers a sharp contrast to the rain that slid on their skin. She starts leading him in a gentle sway, their movements oddly on beat with the beating of the rain.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never danced in the rain, Hotchner.” He shrugs, a playful smile gracing his lips.

“I’m not in the habit of catching a cold or freezing in wet clothes.” Emily laughs, the soft lilt of it wrapping his heart in a warmth that causes those three words to curl dangerously at the end of his lips.

“The rain isn’t all bad.” She says, glancing up towards the dark sky as she lets the rain pound on her skin. “It brings the flowers. It cleans the air. It helps us savor the sunshine just a little bit more.”

Her fingers twine around a damp strand of his hair at the base of his neck, the scrape of her nails eliciting the release of the tension in his shoulders. He pulls her a little closer, taking the lead her in a soft shuffle

“The rain brings the rainbows.” She says, a soft smile curling at the edge of her lips, as if she was telling him a secret he wasn’t supposed to know about.

He didn’t think he’d ever find himself dancing in the rain. The torrential background of some of his more unpleasant memories is the same background that makes his chest want to split open to let all the light that was building inside of him out. To let the three words that curl dangerously at the edge of his lips to tumble out laced in a million promises and praises he wanted to give to her.

He didn’t think he’d find himself here, her soft figure pressed against his as the rain soaked their skin. He didn’t think he’d get to imprint his affection for her against her lips, tasting the sweet tartness of the cherries that stained her lips. He didn’t think he’d ever get to have her.

The words slip from his lips, his affection for her pouring from him with no warning or forethought. He just needs to tell her because he’s happy, and he doesn’t think he’d ever be this happy in the rain .

“I love you.” He says breathlessly, panic rising in him as she stiffens in his arms. “You don’t have to say it back. I just needed you to know.”

But she giggles, bright and brilliantly, and tugs his lips right onto hers and says that she loves him too.

If this was his rainbow, he’d happily let it storm for the rest of his life.

--

The next time it rains, he is the one to tug her into the park across the street. He takes her hand and leads her in a waltz he definitely doesn’t know, the cadence of her laugh sweet and light in the air. He sings Blackbird in her ear, low and whispered, because she’s always brought out a side of him that he thought he could keep buried under steel-reinforced walls.

He’d give every side of him to her, if she asked.

Maybe they’d make enough of these memories, of the rain soaking them to the bone but they would laugh and he’d make her hot chocolate after and he’d peel the heavy fabric of her dress off of her skin as she laughed and tell him to hurry up because Emily Prentiss was anything but patient.

Maybe they’d make enough memories to clean the stained ones that followed him whenever it rained.

Aaron always did hate the rain.

But with her, he hated it a little bit less.

--

[animedaddymilkers]

Kinkmas 2020: Day 11

Prompt: Overstimulation w/ Tsunade

Genre: Smut/18+ || Tags: Overstim, Oral, Fingering, Strap-on, Soft Dom || Characters: Tsunade Senju, Female Reader || read it on ao3 here

"Lady Hokage- Oh, where is Shizune?" You burst into the office with important papers, only questioning how easy it was to enter after you were in the room.

You were met with an indifferent voice, replying to you behind stacks of papers, "I sent her home. She was overtired. I promised I'd stay here but that doesn't mean I have to do anything."

The blonde snickered deviously at the loophole she apparently found and the papers in your hands became heavier, "Well… Maybe you should do something while you're here… with all due respect, m'lady."

"Perhaps you're right, I should do something. Come here, (Y/N). What do you have there?"

You swallowed hard and walked around to the side of her desk so she could see you, "It's unfortunately a few more reports, m'lady."

The disappointment on her face was obvious as she sighed heavily. She took the papers from you, looking over them briefly, "That's all this stupid job is- just paperwork and more paperwork."

"Have you tried making it into a game of sorts? To make it more interesting!"

"A game. Hmm, I haven't thought about it before," she rubbed her chin, mulling over the new idea before grinning, "How about we make it a game right now? Say, every time I make you cum, I'll completely finish one whole report."

As far as you could tell, she wasn't intoxicated, which was surprising and made her words even that more shocking. The proposition seemed to come from out of the blue, but the more you thought about it the more you realized Tsunade may have just been planning this for a while. From time to time you could swear you saw her gaze lingering on you, but brushed it off as you overreacting. It's not like you weren't also interested, hell Tsunade was easily the most attractive woman in the entire village. If someone said otherwise, they were probably lying. You looked at her for a moment, waiting for her to break out laughing and say it was just a joke. But that never came, instead her expression changed slightly to show she was waiting for an answer. You cleared your throat and took in a deep breath before speaking.

"That sounds like a fun game. What do you get out of it though?"

"Hmm, good point. How about-- If you tap out before 15 then I get to take you on a date... and don’t finish any reports?"

True to her reputation, Tsunade was terrible at gambling. Did she really think her taking you out on a date was a loss for you? Still, you were determined to make it to that mark, if not only for Shizune's sake.

"Deal." The single word from you has Tsunade standing up, walking past you and over to the plush couch decorating the side of her office. She sat down, fixing her outfit before looking at you and patting her thick thighs. Not about to back out now, you obeyed and approached her, swinging a leg around hers to sit yourself on her lap. Her hands slid up your hips to your waist, feeling your sides before slipping down to grip your ass. You let out a content sigh and leaned in to kiss her, her soft lips welcoming yours. She was quick to discard your shirt, tossing it onto the floor before also removing your pants. Patience wasn't exactly one of Tsunade's attributes, but you weren't about to complain. Within no time you were stripped completely bare for her, your body being laid down on the couch.

She leaned back for a moment to truly take in the sight of you, fingertips just ghosting over your skin. You shivered slightly when she brushed over your nipples and she tugged on them to further tease you. But she didn’t linger there for long, as her real mission laid lower, her hands feeling down your pelvis to spread your legs apart. The blonde laughed quietly as she saw how wet you were already, but she didn’t say anything because she knew if her pants were off as well then she’d be equally if not more wet. The first orgasm always took the longest to get to so Tsunade was eager to start your little game, two slender fingers slipping inside of you. Your content sigh was all she needed to start slowly pumping them in and out of you, coaxing more juices from your pussy.

The dull stretch in your core felt good and you began to press your hips down to meet her fingers as they pushed back in. Her pace was leisurely and calculated, pressing into you deeply, trying to find your sweet spot. After you nearly begged her, she slid in a third finger, stretching your walls more. The hand that wasn’t thrusting in and out of you slid up from your thigh to lazily rub at your clit, reveling in the soft gasp you let out. Tsunade kissed along your hip bones, leaving sweet love bruises as she went. You played with your nipples, pulling on them to heighten the pleasure that was building. It was pointless to deny yourself the inevitable and when you felt your first orgasm creep up on you, you embraced it wholly, gripping the sides of the couch as you drenched Tsunade’s face in your juices.

“One down, fourteen more to go, think you can make it?”

“Definitely.” Your optimism might have been a bit premature and maybe you would regret those words after a few more orgasms, but you had sheer willpower and determination on your side.

After briefly checking in with you, Tsunade continued her actions, fingers resuming fucking you and not giving you much time to recover. This was most likely going to take all night as it was, so why drag it out? This time though she decided to up the ante and leaned down, allowing her tongue to kitten lick teasingly at your clit. You were already sensitive from the first orgasm and now with her added tongue, your legs shook slightly. Her fingers curled inside of you, drawing a gasp from your lips that made her smirk. In a moment of boldness, you reached down and tangled your fingers into the Hokage's hair, tugging gently. Tsunade would have laughed and teased you if her mouth wasn't full of your pussy at the moment. She flattened her tongue against your clit before sucking on it as her fingers continued to pump in and out of you.

It didn't take long for Tsunade to find your g-spot and once she did you were at her beck and whim. Your second orgasm crashed on you hard and because Tsunade didn't let up it sent you straight into a third orgasm. Sure, the older blonde did want to take you on a date, but she also wanted to see just how far she could push you. That, and she was convinced there was no way you could possibly last to the fifteenth orgasm. She removed her fingers from you and cleaned her hand off, moaning quietly as she licked your juices up. Then she ducked her head back down, tongue sliding in to replace her fingers. It slowly pushed in and out of you as one of her soft fingers rubbed at your sensitive clit. You spasmed at the touch and winced to yourself, really wondering if you could last. Your body was in a constant tight knot now and thanks to Tsunade's relentless tongue. A whine left your lips as you felt yet another orgasm coming on and your legs once again shook around Tsunade's head.

The Fifth Hokage didn't give you a break until after your eighth orgasm and you couldn't thank her enough. Your legs were in a constant state of shaking and your pussy was so sensitive it was just constantly dripping juices. Now, she was sucking and playing with your tits, mildly curious to see if she could coax an orgasm from you with just your tits. Personally, you didn't think it was possible, you always had needed other stimulation in order to fully go over the edge. But, tonight wasn't exactly an ordinary 'cum and we're finished' type of night. No, Tsunade was purposely testing your limits and just what your body could do. Her mouth sucks on your left nipple while her fingers toy with your right, occasionally leaving to massage your entire boob. Your mounds of fat felt heavenly being massaged, to the point you were almost disappointed when her nimble fingers went back to your nipple. She switched sides, the cool air hitting your saliva covered tit and making you shiver. You laid your head back again, closing your eyes as the waves of pleasure kept shocking through you. With every suck you felt it in your core and much to your surprise, after Tsunade sucked particularly hard and twisted the other nipple, you found your toes curling and gasping as you climaxed.

Her mouth parted from your chest and she wiped her mouth with a smirk before leaving the couch. You lifted your head as much as you could to watch her figure saunter over to her desk. Curious as to what she was doing you lifted yourself up before blushing at the sight of the hot pink glitter strap on. In her hand she twirled a bottle of lube around as she came back to the couch. A cocky look on her face, she secured the fake cock around her waist and lubed it up.

"Ready to go for six more, princess?"

You licked your lips out of instinct and nodded before quickly adding a verbal, "Yes please, m'lady."

Tsunade laughed at your response, you looked so fucked out already yet were so desperate for more. Just her touching the insides of your thighs had them shaking again. In all honesty, she probably could have gone in without lube considering how soaking wet you were. Still, she lubed up her fake cock and slowly slid it inside of you. The pressure of being spread apart nearly had you cumming again but you somehow held on. Well, you held on for two more thrusts at least and then you were babbling incoherent pleas and cuss words. Five more. Kami, you only had five more orgasms to go before you could say you won. Granted, you could potentially go past fifteen if you really wanted to drown Tsunade in reports, but at this point that wasn't looking like a feasible prospect.

Tears were running down your face and your chest was heaving, the wet squelch of your abused pussy filling the Hokage's office. Thankfully most of the workers went home, but part of you knew that some poor ANBU member was being forced to watch you get rawed by the Hokage. Maybe that idea just made it all the more fun, after all it sure wasn't bothering Tsunade. Her hips fucked into you at a teasing pace, enough to keep you on the brink of pleasure but not enough to send you over. She kept it up for far too long before she quickened her pace and snapped her hips, reveling in the scream you gave her as you came yet again. Her fake cock didn't stop, quickly hitting your g-spot over and over and immediately sent you into another orgasm. Your pathetic legs couldn't even keep themselves upright, having to be slung over the blonde's shoulders as she fucked you.

Her nimble fingers came down to flick your tortured clit, laughing as it sent your hips spasming. She rubbed it skillfully, content on staring at the absolute fucked out expression on your face.

"Come on, princess, just three more and you win, you can give me three more can't you? Or are you going to tap out on me?"

Tsunade truly was terrible with gambles, if she had been questioning your will instead of praising you and coaxing more orgasm from you, you probably would have tapped out. But instead, she used that ridiculous pet name in that stupidly hypnotic voice of hers. Your mind was blank and your mouth kept making noises but you're not exactly what noises they were. Your mind and body were so far apart from each other at the moment, but you weren't about to complain. Her cock was still fucking in and amount of you, rubbing against your g-spot roughly as her fingers still played with your clit. Tsunade grinned as you shook harder and came on her cock, pressing her fingers into your clit harder. Her pace didn't let up and even though you clawed at the cover on the couch she kept going. She kept going and fucked you right into another orgasm and wasn't about to stop there.

Your whole body was shaking and tensing up as you gasped and whined loudly. The pleasure didn't die down and you let out a wail as you came for the fifthteenth time, your juices squirting out and covering Tsunade's lower stomach and dripping down her thighs. Your vision was blurry and you vaguely remember Tsunade finally pulling out and cleaning you up. Still you whined and wriggled around, body so used to getting fucked that the absence of it was almost painful. Seeing as now you were just left with a throbbing abused body and no pleasure coming with it. For a moment, you thought Tsunade was going to continue and you were going to have to force yourself to form the words to tap out, but she knew you were done in. Instead, she was pressing soft kisses along your still shaking thighs, trailing them up until she met your mouth.

