#my period is a week late (not too worried since i’m still y’know)

[honeyed-cherries]

all i ask is to a have a single good day >:(

[mywritingonlyfans]

One Shot with Ethan Torchio // It's a bit Fluffly, Smut and Angsty

prompt: in which, ethan always need/visit you when he's not in tour + casual sex(?) with ethan tying you up so you don't touch him i'm telling you this but isn't a hardcore smut

warnings: it's smut. a fluffly kinda sexy(?)maybe it's just sexy bc it's ethan smut ig fem!reader

(he is so hot. i'm crying all my tears, and that's fucking pathetic.)

Your head hurt, you knew your face was probably red due to your desire to go home and cry, but yet, your friends convinced you to go out for a drink. According to them nothing was too bad that a beer couldn’t improve, you doubted it.

Somehow, you found yourself happy to have accepted.

You didn’t know Ethan was back in town, you briefly wondered why you didn’t know, since he always contacted you when he was near (or at least that was what it seemed to be). Still, you were glad to see him. He was always able to make things better, even if only for a short period of time; which in your case was very short one as he wasn’t yours to have.

Ethan complemented your friends, they were all too familiar to him. He hugged you, giving a small kiss to your head while sitting next to you. Suddenly, you felt like a stronger drink would do you good.

It wasn’t hard to tell what was going to happen in the next few hours, after a couple of years going through that, you knew the time you spent together would always be the same. You guessed that you were able to put his head in place, just as he did with yours; and that's why he always came back to you. You'd never be able to tell if it was luck or mischance.

“Was it too hard to find