"Look at you, you did so well, princess. You take a nap and I'll get started on my reports. Okay? And when you wake up I'll get us some food." Although she technically lost, Tsunade could barely count this as a loss. And even though this now meant she had reports to finish, she was content in hoping that this wouldn't be just a one time thing. Perhaps she should turn her work into a game more often.

hope you enjoyed! remember likes & reblogs help me reach more people! :D

[dindjarinbae]

The Stars in Your Eyes (Din Djarin x Reader)

first of all, this is dedicated to @anakinshooker, because she gave me the softest little idea for a little Mando fic, in honor of the season 2 trailer’s release. i’m in big love with Mando, my Mando heart really melted with this one. this is really nothing but fluff, like the plot is just fluff.

TW: none, mentions of a cut.

WC: 4455

PART TWO HERE!!

You lived a fairly ordinary life, or at least you’d like to think so. 

Naboo was a fairly normal planet, and that’s what you loved about it. You ran your flower shop and you came home each night and you went to bed and woke up to do the same thing, and you never grew tired of it. Maybe it was boring to some, but to you, it was everything. As a flower merchant, you had many fields to pick from, to frolic in, to buy flowers from, to arrange them, to sell them and spread joy. With just flowers? Yes. You were a believer that flowers could express so much. 

So you were content spending your days with them, and you did not want that to change. Change was not your favorite thing, which is why you wanted things to be the same, with the flowers and Naboo, and each constant in your life. 

Unfortunately that changed on a beautiful spring morning, two days before the solstice. You sat in your chair with your hands busy weaving a crown of flowers at your little flower shop on the corner of a sweet little street, when the door flew open, the bell above it dangling chaotically. Your eyes flew to the door and you stood, the flower crown falling to the table below.

No one stood in the doorframe, no one was outside near the shop, and no one besides you was inside the store. Or at least, it seemed that way for a brief second before you heard a small intake of air, and the output of that same air in the form of a happy coo. Your eyes dropped to the floor and they settled upon a pair of the biggest eyes you’d ever seen in your life. A child, and it could only have been a foot tall, waddled toward you, swathed in a big brown robe that swallowed his entire body, making his head seem ever so tiny, and his hands appear almost minuscule. It was the strangest child you’d see, green in color with big, long ears off the side of its tiny head, and a bit of fuzz on the top of said head.

You stepped away from the table and walked around the counter to the child, who was now reaching up for you with the most pathetic, three-fingered little grabby hands you had ever seen in your life. You took your time before picking him up, blinking and looking out the window behind him for anyone that might be searching for a little child. But there was no one. 

So you bent down at the waist and grabbed him by his itty bitty torso and lifted the little creature into your arms, and to this, he had much to say. He began to babble in your arms and reach up for your hair, as if he had been looking for you after so long and he finally had this chance to catch up, like a chatty aunt. 

“Where in the galaxy did you come from? Hm?” You asked and looked down at him, his big eyes narrowing just slightly, as if he had no idea what you were saying, and his babbling ceased. This question seemed to cause the small thing a bit of confusion, and he huffed a couple of times before he closed his hand around a handful of your hair. He didn’t have much more to say after you spoke, your question clearly vexing him and his happy little rant in gibberish, and you took the opportunity to walk outside your shop to look around for a moment, but as it was moments ago, no one seemed to be missing a child. 

No one ever came, and it wasn’t like you could let the strange and adorable little alien go off on his own, so you brought him back inside and sat him down on the tabletop where your flowers and flower crowns laid. He seemed to take a liking to these, because he picked one up with his chubby little hands and he studied it the best way a child can: with his mouth. You fussed over this and pulled the flower from his mouth, the pretty yellow blossom becoming a bit withered with the level of manhandling it had just experienced. But the kid seemed to find this funny, your bewilderment, and he giggled and reached for the flower in your hands again. And though you wanted to be annoyed, the giggle that came out of his little mouth was enough to bring the happiest of smiles to your face. 

So the day was spent like this, you and a lost child, playing with flowers, tending to customers, and giggling. Giggling and smiling and messing around in the little shop. The sweet innocence of the day almost made you forget about the kid being lost and how no one came looking for him. He sat on the counter with a little cup of fruit that you had put together for him and he was making a bit of a mess on his face, while you tried to figure out what to do with the little guy. So you took him home, just for the night, you told yourself. You’d find his home tomorrow. 

But that didn’t happen. 

You spent the night giggling and smiling and giggling and smiling and even more giggling and smiling with that little creature, before you two finally tuckered out. The baby laid sleeping against your shoulder while you read and his little snores and grunts were enough to return the smile to your face, and soon enough, you were ready to sleep yourself. 

Your routine had changed completely for five whole days. You’d had this kid in your care for five whole days now. As always, he sat on top of your counter while you bundled some flowers into a bouquet, playing around with a spool of glittering blue ribbon he had found in a little basket next to him, chattering and babbling on as if the ribbon and him were having the most riveting of discussions, and you found yourself wondering just what it was you thought the small child was saying. You shook your head and continued to add flowers to your bouquet, completely unsuspecting to the door that flew angrily off of its hinges, and the bell above breaking free to hit the wall on the other side of the small shop. 

You gasped and dropped the bouquet, a strangely strong maternal instinct taking over your mind, and you snatched the child right off of the counter before dropping to the floor. You tried to hide your panic from the kid, but his face was already scrunching up at the sight of yours, which was most likely terrified. He touched your face and made a little cooing sound before you shushed him, tucking his little head against your shoulder. Fear struck through you like lightening and you didn’t dare turn around when heavy, metallic footsteps became ever so prominent in your little shop. You closed your eyes and huddled in the corner behind your counter, knees drawn up to your chest and arms clutching the little alien that clung to you with nearly the same intensity.

The table next to your counter was kicked and it flew to the side, vases shattering against the floor and loose flowers flying all over, and you yelped, your heart pounding against your chest. You kept your eyes shut and listened to the heavy footsteps grow closer and closer until the child was ripped from your arms. At this point, your eyes flew open and you grit your teeth, launching yourself upwards, savagely needing to protect this little creature. 

Even if that meant somehow getting rid of this six foot tall man. Slathered in cold steel armor. Crowned with a sleek helmet and a big, long weapon holstered to his back. He stood easily a head taller than you and was now looking down on you, his stance making you cower only slightly, and you prayed that he didn’t notice. 

“Give him back!” You said and tried to lunge forward to grab the baby, but this was rudely unsuccessful, because with one hand, he pushed you back and you lost your footing, hitting the floor with a loud crack. 

You looked down and you noticed then that you had fallen into a thick vase, the glass cutting deep into your hand.

But the blood and the horrified expression on your face didn’t stop the child from whining a bit and the silent warrior standing over you. You couldn’t see his eyes through his helmet, but the stare you felt seemed close to deadly as he crouched down and grabbed the neckline of your dress, yanking you forward. 

“Who do you work for?” He asked, his helmet distorting what was probably the otherwise smooth voice and turning it into a menacing fear tactic. 

“N-no one,” you mumbled and tried to pull away from his grip. It only tightened. 

“No one? So you just took my kid for fun?” He asked, and though his voice was cold and robotic, you could hear its incredulous tone. 

You shook your head and grabbed at his wrist, but you winced, the cut on your hand stinging nastily, “I didn’t take your kid... he wandered in here. I’ve been watching him.. I...” you tried to get away from him once more but gave up, “No one came for him, I couldn’t just leave him somewhere.. he’s a kid,” you explained, almost breathlessly as the pain in your hand only grew worse as you became more aware of the glass that stayed lodged within the cut. 

He held your neckline for a bit longer before pushing you backwards just a bit. You cradled your bloody hand against your chest and you looked down at it. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as it looked, but from your standpoint, it seemed pretty bad. 

Above, the baby whined and you could hear him grunting, and your gaze flickered up to him as he tried to wiggle away from the armored man holding him. He turned his green little head toward you and he reached one fat little hand toward you, a frown on his face. 

The man tilted his helmet down to the baby and then back at you, and he did this a few times before he sighed and crouched down next to you, letting the child down as well. 

“You took care of him? That’s it? Nothing else? Because so help me god-“ he began, and the baby teetered his way towards you. 

You nodded and leaned your head back, “Yes, I swear. I only took care of him. He wandered into my shop five days ago. I didn’t know where to take him,” you insisted and reached out with your good hand to meet the hand of the child which was outstretched towards you. His little stubby fingers wrapped around one of yours and you smiled just a bit, and he seemed to pick up on the fact that you were relieved to have him grab your finger, and a little smile formed on his tiny mouth. 

He liked you. 

—

This was nearly six months ago. After having your shop turned upside down, the father of this kid, which you came to learn was a Mandalorian, helped you clean up your hand before he promptly offered you a job. You would come along with him and the baby and watch the little alien while he took care of work, which you also came to learn was bounty hunting. 

You almost said no. 

Almost. 

But that damn baby and his big stupid eyes looked at you so happily, that you couldn’t say no, and you quietly accepted. 

And you couldn’t say that you regretted it at all, because of said baby. 

At first, things were tense. You referred to The Mandalorian as ‘Sir’ and nothing else, and he never corrected you or asked you to call him something different until a month or so later when he told you that you could address him as ‘Mando’. 

Mando was a man of few words. An unreadable man of few words. He always seemed emotionless, always seemed like he was capable of nothing but his job, and in the weirdest way, caring for the little green toddler.  

Until nearly three months into your new life with the two of them. You and the kid were taken by a spiteful quarry, and disaster led to more disaster, and it took nearly three days for Mando to find the two of you. 

After that he wasn’t so emotionless. 

After almost losing the child and you, Mando began to notice things about you that he never did before. Until that point, you were beneficial to him, no more, no less. He didn’t like you, and he didn’t hate you. You were convenient and kind and caring enough to help him with the occasional wound. You never asked questions very often, and that made him happy. The only time you asked something worthy of conversation was when you nearly walked in on him with his helmet off, and his chastising snap was enough to cause you to ask what you did wrong, which in turn, he briefly explained that the helmet did not come off in front of anyone, and you seemed to want to ask more. 

But you didn’t. Instead you respected his silence and in turn, he respected your talkative nature. 

And god were you talkative. This was one of the things he noticed about you very first. You’d only met Greef Karga twice, and that was enough for Mando. It didn’t seem to occur to him that if you put two talkative people together, they’re gonna talk. For hours. And so he sat in a cantina while you chatted happily with Karga about your flowers on Naboo, and he chatted right back about some girl he met and his favorite drinks and things such as that. The second time, Mando didn’t let it get even twenty minutes in before he was corralling you back onto the Razor Crest with a baby on your hip that was talking just as much as you were. Sometimes he’d hear the two of you having little conversations down in the hull of his ship. You were speaking as if you were talking to a dear friend, and the child sat upon your lap, babbling intelligently, absolutely confident that everyone could understand these unintelligible sounds he made. This seemed to make both of you very happy, so Mando let it happen, even if it went on for hours and his head was so full of baby noises and your voice that he wanted to yell. He wouldn’t ever admit how cute he really found your talkative nature. 

Of course, it was the kindness he noticed about you next. You were perhaps the sweetest person he’d met in his entire life. You were selfless for that kid, staying up all night to bounce him as he cried, or you’d do just ridiculous things to make him giggle. Sometimes you’d stay awake until Mando came back just to make sure he got there safely, and if he was wounded? You’d sniff it out like a bloodhound and insist that he let you help him tend to his wounds.

He’d almost always let you, just so he could indulge just a bit to feel your soft skin against his own. 

Almost a week after you and the kid had been taken, he began to find himself watching you more and more. 

He began to notice and appreciate things about you that he’d never thought twice about in the past. 

Like how your eyes would glitter when you were happy. He liked that. He found himself nearly cracking a smile underneath his helmet when he would watch your eyes light up. Or how you didn’t like to sleep if the baby was awake, because it made you anxious. He especially liked the time of night where you’d sit and twirl your fingers through your hair and read, and most times, he desperately wished it was his fingers moving through your lovely hair. He knew you were always cold. It’s just how you were. You weren’t used to being in space all the time, so if you ever fell asleep without a blanket, he’d be sure to cover you with one. And if you were caught outside with him when it got cold? He’d put his cape around your shoulders and instruct you to wrap it around your front, which you did with ease, because the thick fabric was made to fit his broad shoulders and it enveloped your frame easily. Mando took great pride in seeing his cape around your shoulders, almost as if he had some sort of ownership over you in the most loving way possible. 

Nearly four months into this arrangement, and he found himself actively listening and more frequently than before, engaging in conversation with you. This seemed to make you happy, and he liked that. He liked that a lot, because then your eyes would do that... thing that he loved. 

And to you? This was wonderful. So wonderful, in fact, that you began to find yourself drawn to him, and within absolutely no time, you found yourself hopelessly in love with The Mandalorian. You knew it wasn’t good, and you knew you’d never get what you wanted from him, but that didn’t stop your foolish heart. 

He’d take as many opportunities as he could to tell you he was thankful for you and to note that the kid loved you, and each time, your heart would flutter, sending pink to your cheeks. 

He noticed this every time, and it always filled him with a sense of gentle pride.

He liked you. He really did. But as far has he was concerned, it was a silly crush on a silly young girl that came from a place of gratitude. 

Or that’s what he’d tell himself, at least. 

One day, six months into your arrangement, the three of you found yourselves on Naboo, chasing a lesser criminal, and when Mando had caught him, you had begged him to let you show the kid your favorite field to pick flowers from. 

At first, he refused. The second time you asked, he also refused. But by the fifth, he gruffly allotted you twenty minutes, supervised by him, in a field of your choice. You gratefully bounced up and down in front of him and you gave him a quick hug in passing, and the small gesture wouldn’t leave his mind, though he was sure it had left yours. 

When he landed the Crest in the middle of the field, you wasted no time in scooping up the excited child and running down the ramp as soon as it came down. 

It was nearly sunset as the two of you played around in the flowers, giggling and smiling amongst each other while under the over-observant watch of Mando, leaning against the side of the ramp while you two messed around. After a few moments, you skipped up to him and held out a soft pink flower, and instantly, he became speechless with the way he easily compared the color of the plant to that of your rosy cheeks. 

“Here,” you offered and when he didn’t reach for it, you grabbed his hand and placed the flower in it, “These are my favorites. Also, I think they’re the kid’s favorites, too. He keeps trying to eat them,” she said and he babbled in your arms, like he was agreeing with you. 

He didn’t wrap his fingers around the flower, but he held it in his palm and looked down at it before nodding. He handed it back to you and you shook your head, frowning just a bit, “No, no,” she protested and set the kid down, “It’s for you. I picked it for you,” she explained and the child waddled a few feet away to plop down next to a tall patch of grass with little yellow blossoms growing within it. 

He looked curiously at the flower and back up at you before nodding once, “Thank you,” he spoke, not sure of what to say. 

You nodded and you stood on your toes to place a kiss against his helmet, right where his cheek would’ve been, “Think of it as a good luck flower or something like that. I don’t know much about good luck charms though, so maybe just keep it in my honor, Mando,” she said softly with a giggle and went to sit down next to the baby, picking flowers with him. 

As Mando watched you, he felt that odd feeling again, the one he’d chalked up to a silly crush, and the words were already out of his mouth before he could stop them. 

“Din.”

You looked up from the beginnings of a flower crown confusedly, “Excuse me, what?” You asked and studied him. 

He cursed himself silently for that, but he couldn’t brush it off as an accident now. So he sighed and walked towards you and the kid, lowering himself gracefully to crouch next to you, “Din. That’s my name. You may call me that when it’s just us three,” he answered, watching your face before rising back up. He made his way back to his spot against the ship, leaning there silently. 

It had been well over twenty minutes, because now the sun had gone down and the stars began to grow brighter in the sky. You looked down and noticed the little alien had fallen asleep in the soft grass and you looked over at Din, who was staring off at the horizon. Or you thought at least. It wasn’t like you could feel his stare on you. 

But it was. 

“Hey, why don’t you come over here and sit for a minute?” You asked softly and looked over at him. His head didn’t move and he made no indication that he’d even heard you until he uncrossed his arms from his chest. 

He shook his head once and tapped the side of the ship, “We need to get going,” he spoke and turned towards the ship to board it. 

“No. Not yet. Please. Come sit for a minute, you could really use a little bit of a breather and there’s no better place to do it than a field of flowers,” you were practically begging, and he seemed to not care as he continued to walk up the ramp, so you waited a second before calling out to him by name, “Din? Please? Just for a minute and then we can leave.”

The soft way his name rolled off of your tongue stopped him dead in his tracks and he stood unmoving for a moment before sighing, and you could hear this distinctly through his modulator. He turned around and seemed to be assessing where you sat next to the sleeping baby and he almost reluctantly walked back towards you two. He stood over you for almost three whole minutes before he sat down next to you, and you made a point to scoot a bit closer to him. 

“You know, I used to make the prettiest flower chains for like... parties and things. And then people stopped celebrating all the time, you know? Most of the party goes moved away from Naboo slowly and now it’s just a lot of tourists,” you explained and plucked a bright yellow flower out of the ground and tucked it behind your ear before you leaned your head absentmindedly against his shoulder. He didn’t say a word, and you were used to that. He didn’t usually respond to your conversation. 

Din shifted slightly underneath you and you went to pull away, apologizing under your breath about laying your head against him. But he placed a firm hand on your thigh and you froze, “It’s alright. You don’t need to move,” he spoke, sliding his hand away from your leg. 

You tentatively rested against him once more and looked up at the stars beyond the Crest. Din would’ve looked too, but he had already seen the same stars in your eyes, hundreds of times before now. He’d rather see them there anyway. 

His gaze was fixed upon the light sundress that you wore that day, how it fell around your legs, just above the knee, and how the pretty pale pink fabric looked against your soft skin. He stayed like that for a while, silently sitting there so he didn’t disrupt your rest, and it wasn’t until he heard your deep breathing that he realized you’d fallen asleep. 

Din could’ve cursed your name for letting yourself get so tired, and it settled with him right then that you worked much too hard for your own good, and made a mental note to relieve you of baby duties more often so that you could rest. 

Finally, The Mandalorian decided it was time to leave, and he reached over to scoop the baby up and lay him on your lap before he stood and lifted you into his arms simultaneously. He made lifting you and the baby look as simple as moving a leaf, but perhaps in your case, moving a flower would be more accurate. Once inside of the Crest, he closed the door and laid the two of you down against a cot, plucking the child off of your lap and putting him back in his little pod. He covered both of you up and knelt down by your bedside, watching you peacefully sleep, and he would’ve given anything to run his fingers across your cheek right then. 

His hands moved to your face and hovered above your skin for a moment before taking a new route to his helmet, taking on a mind of their own. Din removed his helmet silently and leaned down to press his lips against your forehead, leaving them there for a long time before he pulled away and put the helmet back on. He rose to his feet and turned away so that he could start the ship and get into the air, his chest sinking when he realized that when you were sleeping was the only time he’d ever be able to do that, when you weren’t even conscious, when you couldn’t even feel it. 

Though you’d never tell him, you found yourself half awake when his lips were pressed to your forehead. 

And without his knowledge, you felt it. 

Oh, you felt it.

[sequencefairy]

shyan + the moon

how dare you ask for something that is so me?

---

Ryan can feel it already, the shifting starting under his skin. The calendar says the full moon will rise on Friday, but the pull of it has already begun, hooking like pins behind Ryan’s navel and dragging his eyes up off his computer monitor and towards the big windows to look at the sky. Ryan forces himself back to looking at the screen in front of him and resettles in his chair. The chair creaks, and Shane looks up. Ryan ducks his head to avoid Shane’s shrewd gaze. 

Shane knows. He has since that long haul trip to Ohio early on the BFU days. Ryan had always prided himself on being so very careful, so very cautious, so very aware of making sure not to schedule filming trips during the weekend when the moon would rise, full and fat, and drive him into the nearest woods and turn him into a rippling mass of fur and teeth and claws. Except, that filming trip had been rescheduled three times already by the time they were finally able to go, and there’d been nothing Ryan could do. It’s awfully hard to keep something like not exactly being entirely human under wraps living in each other’s pockets like they do on the road. 

So. Shane knows. He’s never really asked any questions, and seems content to let Ryan never have any kind of conversation about it. Ryan has noticed, however, that Shane has always been very good about not scheduling anything the weekend Ryan isn’t available. 

Ryan sighs, and tries to rein his focus back towards the video he’s editing. It works, more or less. 

Later, Shane corners him near the fridge along the back wall of the office.

“You’re fidgety,” Shane observes, not looking up from the coffee he’s doctoring to his particularly preferred shade of caramel.

Ryan drops the spoon he’s holding and it clatters to the floor. Shane still doesn’t look at him, but Ryan can feel the flush crawling up the back of his neck as he bends down to retrieve the spoon, gripping it tightly in his fist. He watches Shane look up at the calendar tacked onto the whiteboard over the sink, and nod to himself. 

“It’s this weekend, isn’t it?” 

“What’s this weekend?” Brittney asks, pushing between them to get at the basket of snacks set next to the sink. 

“Nothing,” Ryan says, taking an involuntary step back. This close to the moon, his senses are starting to heighten and the sugar-sweet scent of Brittney’s shampoo lingers on the back of his tongue. It makes him want to gag. Shane watches him over Brittney’s oblivious head, a calculating glint in his eyes.

“Do we have any more of those shrimp crackers?” she asks. 

“Dunno,” Shane says, his weighted gaze sliding off Ryan’s face and attention turning towards Brittney. It gives Ryan the out he needs and he takes it. 

The office is suddenly smothering. 

Ryan stalks back to his desk, drops the spoon onto his mousepad and grabs his coat off the back of his chair. He shoves his hands through the sleeves and then he’s gone, before anyone can say anything. 

Outside is better. Outside is fresh air and not a bombardment of smells that normally don’t bother him, except for when the moon gets close. Ryan takes a deep breath, and forces himself to relax into the exhale. He walks around the building towards the loading docks at the back and leans against a stack of pallets, tilting his head back to let the sunshine touch his face. 

Shane finds him there. 

“You okay?” Shane asks, approaching carefully, the way he might if Ryan was already sporting claws and teeth and not still passably human. 

“Just needed some air,” Ryan answers, leaning more fully against the stack of pallets. 

“Sure,” Shane says, in that way that means he’s agreeing with Ryan because he doesn’t want to argue with him. It makes Ryan bristle a little, to be dismissed, but also they already don’t talk about this so it’s entirely irrational. “You need to take the rest of the week off?” Shane asks. He’s got his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. 

“No,” Ryan replies, shortly. He’s fine. He can handle it. It’s not like he hasn’t been handling it for years already. 

Shane lifts his hands in surrender. “Okay, man,” he says, “just checking. You seem, I dunno, extra--” he cuts himself off with a twist of his mouth. 

“Extra, what?” 

“Something’s different this month, is all,” Shane says, after a moment. “Look, I’m not an expert, obviously, but like, you’re--there’s something more happening here.”

“It’s nothing, Shane,” Ryan says, suddenly exhausted and wishing they could go back to never talking about this like they haven’t ever before.

Shane hums, unconvinced. Before Ryan can blink, Shane’s stepped forward and into his space. Ryan’s reaction is immediate and instinctive. His hands come up and push, palms flat against Shane’s chest. 

“Don’t--don’t crowd me,” Ryan complains, when Shane doesn’t step back. This close, he has to crane his head back to look up into Shane’s face. There’s a flush riding high on Shane’s cheekbones and Ryan doesn’t understand why. 

Shane’s own hands wrap around Ryan’s wrists, fingers encircling them easily. Ryan sucks in a breath, getting a lungful of all the smells that Shane carries with him. The sharp clean scent of his deodorant, the musk of all the shadowed places on his body that never see the sun, the bitter caramel scent of the coffee he’d been drinking, the sticky-sweet funk of pot that barely clings to this coat. Ryan’s eyes slide shut, unbidden. 

Anyone else this close would send Ryan’s other senses into overdrive, but Shane’s still holding his wrists, and Ryan can feel the thump of Shane’s heart under his palms. It’s calming in a way that it shouldn’t be. Ryan wants to lean into Shane, and the thought brings him up short and makes him open his eyes. 

When he does, Ryan finds that Shane’s crowded in closer, that now he’s lose enough that when Shane blinks, Ryan can see the fall of every eyelash against the barely there freckles on Shane’s cheeks. He can see the silver coming in through the brown of Shane’s beard. 

“Ryan,” Shane says, something strained in his voice. 

“You--what’re you doing?” 

“I don’t know,” Shane says, and he looks as confused as he sounds. “I can’t--” Shane cuts himself off with a frustrated noise.

“I think--” Ryan moves to step back, but finds he has no where to go and that Shane’s hands tighten around his wrists instead of letting go. He pulls, flexing his fingers against Shane’s chest. “Hey! Let me go, asshole.” 

“No,” Shane says.  

“Shane,” Ryan says, very carefully, “what the fuck are you doing?” 

Shane steps closer, and Ryan finds himself bending his elbows to let him. Ryan’s heart thuds against his ribs, the pallets dig into the small of his back. 

“I can’t,” Shane says, maybe to himself, but he’s close enough now that Ryan can feel the breath of his voice. “Ry--” he says, eyes flicking down to Ryan’s mouth and then back up to his eyes. “I don’t understand what’s--I can’t--”

“Are you--what’s going on? Talk to me,” Ryan says, almost frantic. Shane’s tongue darts out to wet his lips and Ryan’s gaze snags there, heat blooming through his veins. His fingers tingle where they’re still pressed into the fabric of Shane’s shirt. Shane blinks. Ryan’s stomach turns over.     

“You just--Ryan, Christ,” Shane swears. 

“You too,” Ryan says, before he can stop himself. The heat in his blood has a purpose now, and it’s all running south. 

“Stop me,” Shane pleads. The tone of his voice makes Ryan’s head swim. He could no sooner stop Shane than he could stop the full moon transformation and lord knows, Ryan’s tried to stave that off at least a hundred times. It feels like Shane can’t stop himself either, like they’re locked into the riptide of whatever this is together, and Ryan stops fighting it the moment Shane’s mouth finds his. 

The relief of this surrender is sweeter even than giving in to the transformation after trying to hold it off, and Shane tastes like coming home.

Ryan’s hands slide from Shane’s chest up around his neck, pulling him in. Ryan tangles his fingers in Shane’s hair, and Shane’s hands find Ryan’s waist under his unzipped coat, fingers bunching in the fabric of his shirt. 

When they break apart, Shane doesn’t lift his head immediately, just presses his forehead to Ryan’s. “What’s--is this some wolf thing? What’re you doing to me?” 

Ryan swallows. He shrugs. “I don’t know, I don’t think so?” He looks at Shane’s mouth again, and then watches Shane’s throat move as he swallows. “God,” he says, “you have to kiss me again.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yes,” Ryan says, and pushes up on his toes to make sure that Shane does. 

.<>.

“Oh,” Beth says, when Ryan asks her about it at the community meeting a week later. Her blonde hair is pulled back off her face in a high ponytail, and her tawny eyes sparkle. “Yeah,” she says, curling her hands around the styrofoam cup of coffee on the table in front of her. “That happens.” 

“What happens?” Ryan asks, leaning back in his chair. He reaches up to tug at the bandana he borrowed from Shane’s collection that morning. He’s not used to having his neck covered and the sensation of the fabric against the still purpling bruise Shane left and keeps going back to worrying every time he gets anywhere near Ryan’s neck, makes Ryan want to squirm in his chair. 

Beth lifts her cup to her mouth to hide the smile. “Pheromones,” she says. 

“Pheromones?” 

“Yeah, you know, like, they tell people like us that we’re aroused,” she answers. 

“Shane’s not--” Ryan says, and then clamps his mouth shut. He’s not, right? He couldn’t be. Ryan would have noticed. He’s sure he would have noticed. Absolutely sure. There’s no way. And anyway, it’s not like--well, he and Shane did spend the entire weekend attached to each other at the mouth and several other places besides, so he guesses he can’t say anything about how Shane’s not the other thing that Beth’s implying. 

“Not everyone’s tied to the moon, like you, Ryan,” Beth says, knowing. “You should bring him next week.”

“No. Nope. Not happening.” 

Beth shrugs, and her ponytail slides over her shoulder. “Your call,” she says, “we’d love to meet him though.” 

[gekijouaika]

your honour they're stupid

Fandom: FFXIV Characters: Faris Helmold (original WoL), Atticus Isaacs (@bearfully's WoL) Originally written: November 2021 Word Count: 832 Other notes: remembers this blog exists 12 years later with Starbucks

When she drops onto Atticus’ back mid-pushup, Faris is fairly sure the tremor that shakes her arms is only surprise. Mostly. Hopefully. She still takes a moment of pause in her adjustment, soon feeling the other woman steady herself easily enough and happily stretches herself out along her new perch. Propping her book against her chest, the miqo’te is soon settled for both a quiet afternoon and a fun diversion.

Both, if she’s very lucky.

Predictably, it doesn’t take long for one of those options to present itself and she tries to bite down on a smile. If only for her own benefit.

“... Faris?” “Hm?”

“What are you doing?” Atticus always sounds just a touch exasperated at this part, which is a lot less than most would in this position. The first time had been a genuine question, Faris is pretty sure, but by now it’s almost by rote. It’s a routine. She’s never been much for those, likes to deviate where she can, but allows these little bits to stay. Magnanimous as she is.

“Readin’,” she flaps her book demonstratively, feeling more than hearing the other woman’s huff in the quick expansion and contraction of her ribcage. She can’t quite keep the smile from curling her lips now, which is fine– Atticus can’t see it, neutral as she manages to keep her tone.

“That’s not really what I meant.”

It’s Faris’ turn to sigh, affixing a pout for performance's sake as she rolls onto her front and jostles the poor roegadyn once again.

“What, I can’t help ye train now? Ain’t this supposed to help? Resistance training an’ all that?” She bounces a little meanly, though the younger woman’s arms don’t even sway at this point. Definitely getting too close to routine, though it’s difficult to gage too much of her reaction to that one through the back of her head. That’s fine, though, all part of the game– she’s good enough at detecting how the other’s feeling from just her breathing at this juncture. She doesn’t count it as an especially hard skill to master, Atticus wearing the majority of her emotions plain as day and her temper almost impervious to the miqo’te’s constant needling but… still. Better safe than sorry.

A game’s only fun when both parties are playing.

True to form, her ribs move again in what’s unmistakably a laugh– no doubt finding her remarks ridiculous. That’s fine, Faris is very much aware she’s being silly. That’s the point… mostly. Partly. A good sixty to forty ratio, at the very least.

“You could always train with me instead?” Ever patient, tone managing to convey ‘you’re being absurd but I’ve chosen to find it charming instead of annoying’ rather handily. Or that’s what Faris chooses to take it for as long as Atticus simply hasn’t rolled over and decided to squish her as payback.

“Ugh, no thanks,” and the laughter is back, quiet but unmistakably rocking her precarious perch. Quite enough of that, Faris digs her chin into the hard swell of muscle that covers her shoulders and causes another brief tremor, “Why, ye tryin’ to say somethin’? That I’m–” She places a faux gasp at this point, squirming further up her back and allowing the book to fall forgotten to the grass so she can peer over Atticus’ shoulder for the proper effect here.

“Y’think I’m too heavy, don’t ye?! Sayin’ I’m fat! Overweight! Rrrrrotund!” She rolls the ‘r’ just because she knows it’ll reach the desired outcome a little faster, the devil is truly in the details, and isn’t left waiting long before she’s spilled to the floor in a heap as Atticus lets her arms drop simply so she can bury her face in them to muffle her guffaws. Something warm and pleased curls in her guts, even as she keeps her overdone pout firmly in place and worms forward on her front to poke and prod at her fallen comrade.

“Well! What’ve ye got to say for yerself?!” If anything that only makes her shoulders shake more, still buried in her arms– Faris finds the curl of her lip edging towards truly unhappy, unable to quite call it a win if the other woman won’t look at her. Perhaps the actual point of the game, if she was honest.

She was seldom very honest about most things. She figured Atticus knew regardless.

Finally the younger woman lifts her head, small tears of mirth beading along her lashes, fixing her with a look that’s equal parts fond and utterly done with her silliness for the day, “Distracting would’ve been my word.”

Cradling her chin in one hand, Faris stops trying to disguise any of her self-satisfaction, tail curling languidly behind her, “Worked, though.”

“Today, maybe,” And that’s promising enough, sending the miqo’te rocking up to her knees too easily as Atticus makes to stand, “What did you want?”

‘Other than attention,’ went unsaid and once again unadmitted.

“There’s this great new cafe openin’ down in Limsa–”

[amarantine-amirite]

Friday The 13th

Most people hate Mondays. I hate Fridays. I’ve learned that Fridays are to be feared.

Growing up, my parents would come home from work upset more often on Friday than any other day of the week. In particular, my mother would be so upset to the point of tears. I quickly learned that nothing good could ever happen on a Friday.

It wasn’t until eighth grade that I learned the rest of the world loved Fridays. My fear of Friday was unusual. The first step to reconciling my fear of Fridays begins with a girl with pink hair wearing a sweatshirt with the logo for TGI Fridays. “Who’s TGI Friday?” I asked.

The girl in the sweatshirt replied, “It’s a restaurant.”

I tipped my head over to one side. “That’s a funny name for a restaurant.”

“The name comes from the expression Thank God It’s Friday.”

Then it hit me; that powerful sense of dread that came from Fridays. “Why would you feel good about a Friday? I’ve never felt good about Fridays.”

Sweatshirt girl's jaw dropped. She laughed, “There’s no reason to feel bad about Fridays. Fridays are good! Fridays are awesome!”

“Not at our house,” I said. I shook my head and sat down. “At our house, Fridays are for coming home from work angry, exhausted, and frustrated. Not something to be thankful for.”

“Poor thing! Well, that stops today,” she said with that perky expression that gave me the sense that she was either on the cheerleading squad or a party animal. Either way, she overacted it.

I spent the second half of eighth grade learning to love Fridays like the rest of the world. And I did love Fridays. They were my favorite day of the week.

That is, of course, until 11th grade.

Why 11th grade? Because something happened that year that made me wonder if I had perhaps been on to something. Maybe Fridays were scary after all.

I couldn’t be left in the house by myself, so my parents insisted that I sign up for as many school clubs as possible. Unfortunately, a lot of these extracurriculars had performance quotas and the leaders insisted that we treat them as full-time jobs. Underperforming meant getting kicked out. Getting kicked out meant angry parents.

Staying in anywhere was tricky, but the act of getting in was harder because I was overweight. I had to take medications that caused me to gain weight like crazy. Because of my size, I didn't exactly have teachers begging to have me in their classrooms. None of the other kids lined up to be my friend.

Having people reject you for being fat goes beyond school. Doctors reject you, organizations reject you, and summer programs outside of school reject you. If they can reject people, they will reject me. Getting in anywhere usually happens because somewhere along the line, somebody thought I was someone else.

In 11th grade, I finally found an extracurricular that I could do: Model United Nations. I could sleep during Model UN and no one would notice. Mrs. Markland, the teacher in charge, had only one performance quota: sit still. It’s like being asked to take a nap.

Usually, when I signed up for an extracurricular, they kicked me out within the week. I’ve been in Model UN for three months. How can a fat person that does nothing but sleep survive in Model UN for as long as I did? What must have happened is that the teacher in charge accidentally mixed up the people who applied to be part of the Model United Nations on the go and no-go lists. Since nobody on the outside wanted to double-check, she had no choice but to let me in.

This happened on Friday the 13th, the day they had finally caught on in my little act of sleeping through Model UN meetings.

It started very simply. I started talking in my sleep. Someone had taken something that I had said as an insult and got the teacher involved. Depending on who you ask, either what happened next was my colossal mistake or the sleep talking was the colossal mistake and this just compounded it. I shouted, "Danger! Danger!" when Mrs. Markland woke me up. Worse, I put up dukes. Within two minutes, I found myself suspended. "All right Sarah, get your things and get in the car."

I packed everything up and got in. We drove off down the road. Mrs. Markland took every effort to stay on the side streets. I assumed she was going to drive me home.

I spent most of the drive staring out the window. A heavy fog loomed over the road. Periodically, the fog would lift and reveal that what you guessed would be in the fog, you guessed wrong. Trees lined the streets; they took the place of the houses. At first glance, you would think that it was the humble abode part of town. The minute you noticed the lack of houses, you knew that you were on the other side of the last chance to go to the bathroom. This was somewhere where you needed to pay close attention to your surroundings. Maybe Mrs. Markland took the long way home due to road construction, I thought. "Did we make a wrong turn somewhere?" I asked, "because my house is the other way."

"I'm not driving you home," said Mrs. Markland as we drove over the bridge into the city. "I'm late to my other job, and you're coming with me because I'm not leaving you out of my sight."

Nothing looked familiar. Everywhere I looked, I only saw either skyscrapers or cranes plus a dense, low-lying blanket of fog. The only reason I think Mrs. Markland found where she was supposed to go was because of this unearthly red glow coming from the windows on the third floor from the top. "Come with me," she ordered.

We took the elevator up to the third floor from the top. She went into her cubicle. "Sit there, don't touch anything," she barked at me as she pointed to the hard plastic chair outside the cubicle bay.

I don't like to be told no. Within 10 minutes of Mrs. Markland starting her work at her other job, I got up and helped myself to a little adventure. I walked over to the outdoor access and wandered over to the other end of the building. I saw two people in the window arguing. From what I gather, something broke. The first guy tried to blame the second guy, but the second guy insisted that it wasn’t his fault.

I had no idea what the specifics were, but it sounded like the first guy was a landlord, and the second guy was a tenant about to be evicted. That whole incident illustrated that in the city, everyone can hear you scream. And then they complain to the landlord. And then you get evicted.

There’s no sympathy for the guy that was evicted for making too much noise. The only eviction victims to get sympathy are either those who’ve lost their jobs and can’t pay the rent anymore or those who got kicked out because the landlord decided to renovate everything so they can turn around and sell it again at a premium. If you get evicted because of the commotion you caused, you only get sympathy if your baby or toddler created the excessive noise. Anybody else, you’re an idiot. No sympathy for you.

When the two of them left, I went into the room to see what happened. Something flipped the mattress upside down, pulled the curtains apart, and karate sliced the end table in half. Also, the ceiling fan melted.

It soon became clear who did the damage. The closet door opened up. A poltergeist hovered in the closet, emanating a cherry red glow.

The poltergeist looked like someone in a slap-dash narwhal costume. It easily towered over me and had long limbs, and hands tipped with long bony fingers. Its skin is a pale grey, darkening towards the ends of its clawed fingers and feet.

As it exited the closet, it flattened out and bent its neck in ways that no human could achieve. One look at its lush, ruby lips, giant ears, and lack of eyes or nose sent a hefty message: I was in deep shit.

I booked it out of there. It wasn’t enough. It puckered up its lips and encased me in shiny, lime green slime. An appendage rapidly emerged from its neck. It fired off a spark.

ZAP!

I could smell my skin cooking like it was the hairiest bacon ever made, yet I felt no pain. The searing heat from the emerald green and heliotrope purple flames had killed my nerve endings. I could feel only the vibration of the vast electrical current as it coursed through my body. Seconds before I lost consciousness, the poltergeist disappeared in a sparkling cloud of zeroes and ones.

I spent the next month in a coma. Upon awakening, I had to relearn all those basic functions such as walking, sitting up without falling over, and using my hands. I would never be the same. I now had a newfound respect for the fact that Fridays are scary for reasons far worse than stressed parents coming home from work.

@wonderful-prompts

[alengmae]

Rabble Drabble #VI: Advances 2.0

Colin fends off advances from his drunken wife.

A/N: This was too good not to write out. Enjoy Colin’s misery. 

Colin checked the clock in his phone, thumbing through Daphne’s text messages. Right after, his eyes lingered on his wife’s gleeful expression on the background picture of his phone before he locked it. They should be close, he mused.

It was girl’s night out. Rare as it is, sometimes his sisters and the other Bridgerton wives get together and do something fun. Usually, it’s a spa day but today was an unusual one. Sophie had connections with a promoter at a new club downtown and invited all the females for lady’s night.

Colin, and the other men in the family, had some reservations about the ladies going by themselves but his complaints dissipated upon seeing Penelope’s excited face. He shut his mouth, difficult as it was, and wished her a good time. She gave him a searing kiss, jumped into the limo that Simon rented for them and waved him goodbye.

He fretted the entire night.

He constantly checked his phone for an errant text message from his wife throughout the night. The smudge marks on his phone screen became more prominent as hours passed by. But he persisted in his test of patience. Penelope deserved a night of fun and time for herself. And he trusted her wholeheartedly.

It was the other men, who might leer at her, he did not trust.

The ring from the doorbell interrupted his thoughts. He dashed to the door and opened it. Penelope stood, swaying dangerously. She looked up, eyes roaming at his body as they traversed upward. She grinned, that breezy smile which he loved to see, brightening up her features as she recognized him. Before he could greet her, she grabbed onto his shirt and pulled with all her might to slouch him down to her level. It was quite a bend since he was a couple of inches taller than her. She easily captured his lips and slipped her tongue in his mouth.

He almost lost his balance from the shock, if not for her pinning him to the door. He was fairly aware of the hoots and hollers from the limousine, Eloise being the loudest, but he paid no heed. Not when Penelope was intent on exploring every crevasse of his mouth.

Colin responded instantly, and even hiked her up, his arms securing her firmly. He was mindful enough to cover her almost exposed bum as her skimpy black dress also hiked up with her movement.  Her legs wrapped themselves around his waist, all the while not even breaking away from his lips--a feat he was absolutely enthralled with. Her hands toyed with his hair, pulling slightly with every flick of her tongue on his.

He twisted and stepped away from the entryway, pushing the door to close with a sound kick. Penelope pulled away, eyes twinkling in mischief.

“Hey, good looking,” she greeted happily.

He preened at her flattery. He prided on the fact that his wife was unconditionally enamoured by his face. He gave her a quick peck on the lips. “Back at you, hot stuff. Have I told you how gorgeous you look tonight?”

Her cheeks, pink from inebriation, further blossomed into a pretty reddish hue. The way she shyly peered at him sent a bolt of giddiness to his heart. He loved making her blush.

She rested her head on his shoulder, stealing tiny kisses on his neck.

“Did you have fun?”

She nodded. Her kisses traveled upward to the smooth patch of skin under his ear. He tilted his head to give her a wide berth. He felt her smile against his skin.

“How much did you drink tonight?”

She gave a noncommittal shrug. That usually meant she drank more than she should have, most likely under Eloise’s bidding. He cradled her closer to him. He got a whiff of alcohol from her breath but refrained from commenting on it. She sighed in response, her lips now on the tips of his ears.

He almost wobbled as he walked up the stairs when she gently bit his ear. He had sensitive ears.  

“Ah...my love. Maybe don’t do that when we’re climbing the stairs,” he pleaded. He re-adjusted her on his arms before walking faster toward their bedroom since she did not relent. Even more, her tongue teased his earlobe, making him shiver even more.

He plopped her down the bed as gently as he could. She whimpered at the loss of contact, pouting petulantly at his action. And she just endeared herself more to him.

Colin proceeded to take off the elaborate straps of her heels. “Let’s get these off first, yeah? Then you can go to sleep,” he said while fending off her grabby hands that were aiming for his shirt.

“Did you know that you have a face that’s begging to be sat on?” she whispered seductively at him. Penelope pulled on the pin in her hair keeping her riotous curls together, setting her fiery red hair free flowing as God intended it to be. She pulled her foot from his hands, now on all fours on the bed and giving him ample view of her lovely cleavage.

His eyes bulged as his jaw slacked. His Penelope was no shrinking violet when it comes to carnal affairs but she had never been as aggressive as this. It’s kinda turning him on.  

He stammered her name helplessly. Her seductive smile turned sinful, then she started moving toward him like a lioness going for a kill. He was mesmerized by her lithe movement, or maybe he was just ogling the way her breasts swayed with her every action.

He honestly can’t tell anymore.

She bit her lip. The immediate contact of her red plump lip against her white teeth sent a sharp bolt to his groin. She stopped inches away from him, daring him to touch her willing body. Before he could place a hand on her, she pulled her flimsy black dress off her body.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered under his breath as he gawked at his wife. Her matching brassiere and underwear were not only extremely flattering on her, they were also very see-through. It was times like these that he wished he had Benedict’s talent for painting. The vision of her as a tempting minx would be forever seared into his brain.

His hands itched to touch her pale skin. Maybe he should explore sculpting instead. But Eloise’ words on the concept of consent rang loudly in his head. Penelope was drunk. He should not partake.

He closed his eyes shut and stepped away from her. “I’m going to get you some pajamas,” he squeaked out as he ran away. He ignored her affronted gasp.

When he came back, Penelope was already under the covers. He almost tripped on her high heels scattered on the floor then he noticed the lacy undergarments on the floor. When he let out a loud exhale, she giggled heartily.

“Pen, come on,” he called out as he pushed some clothing in her direction.

What he didn’t calculate was her hand pulling him on the bed and her gloriously naked wife straddling him. Her hands roamed along his chest, one hand purposely dipping past his stomach.

He choked out her name in alarm, which she answered with a wink.

“We are going to have fun tonight,” she promised after she kissed the tip of his nose.

He swallowed nervously. His hands clutched on the cotton beddings desperately in fear of being in contact with her lush body. Sweat beaded his forehead. “Probably not tonight, my love. Maybe when you’re sober?” he hastily asked before she could kiss him again.  

She wriggled her hips in defiance, earning a low groan from him. Her eyebrow lifted up in amusement.

“This is so hard,” he muttered, feverishly praying to the gods of chastity, whoever they may be.

“Oh good, we can start,” she impishly exclaimed. She tried to pull off his shirt but he latched onto it like a drowning man to a lifesaver.

“Pen...Pen, my love,” he cried out in vain as she ignored his shirt in favor of his pants. She was about to successfully take off his sweatpants when he turned her over, pinning her on the bed with his weight.

She smooched his jaw, the touch featherlight to tease him into oblivion. And damn her, it’s working.  

“Let’s take a minute, okay?” he panted. Colin’s breath was haggardly thin from the sheer effort of not jumping his drunken wife. He was so stressed he thought he developed multiple ulcers.

“Okay, but on the next round, I go on top,” she said with a slur, then added, “I want  to ride you.”

His lips pursed into a thin line. Maybe if he pumped her with enough caffeine, she’ll sober up in the next few minutes? No...no, what was he thinking? She needed sleep. He caught her hands pulling at his shirt and plainly commanded her, “Sleep.”

“Are you serious? I’m naked.”

He pulled on the pajama he brought earlier and placed it on her chest. “There you go.”

“But...but,” she looked discombobulated from his refusal. It’s just not done. He never said no to sex. It’s usually her who begs off sex. Colin was a little proud at his exemplary show of restraint.

“Come on, love. I’ll get you some water and aspirin.”

Before he could get off her, she snaked her hands around his torso and buried her face in his chest. He was about to pry her off when he felt a patch of wetness on his shirt.

“Pen?” he asked gently.

She sobbed quietly. He felt her body shudder in time with her hiccups. His heart flopped pathetically. It physically hurt him to see her cry.

“Why are you crying?” he inquired again as he wiped the tears from her face.

“You don’t think I’m attractive anymore,” she accused him through her sobs. “ Are you done with me now? Are we going to divorce?”

“That is not true,” he denied vehemently, “I worship your body. Look at you. You are fucking amazing, and insanely hot and astoundingly gorgeous. I’m a lucky bastard for managing to convince you into marrying me. If you think that you can get rid of me so easily, you have another thing coming. Even in death, I will haunt you from ever marrying again.”  

His words seemed to placate her slightly. “Then why?”

“I’m not taking advantage of you in your inebriated state,” he explained, placing a tender kiss on her temple. “If you’re up to it, definitely a raincheck for tomorrow morning.”

She stared at him before she nodded slightly. “I’m sorry,” she apologized in a small voice.

He kissed the tip of her nose, then her lips. “For what?”

“Acting like a bobcat in heat.”

“I quite like you acting like a bobcat in heat,” he teased her with a laugh. She swatted his arm. She shifted in the bed, draping herself across on his side.

“I love you, Colin,” she murmured as she gave in to the lethargy.

He pulled on the blanket to cover them both. “I love you too, Pen.”

After a few seconds, he heard her soft snores. He sagged even further to the bed in relief. He did really well today. Maybe sober Penelope would give him a reward. In fact, he looked forward to it.

He was about to fall asleep himself when his wife shifted again. This time, her leg sprawled over his leg and on top of his groin. He closed his eyes, willing the southward rush of blood away. He tried pushing Penelope’s leg away but it was as if her legs were welded on his lower body. He tried waking her up but she was dead to the world and to him.

Colin cursed heavily. It was going to be a long night.

[theloversthedreamersandme82]

The sigh of the weary

Tumblr prompt from @grilledcheesebandit of Lucien and Jean literally bumping into each other

“Oof!” Jean exhaled heavily as she collided with the person in front of her. “Oh I’m so sorry,” she cried as the gentleman’s paper bag broke and spilled its contents onto the floor. As she bent to pick up the dropped items she glanced up to see who she’d bumped into. The man hadn’t moved apart from turning to see who had bumped into him and now he stood staring blankly down at her and the scattered shopping. Jean frowned worriedly. “I really do apologise." She stood, her arms full of groceries.

“Yes,” the man finally answered, “I’m sorry, I’m not quite myself.” He retrieved some of the items from Jeans arms, dropping a celery in the process. The man sighed wearily and closed his eyes.

Jean bent to pick up the celery and shot a glance at the mans tired eyes as she heard his sigh. He looked exhausted, lost and sad.  She mentally changed gear and went into mothering mode. “Can I help you back to your place with these?”

The man held his eyes closed for a little longer, then opening them, fixed his red, watery eyes on Jean. “Thank you. You’re very kind.”

She smiled at him gently and followed him out of the grocery store.

They walked in silence for a while and Jean wished she’d remembered her coat. A bitter wind blew, and with her arms full of groceries, she couldn’t wrap her cardigan around herself for warmth.

“I haven’t seen you around before?”

“I’m… I’ve been away,” the man said simply and the silence continued.

“What brings you back here, Mr…?”

“Blake. Doctor Blake. But I really would prefer you to call me Lucien. My father passed away recently. I’ve just arrived back in town today, and thought I’d better grab a few things on my way to his place to try and deal with things. I think he had a housekeeper, but who knows what kind of woman she is. Probably some fat old biddy who over boils the vegetables until all the colour is gone.”

Jean’s eyes had widened with every word the man had said and she stopped short and stared at him with a small smile. “You’re Doctor Blake’s son?”

“Oh did you know him? I’m sorry for your loss.” The man stuck his hands in his pockets and kept walking.

Jean frowned with confusion. “Shouldn’t I be saying that to you? He was your father.”

“On paper, maybe. But he never really acted like a proper father to me.” Lucien sighed as he continued walking. “And I’m afraid sometimes I didn’t really act like a proper son should. Part of the reason that all of this is so difficult.” Lucien glanced at Jean who was staring at him. “I’m sorry. Here I am rambling to a complete stranger.”

It began to rain. Not softly and light. But the big heavy drops that immediately soaked through clothing. It was slow and lazy at first, but steadily turned into a downpour, which quickly put an end to any conversation as Jean and Lucien ran through the rain.

Finally reaching the house they went in and after depositing the groceries on the kitchen table, Jean set about making them a pot of tea.

“Um, just how well did you know my father?” Lucien asked suspiciously as his eyes followed her around the kitchen. “You seem to know your way around his kitchen alright.”

“You remember that ‘fat old biddy’ of a housekeeper you mentioned?” There was silence as she smiled and pointed toward herself. “Jean Beazley. I live upstairs”

Jean saw his eyes widen in understanding. “Oh! I do apologise!” He covered his face with embarrassment.

Jean waved him away. “You weren’t to know. Now. While the kettle’s boiling I think we would both be wise to get out of these wet clothes, or we’ll both catch the influenza” She turned on her heel and left Lucien wide eyed and slack jawed staring after her.

As Jean peeled herself out of her wet clothes, she thought about the golden haired man downstairs. With his beard and casual approach he couldn’t be more different to the old Doctor Blake. He had hardly spoken of his son in all the years Jean had worked for him. But she knew Lucien had been in the army and had been taken as a prisoner of war. And it showed. Doctor Blake Junior was thin, his face was taut and gaunt as if he hadn’t had enough to eat and his eyes were bloodshot and sunken in. Jean wondered how long it had been since this man had had a good meal and a decent sleep.

Once dressed she headed back down the stairs to find the younger Doctor Blake still sat at the table in his wet clothes. She raised her eyebrows, but said nothing. Crossing to the kettle she called over her shoulder. “How do you take your tea?”

“White with two thank you kindly.”

“Ah a sweet tooth, like your father.”

Lucien said nothing as Jean spooned two sugars into his tea cup. She stirred it and placed it in front of where he sat at the table. She arranged a few pieces of her homemade shortbread on a plate and joined him at the table.

“Didn’t feel like changing into dry clothes Doctor Blake?”

“Ah, Well I don’t exactly have much with me right now. My trunk was delayed. And please, I thought I asked you to call me Lucien. It must be odd for you to have another Doctor Blake in the house.”

Jean ignored his correction. “Well you can’t be comfortable in wet clothes? Why don’t you go find something in your fathers room, for now.”

Lucien looked uncomfortable. “I haven’t set foot in my fathers room in over 20 years,” he mumbled.

“What are you afraid of?”

“Afraid? I’m not afraid!”

“Doctor Blake…” He threw her a dirty look and she reached out to touch his hand. “Lucien" she spoke quietly and gently… "Your father is gone. He’s not going to tell you off for entering his room. You’re going to have to sooner or later.”

Lucien looked at where her hand rested on his. “You’re right Jean, of course you are. I just…” his voice trailed off.

“Shall I come with you?”

Lucien stopped staring at their hands and met her eyes, “You wouldn’t mind?”

“If it gets you out of those cold wet clothes I would be more than happy to.” Jean stood. “Come on.”

Lucien followed her down the hallway and they stopped outside a closed door. Jean turned to Lucien and was surprised to see his hands were shaking.” “You alright Lucien?” she closed a hand over his shaking one and somehow ended up with her hand enveloped in his.

Lucien didn’t answer, just took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

Once inside the room he paused, and there was silence as he surveyed the room. Then all of a sudden he dropped her hand and started for the wardrobe. Pulling out a shirt he began to unbutton his wet one.

Jean's cheeks flushed and she instinctively looked away. “I’ll uh, leave you to change shall I?” But he didn't answer, or even acknowledge that she had spoken. It was almost as if he’d forgotten she was even there. She risked a glance back at him, as he pulled his wet singlet over his head and Jean gasped involuntarily as she glimpsed the silver criss-cross of scar marks over his back. Shocked, she turned her back to him and moved toward the door.

“Bring your wet things back with you and I’ll put them with mine to be washed,” she called over her shoulder as she closed the door and leant against it. ‘Were those marks from his time in the camp?’ Jean wondered. She exhaled heavily and tried to push the image out of her head. She headed back to the kitchen, where she warmed her cold hands on her tea cup and waited.

When he returned a few minutes later Lucien was dressed in brown slacks, a white shirt and a mustard cardigan that Jean recognised all too well. She smiled nervously at him after his erratic behaviour in his fathers room. But he didn’t seem to even think anything of it. “That cardigan was one of your fathers favourites too.”

Lucien looked down and picked at the cardigan but said nothing.

Jean sipped her tea and decided to change the subject. “So. What was the plan with the groceries?"

“I’m so sorry. I honestly didn’t mean to offend you. You’re obviously a capable cook.” He took a piece of shortbread from the plate she had prepared earlier and bit into it. “A very capable cook.”

“Thank you.” Jean looked again at the groceries. There was a celery, some carrots, a loaf of bread, a jar of strawberry jam, some apples, a box of tea, some eggs and a block of cheese.

“What on earth were you planning on making with all of this? It’s the most curious assortment of items.”

Lucien looked at the groceries. “To be honest I really had no idea what I was going to do with any of it. I just bought things that I wanted. I haven’t bought groceries for myself in years.”

Jean smiled “Well then, Lucien. Maybe a cooking lesson is on the cards for this afternoon. Unless you just want to eat cheese on toast for dinner?”

Lucien met her eyes and smiled softly. “It wouldn’t be the first time, I’m not ashamed to admit it. Nothing wrong with a good grilled cheese sandwich.”

Jean’s stomach flip flopped as she felt his warm smile flood her senses. The first true smile she had seem from him, one not tinged with sadness or exhaustion. She forced her eyes from his and drained her tea cup. “Well I’m sure that along with the cheese on toast, we could put together a soup from the celery and carrots, and I know there’s some leftover roast chicken in the fridge that could easily be added. And for dessert we could probably make a passable apple tea cake with a strawberry jam filling.”

“Mrs Beazley, you’re amazing. To create some kind of order from my chaos.”

Jean felt her face flush at his easy compliment. She’d have to be careful. Lucien Blake could be trouble.

Also on

Ao3 and ff.net

[villainousshakespeare]

Learning a Lesson Chapter 1

Young Actor Tom Hiddleston/OFC

Rated E - Eventual Smut, Angst, Complicated Relationship - Teacher/Actor Posing as Student, Feels, Flirting, Fluff

Summary: It's your first day as a teacher and things are going well. That is, until a tall, gorgeous boy with blond curls and dramatic ways saunters into your last class. When he ignores all the swooning girls to flirt outrageously with you, it is secretly thrilling. Even more so is when he tries to steal a kiss after class ends. How long will you be able to keep your defenses up?

Up and Coming actor Tom is under cover in high school for  research for a movie, but the pretty drama teacher is making the long assignment so much more enjoyable!

This was inspired by a dream I had. I opted to turn the main character into a young teacher instead of a student, just due to my own neurosis. Will probably be in a bout 4 parts... we shall see...

@arch-venus25​, @caffiend-queen​ @ciaodarknessmyheart​ @frostbitten-written​ @just-the-hiddles​ @kellatron55​ @myoxisbroken​ @nonsensicalobsessions​ @poetic-fiasco​ @shiningloki​ @shae-annelore​ @thecutestlittlebunbunfairy​ @hiddlesholic​ @yespolkadotkitty​ @vodka-and-some-sass​ @wolfsmom1​ @tom-hlover​ @toozmanykids​

The day had been going surprisingly well, if Emily did say so herself. All of her classes had seemed engaged in the material to some extent, and no one jumped out at her as an obvious juvenile delinquent bent on disrupting things. Of course, it was the first day of the school year and things could change, but with just one class to go she was feeling pretty satisfied with herself.

That was all about to change.

It was her first official day as a teacher. She had student taught, of course, but this was different. These kids were hers to mold and teach. It helped that most of the morning classes had been freshmen and sophomores. She had always looked young for her age, and she had already been asked once for a hall pass that afternoon between classes. It was embarrassing, but hardly unexpected. Soon she hoped that everyone would realize that she was faculty and not, in fact, attending herself.

Her last class was the one she had been both dreading and excited about all day. Senior Elective - Drama. It was her one chance to teach the subject that she loved the most. American and World literature were fine, of course, but she was a theater geek at heart. Teaching students who chose to study some of the most important plays in history, what could be better? She just hoped that they didn't all tower over her and decide that she couldn't possibly be the boss of them at her age.

The first few students to enter gave her hope. Three girls, giggling together in hushed voices, entered the room. She sized them up instantly - smart, a bit nerdy, and certain to turn into stunners in a few years' time. They smiled shyly at her as one, and Emily grinned in return, instructing them to sit anywhere they liked. As the others trickled in,  began to breath easy. A few of the honor society kids, a couple who bore the stamp of musical theater unmistakably, and one or two who obviously were there simply because it sounded like an easy A that they could sleep through. Well, they would learn soon enough. Theater was a participatory activity in her mind. Still, the ten girls and three boys seated before her were hardly the type to strike fear into her heart, even if some of them did have several inches on her. She could do this!

The bell was still ringing when the door opened again and a tall, lanky boy backed in, calling jovially to some person still in the hallway. His voice was surprisingly deep, and contained a laughter that sounded infectious. Emily waited impatiently for him to conclude his conversation, foot tapping and lips pursed. When he finally turned around, she felt as though she had been punched in the gut.

He was certainly tall, easily topping 6 feet as he slouched against the door frame, insouciant smile on his face. A halo of wild, noodle like blonde curls framed his face, artlessly falling across his forehead in a manner designed to make one want to reach out and brush them back. His eyes, a stunning blue that ought to be illegal, were framed by obscenely long eyelashes and, if she were not mistaken, a light touch of eyeliner to make them all the worse. Cheekbones sharp enough to cut were hidden beneath just the right amount of residual baby fat to make him appear mischievous rather than outright dangerous, but she was not certain she should trust that assumption. A black t shirt and baggy black pants draped over his long, lean lines, accessorized with black and silver jewelry at his his wrist, waist, and neck, and a silver bar through the top of one ear.

Good lord above, her high school fantasy had just sauntered into the class she was supposed to be teaching! And Emily was not entirely sure that she had surrendered that fantasy as completely as she had hoped! Certainly her confidence, riding high just seconds before, was suddenly plummeting as the young stud slowly surveyed the class, enjoying the obvious attention his late entrance and stunning looks had provoked.

"Take a seat please, you're late," Emily said stridently, hating how forced her voice sounded.

"Apologies, I got turned around. Luckily some girls were nice enough to show me the way."

No doubt, she thought as he loped to the front of the class and sat in the desk immediately in front of her. And god almighty, was that an English accent? From the way most of the girls and two of the three boys in the class were twittering behind him she was certain she had heard correctly. He looked up at her with a cocksure smile on his face and she felt an absurd wave of embarrassment, as though he could read exactly what she had been thinking about him.

"So," he asked, extending his long legs out from under the desk until the toe of one booted foot almost touched hers, "when does the teacher get here?"

"I am the teacher," Emily tried to keep the consternation from her voice as she retreated behind her desk, hoping for some sort of barrier between her and the living temptation seated before her. Blindly she pointed to where "Miss Temple" was written on the chalk board, as though that would prove something.

"Impossible. You're far too young and attractive to be the teacher," he pronounced, openly giving her a once over as the rest of the class snickered.

Emily clenched her hands to keep from tugging down her skirt to make it longer. It hit a respectable length at just above her knee, but the way he looked speculatively at her legs she wished it hit the floor. Still, she was not about to let this smug little (or, well, not so little) popinjay rattle her.

"I am old enough. And you will find that there are no rules about a teacher's appearance," she told him. "But thank you all the same Mr -"

"Martinsson," he told you. "But you can call me Tom. And you are?"

"Very well, Tom," she sighed, ignoring the question. "Now, if I may begin the class?"

He waved his hand in a magnanimous gesture that left her unsure whether to laugh or roll her eyes or smack his smug, pretty face. She settled for turning on her heal and pulling her copy of The Complete Works of Shakespeare out of her tote bag, wishing she couldn't feel his eyes on her backside as she bent over. Pants. She would definitely be wearing pants from now on.

"Shakespeare?" one of the musical theater kids groaned. "I thought this class was going to be fun!"

"Kiss me Kate is Shakespeare," the aptly named Kate, one of the honors girls, shot back, "and so is West Side Story!"

"It's less boring with songs," the boy muttered, making most of the others laugh in agreement.

"Dude, Shakespeare isn't boring!" Emily's heretofore nemesis said, turning to look disgustedly at the poor boy behind him. "Not if you have a thought in your head, at any rate!"

"See," Kate preened, trying to catch Tom's eye as the other boy squirmed.

"It's just stuffy old men shouting made up words at each other," one of the suspected lazy kids argued.

"Not if you do it right!" Tom insisted.

Before Emily could think to move, he unfolded his body from beneath the little wooden desk and dropped to his knees on the floor directly in front of her and began speaking with dramatic flourish.

"Teach not thy lips such scorn, for they were made For kissing, lady, not for such contempt. If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive, Lo, here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword; Which if thou please to hide in this true bosom."

As a gasp went through the class, Tom yanked up his shirt to bare a chest more well defined than she would have imagined. Not, of course, that she had any business imagining anything at all. He thrust a pencil into her hand and held it against the naked skin, continuing his soliloquy:

"And let the soul forth that adoreth thee, I lay it naked to the deadly stroke, And humbly beg the death upon my knee. Nay, do not pause; for I did kill King Henry, But 'twas thy beauty that provoked me. Nay, now dispatch; 'twas I that stabb'd young Edward, But 'twas thy heavenly face that set me on. Take up the sword again, or take up me."

Emily stared, mouth gaping at the young man on his knees before her, pressing her hand to his flesh, and felt a wild urge to pull him up and kiss him senseless. The raw passion that he had infused his words with echoed in the room, impossible to miss. The lines had been rushed, and he stumbled once over the wording, but there was no faulting the fervor with which they were delivered.

After a moment of silent awe, the class erupted in spontaneous applause as he smirked and pulled himself to his feet, bringing Emily's hand to his mouth to kiss it in a ridiculous show of stage chivalry that made the class giggle but sent electricity coursing through her body. She snatched her hand back took a step away from him as he turned to bow to his cheering classmates.

"Was that Romeo?" one of the girls asked fatuously.

"No," he said disdainfully. "Romeo was a twat too stupid to think through a plan or trust his woman. That was Richard the Third."

"And does she take him?" the girl asked giggling.

"Oh, she does alright," he said with a wink. "Then he uses her to secure his kingdom, kills her, and moves on the next princess. But still, you can feel his seduction in the words."

Emily watched the girl struggle to come to terms with that information and felt a pang of sympathy for her. She had the sense that this was a man, a boy she reminded herself, who often had that effect on people.

"That was, er, quite the performance Mr. Martinsson," she attempted to wrench the class back. "And I agree, Shakespeare is far from boring. We will not, however, be reading Richard III right now. I thought we would start with something a bit more light. Much Ado About Nothing. Now, if you would all take out your books, I will assign parts."

"I'm afraid I don't have a book," it was Tom, of course. "We didn't move here in time for me to pick one up from the library."

"Very well, you can use mine," she sighed, glad she knew all the characters from memory.

Tom got up again, Emily wondered if he was capable of sitting still, and walked around her desk. He towered over her as he crossed behind her, and his arm casually and quite inappropriately draped around her shoulders as he passed. She twitched to dislodge him, and he shot her a guilty but hardly repentant grin in response.

"The book, Mr. Martinsson," Emily all but hissed.

"Thanks," he said, hand grazing over hers as he lifted the big tome and walked back to the desk.

"Now," she said, struggling to push down the effect he had had on her when standing so close in her space, "who wants to be Beatrice, the female lead?"

All of the female hands shot up instantly. She could hardly blame them. There was only one choice to read Benedick, and everyone knew it. Briefly she considered casting him as Claudio, or better yet, Dogberry, just to spite them all. For some reason the thought of him flirting in verse with one of these cloying little girls made her irritable. For better or worse though, her love of the play won out over her misplaced jealousy. Tom was Benedick, and Jamie, a quiet, studious girl Emily liked on sight was Beatrice. A ripple of resentment made Jamie shrink back a bit, but Emily still thought she was pleased with being cast. Who wouldn't be?

"Mr. Martinsson," Emily said as the closing bell rang, signaling the end of the class and the day, "please stay behind. I would like a word with you."

Rather than looking at all put out, Tom's face broke into that smug smile she were beginning to realize was a habitual look for him. She waited for the mob of loitering girls to finally take the hint and reluctantly leave before shutting the door behind him and turning to see him perched on the edge of her desk.

"I was hoping you'd keep me," he said confidently. "I thought you might."

"Yes well," Emily found her mouth was dry and suddenly regretted closing the door. It would look foolish to open it again though, so she tried to pull herself together. "I think we need to talk about your behavior."

"My behavior?" he asked, looking amused.

"Yes, it was highly inappropriate for class," she scolded.

"What was? My pointing out that you were attractive?"

"Among other things. Flirting with me, kissing my hand," somehow when she listed his crimes they didn't sound nearly as bad as they had seemed at the time. If any other student had acted in such a way, she realized, she would have laughed it off and set them in their place. It was only because it was him, so attractive and utterly beyond her touch, that it was a problem.

"I apologize if I embarrassed you," he said, which wasn't really the point. "But you must know that you are very attractive. Very desirable. I would have to be blind not to notice it."

"Tom - I just said -"

"That it was inappropriate for class. We're not in class now. And you can't tell me you're not attracted to me as well. I can tell."

"That's not the point. You are a student. A child."

"I'm 18 last week," he corrected, sounding offended. "And you can't be older than 25. That's hardly enough of a difference to matter."

"There are plenty of attractive girls your own age," she said, hating them all.

"Stupid, vapid girls," he muttered.

"I'm your teacher," she said again, wondering who she was trying to convince.

"Then you don't want me to kiss you?" he asked, hopping off the desk and suddenly standing very close and towering over her.

"It's not appropriate," Emily gulped out, repeating herself.

"You didn't answer my question."

"Look, I'm not saying you're not attractive," she licked her lips and struggled to keep her thoughts together as he took another step towards he.

"You think I'm attractive?"

"You know you are, that is not the point."

"And what is the point?"

"The point is, it's wrong!"

"The point is, you want me to kiss you."

"Tom. Mr. Martinsson -"

"Tell me I'm wrong. Tell me, and I'll stop."

His hand had circled around her and was somehow at the back of her neck, forcing her to look up at him. He was enveloping her. His scent, his body heat, his bright, accented eyes, all clouded her mind and made it hard to think. His head was moving towards hers, and she knew it would be a kiss to make her toes curl.

"You're wrong," Emily gasped, closing her eyes and waiting for his lips to meet hers.

"Liar," he whispered, a mere breath away from her lips.

Dropping his hand, Tom stepped away and smiled down at her with something close to scorn in his eyes.

"I expected more from you," he told her. "I hope next time you can be honest with us both."

As she struggled to return her breathing to normal, he turned and walked out of the classroom, leaving Emily reeling.

***

"How'd it go?" his director Jonesy asked him again, making his teeth clench.

"As I said," he repeated. "Just the never ending tedium of high school. God, the U.S. version is even worse than ours was!"

"Beginning to regret asking for this?" Jonesy chuckled.

Tom considered it. He had been excited when he was cast in the new film being directed by an up and coming indie director. He was young, and what few jobs he had been given had been in period pieces of the waistcoat and ascot variety. Playing a troubled teenager in a gritty coming of age story was not something he wanted to let pass him by.

Still, considering that his own education had been at the posh British public school of Eton, proverbial School of Kings, he had been feeling ill prepared for the role. To rectify the problem, he had asked to be placed in an American school for a month. The first day had certainly been an eyeopener, that was certain.

"No," he said. "Regretting the homework though."

"I thought you were supposed to be a troubled kid," Jonesy laughed. "Blow it off!"

He agreed with a laugh, but knew it wasn't quite true. There was one assignment he planned to do to the best of his ability. Shakespeare deserved no less, and neither did she. Miss Temple of the lovely legs and expressive eyes.

He had thought her a student at first, and was disgusted with himself for how attracted he was to her. The pretty skirt was just short enough to show her knee, and the blouse hinted at enticing curves that he couldn't help noticing. When he realized she was in fact the teacher, and a Shakespeare teacher at that, he couldn't resist. He was supposed to be a dramatic kid, very well. He would use it to his advantage. It had almost killed him to flub the line near the end, but he didn't want to show his hand as an actor on the first day and ruin all the work the studio had done to arrange this for him.

He hadn't really expected her to respond to him. When she did, even though she tried to fight it, he could feel the electricity. He had not been so drawn to a woman in ages. Damn the stupid disguise!

He had wanted to kiss her desperately. Added a year to the age he was meant to be playing in an attempt to convince her it was not the worst idea in the world. He knew she had wanted it too. It was only his strict code that had made him pull back at the last minute. She said no, even if they both knew she didn't mean it. Very well, he would just have to try harder next time. It would lend some excitement to what had so far been a less than thrilling assignment. He would learn about American high school life, and she would be his sweet reward. It was only a matter of time.

[kinglazrus]

Not Your Danny – Ch 2. Small Signs

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Word count: 3514

Awareness returns to Dani the same way it always does: instantly and with a deep, rattling breath. It echoes the dry rasp of her very first. Even after all this time, she still remembers what it was like to wake up in that vat. The thick ectoplasm that flooded her nose and mouth when she tried to breathe. The panic and confusion as her mind scrambled to understand what was happening. The overwhelming weight of knowledge that wasn't hers, that she didn't remember learning. Even thinking was a struggle in those first hours.

Sometimes waking up from sleep feels like that, minus the drowning. And being asleep is just like before. Before the electric current ran through her body and shocked her awake. Before she could think, or even knew what thinking was. Back when everything was just darkness and a mild awareness that she existed, but no certainty whether she was dead or alive.

Dani never dreams—she doesn’t think she's capable of it—but she's always aware.

Another light tap comes at the door.

On instinct, she scans her surroundings for danger. She takes in the blue walls, the plastic star constellations on the ceiling, and the general mess of the room before relaxing and remembering. This isn't some old house she's squatting in for the night; it's her new home.

She frowns. Her new home. Home. Home. The word doesn't sit right with her. It's what she's always wanted, but this place... could it really be home without Danny?

"Danielle?" a soft voice calls through the door.

Dani jerks upright, throwing off the blanket, and transforms in a flash. "I'm awake."

The doorknob rattles then turns, and the door slowly opens. Maddie Fenton peers inside. Her eyes land on Dani and she takes a sharp breath. "Oh, you're..." She trails off as she looks Dani over.

"Is something wrong?"

"No, I just wasn't expecting your ghost form."

Dani draws her knees to her chest, making herself small. "It's kind of my default."

"That's fine." Maddie steps forward. When she moves, something makes a crinkling noise, and Dani's gaze is drawn to a plastic bag hiding behind Maddie's legs. All wariness forgotten, Dani uncurls and crawls to the edge of the bed, clinging to the mattress while she leans forward.

"What's that?" she asks.

Maddie smiles and glances down at the bag. "We know you don't have much. Or"—she scans the room—"anything. So we picked up a few things on the way home. You'll probably need more, but we can take you shopping so you can pick things out for yourself. These are just some essentials."

She holds out the bag, and Dani eagerly snatches it up. Maddie wasn't lying when she said just the essentials. Inside, she finds a pair of pyjamas, a toothbrush—a toothbrush! She's never used one before—a hairbrush and some other toiletries, and lastly, a box with some kind of pad thing on the front. Dani takes out the box and turns it over in her hands.

"What are these?" she asks. They look vaguely familiar. Perhaps, once or twice, she glimpsed them sitting on drugstore shelves, but they had never caught her attention before.

"They're period pads," Maddie says.

"What are they for?"

Maddie opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. Her eyebrows crease together in confusion. Instead of answering, she walks forward to the end of the bed and kneels down. She reaches out, but stops before she can touch Dani and draws her hand back.

"How old are you?" she asks. "Jazz said you were at least fifteen."

"Technically, yeah. I think I was twelve biologically when Vlad made me? So I guess that makes me fifteen. But I've only existed for three years. My birthday is next month!" Dani grins. She didn't do much for her first birthday, but last year she visited Amity Park and Danny made a whole day of it! He even bought her a present, although Dani lost the music player pretty quickly. Not that she hadn't loved it, but it was hard to keep track of belongings when you weren't used to having them. She couldn't wait to see what they would do this year.

A second passes before Dani realizes what's wrong with that statement. Her grin falls away.

It doesn't look like Maddie noticed, though. She's too busy frowning at the box of pads that are still in Dani's hands.

"Have you never...?" Maddie gestures to the box, but Dani doesn’t know what she means. With a sigh, Maddie reaches out and takes the pads, setting them down on the floor. "I guess it doesn't matter what they're for right now, then. We can talk about that later. For now, how are you?"

Dani shrugs. "Okay, I guess." She was better a few seconds ago when she forgot Danny was dead for a blissful moment.

"We understand that this is all very new for you. And it's hard for all of us right now. Take your time. If you need anything, let us know. Other than that, you can just focus on getting settled. We'll take care of the rest," Maddie says.

Dani doesn't know what else there could be to take care of, but she nods anyway.

"Are you hungry? It's a little after noon right now and I was going to start making lunch. I could use some company."

"I could eat," Dani admits. Before arriving this morning, she didn't think to grab breakfast anywhere, and it has been well over a day since her last meal. Her stomach cramps, far from the worst hunger pangs, but still annoying.

Maddie smiles and stands up. "Perfect." She waves her hand, gesturing for Dani to follow. When Dani rises off the bed, her eyes widen. It only lasts a moment, a second of stunned silence, but it's enough for Dani to drop to the floor, her boots thumping on the thick carpet, feeling rather self-conscious.

Neither of them mentions it as they head downstairs. On the way down, Dani strains her ears, listening for Jazz or Jack elsewhere in the house. Jack, she hears quite easily, unsurprisingly. Loud, tromping footsteps carry up from the lab, their beat steady and constant. He must be pacing, Dani thinks. It reminds her of Danny. He used to pace when simply thinking didn't suffice; he needed to move through some problems, treat them like physical things he could see and touch. That's how he explained it to her once, not that long ago.

Jazz, if she's still home, doesn't make a sound.

Dani takes up residence at the kitchen table, pulling out a chair and sitting with her legs crossed over the seat. Meanwhile, Maddie starts taking ingredients out of the fridge. Nothing fancy. Lettuce, tomatoes, a few packages of sliced meat. A small pile of vegetables grows in the empty space beside the sink.

"If you don't mind, can you tell me what it's like?" Maddie asks as she pulls a cutting board from a drawer.

"What what's like?"

"Being a halfa."

Maddie, with her back to Dani, misses the way she presses her lips together at that word. Halfa. It's not a bad word, per se. Danny never had any issue with it, as far as Dani could tell, but it never sat right with her.

"I'm not a halfa," she says.

Maddie's hand pauses halfway to the knife block. She looks over her shoulder, finally noticing Dani's grim expression. "Am I saying it wrong? That's the term Jazz used."

"It's Danny's word." Maddie flinches, but Dani presses on. "And Vlad's too, I guess. Being a halfa means being half human and half ghost, but I'm just me."

"But you have both forms?"

"Yeah, but I wasn't all human before I became part ghost. And I didn't have to die for that to happen."

Maddie quickly turns back to the counter. Dani can't see her face, but it is impossible to miss how her shoulders tense. She grabs a knife from the block and a tomato from the counter and makes her first cut. The knife thunks against the cutting board. "What's it like being you, then?" There's a tremble in her voice. "With your powers."

Dani shrugs. "I'm okay with them. I'm a pretty fast flyer since that's how I always get around. Faster than Danny was."

Another chop, another loud thunk.

"But I'm really good at the weird body stuff! I got the hang of it really fast!" Dani can't help but smile. She holds her arm out, watching it slowly turn green and goopy. The sleeve of her shirt melts into skin and fat drops or ectoplasm slip off onto the table. The goop clings to her bones, only held together by her force of will. If she wanted, she could let it disintegrate into a bubbling puddle. Even the bone can turn soft and malleable as a licorice twist, although she doesn't let it get that far.

Thinking about why she can do this always brings up bad memories, but Dani pushes those aside in favour of how cool it is that she can melt into slime at a moment's notice.

"Look! Look at this!" Dani jiggles her arm, giggling as bits of ectoplasm go flying.

Maddie isn't looking, though. When Dani glances up to check, she finds Maddie staring down at the counter. "Was it like that for Danny?" Maddie asks.

Dani's smile falters. "Maybe? I got lots of training before I met him, but he was still better than me with most stuff. He couldn't do this, though!" She gives her arm another shake, then slaps it down on the table with a loud splat for good measure.

Maddie still doesn't look, though. She resumes her chopping, grabbing a pepper while pushing the tomato aside. "Tell me more."

—

Lunch is brief. Maddie brings a small stack of sandwiches and a plate of salad down to the lab for Jack, along with a small container of fudge. She comes back upstairs long enough to grab her own food before joining him.

"We're making some of our weapons safer for you to be around," Maddie explains before disappearing downstairs.

Dani isn't too disappointed to be left alone. While talking with Maddie was nice, it was always about her powers, always came back to Danny. Did Danny like flying? Did he struggle with his powers? You have this ability, did Danny have it, too? Genuine curiosity lingered in Maddie's voice with every question. Dani knows she's a scientist, and with that job comes a need for knowledge, a desire to understand everything. Having Dani in the house provides a unique chance to learn everything she can about ghosts and half-ghosts.

But something else lurked behind the curiosity. Dani, in her inexperience, can't properly name what she had felt, but it irks her. Makes her feel off-centre. When Maddie leaves, and Dani has a minute to herself, she breathes out a sigh of relief.

Her food disappears quickly. The sandwich is good; simple, but good. Same with the salad. Dani never starved on the road, but she ate what she could steal, pre-packaged foods snagged off gas station shelves. Once or twice, she snuck into restaurants to steal plates right from the kitchen, but that required stealth and patience if she didn't want to get noticed.

Once she has finished eating, and her plate is licked clean, she doesn't know what to do. Maddie left the fixings on the counter along with her dirty utensils. After a moment's debate, Dani deposits her plate and fork in the sink. She's washing her hands, squishing soap between her fingers, when Jazz enters.

Like Maddie, Jazz pauses when she takes in Dani's ghost form, but she doesn't comment on it. "How was your nap?"

Dani shrugs. Dipping her hands under the faucet, she watches the soap wash away, bubbles forming at the bottom of the sink. "It was good."

"Good." Jazz gathers her lunch in silence, grabbing the sandwich Maddie left out for her and loading a plate with salad. Once her plate is full, she starts putting everything away. Cutting board and knife in the sink, vegetables back in the fridge, bread wrapped and retied.

Dani watches, noticing little aborted movements Jazz keeps making. When she goes to put the bread away, her arm jerks as if she was about to throw it. She catches herself at the last second and walks it to the pantry. After the food is away, she grabs a tea towel rather than a dishcloth, and reaches toward the left sink, only to stop.

Dani peers between the empty left sink, and the right sink with the dirty dishes. "Something wrong?"

"No, it's... it's nothing." Jazz folds the tea towel and lays it on the counter, then grabs the dishcloth instead.

"Want some help?" Dani asks.

Jazz blinks. A strange look crosses her face, a soft smile tinged with hope that, to Dani, doesn't fit the situation at all. Jazz holds out the dishcloth and says, "First one done picks the show."

Dani grabs the tea towel since it's closer. "That doesn't really make sense. I can't finish drying until you're done washing," she points out.

Jazz stares at the tea towel, her own hand curling tighter around the dishcloth. "No, I guess it doesn't."

Dani abandons her cloth with the first dish Jazz passes over, phasing the cutting board dry rather than doing it by hand. She doesn't bother opening the drawer, either, shoving the cutting board right through the door instead. It takes less than a minute to get all the dishes clean and put away.

Jazz picks up her plate once the kitchen is clean and heads out. With nothing better to do, Dani follows her. They end up in the living room, Jazz claiming the left side of the couch while Dani takes the right. The remote lays between them for a second before Jazz grabs it. As she reaches for it, slowly, she keeps looking at Dani, as if she's checking for something, expectingher to do something.

Instead, Dani looks around the room.

Of all the rooms in Fenton Works, this is the one she has been in the least. With three windows looking out into the street and the front door right there, she and Danny always thought it was too risky to hang out here, in case Maddie and Jack came home when they weren't expecting it. A few family photos hang on the wall, and the cushions are well worn. Dani notes a significant dip on the loveseat. That must be Jack's favourite spot.

A burst of music pulls Dani's attention to the television. Jazz has put on a TV show. It starts mid-episode, but Dani actually recognizes it, to her surprise. She's only watched TV a handful of times in her life, although she has snuck into plenty of movie theatres. Although she can't remember the show's name, she knows it's about space explorers. The actors look different for some reason, but those colour-coded shirts are undeniably familiar.

"Has a redshirt died yet?" she asks.

Jazz hits pause. "You know Star Trek?"

"Danny showed me some of it. It's okay, I guess." When she says this, Jazz's eyes widen. A flicker of hurt passes through them, although Dani has no idea why. She ignores it. "This doesn't look like what I saw," Dani adds.

"He probably showed you the original series. He liked to start with that," Jazz says, quieter than before.

"So, what's this, then?"

"One of the series from the 90s. Deep Space Nine, I think? It's... it's the most recent one he was watching." Jazz's hand drifts over the remote, her fingers skimming the play button. "Do you mind if we watch it?"

Dani shrugs. "I don't care."

Starting partway through the episode, Dani doesn't quite know what's going on, and she doesn't care much to find out. It's entertaining enough to watch, but sci-fi isn't her thing. Hard to get into a genre that her whole existence revolves around.

Jazz is still eating by the time the episode ends. She's done by the end of the next, her crumb-ridden plate sitting on the coffee table, but neither of them makes a move to stop the show.

Every once in a while, Jazz glances Dani's way. She thinks nothing of it, at first, but by the fifth episode a frown has etched itself into Jazz's face, and Dani is getting annoyed as they near the two-hour mark.

The next time Jazz discreetly turns her head, Dani snaps. "Yeah?" The couch bounces as she swivels to face Jazz.

Jazz starts, then flushes, embarrassed at being caught. "I was just wondering, aren't you tired? I know you were sleeping earlier, but you've been in your ghost form all days. It's not exhausting?"

Dani shrugs. "No? I'm almost always like this."

"But Danny always got really tired if he stayed in his ghost form too long. Sometimes he would pass out or just lose the transformation completely."

"I'm not Danny, though."

Jazz stills. "Right. No, yeah. I guess you aren't."

"I'm not," Dani affirms.

Jazz nods sharply, jerking her head, and snaps her attention back to the TV.

—

The Fentons clearly have their own daily rhythm, one that sees surprisingly little impact without Danny's presence. Maybe they have already filled in the gaps in the couple of weeks Danny has been dead, but Dani doubts it. More than likely, he spent so much time as Phantom that it affected his daily routine.

Maddie and Jack spend most of their time in the lab, or out roving the city in their RV. There hasn't been another ghost attack since the one that killed Danny, and it probably isn't a coincidence, but the eldest Fentons don't seem to take that into account.

"They're trying to keep things normal," Jazz says when Dani asks her about it on the third day. "It's a normal coping mechanism. A good routine can prevent depressive episodes, as long as they aren't overworking themselves."

Ironic considering how Jazz is always working. Despite being on break from college, Dani catches her every day studying hard, chipping away at some paper, or breezing through a textbook thicker than her fist. She also has a notebook she keeps with her most of the time, labelled "Memorial Plans." An event Dani still knows very little about.

Dani falls into her own routine in those first few days. At mealtimes, she keeps whoever is cooking company. Maddie, if she's home. Jazz any other time. Dani takes to waiting in the kitchen for them, around noon and later at six o'clock. The first couple times they walked in to find her there, they looked startled, then pleased. Jazz's eyes actually watered, once. It doesn't take long before Dani fills in as a helper. It's more entertaining than watching, and after so long on the road, there's something nice about learning to cook. A reminder that she has time for it, that she will be here tomorrow and can do it again.

She and Jazz keep watching TV together, although the time varies. Whenever Jazz wants to sit down for an episode—and it's never more than that, despite how long they watched the first day—she finds Dani and asks if she wants any "Trek time." Dani gets the remote only once, on their second time watching. Instead of Star Trek, she picks a sitcom that looks funny and normal.

Jazz keeps the remote after that.

The only person Dani doesn't spend time with is Jack. She sees him once or twice, lumbering through the hall between the kitchen and the lab. As far as she can tell, he sleeps down there. He must since she has yet to find him on the second floor where the bedrooms are.

When she's alone, Dani occupies herself with Danny's things. He has a lot of stuff, and she has no idea what to do with all of it, much less what he did with all of it. Posters especially elude her. What's the point of something that doesn't actually do anything? She goes through his closet the most, picking at his clothes. There are a few shirts close to her size, since Danny didn't get his growth spurt until last year, but none of them suit Dani's style.

On her fourth day at Fenton Works, more than half a week since she arrived, Dani has all the shirts that fit her laid out on Danny's bed. None of them fit perfectly, but she wants to wear something new. You get sick of the same hoodie and shorts after three years, even if they grow with you.

A heavy, thumping knock comes at the door.

Dani, distracted by the shirts, says, "I don't really feel like it right now, Jazz."

"Dani." A voice much deeper than Jazz's greets her. When she looks up, she finds Jack in the open doorway, ecto-gun in hand. "Can we talk?"

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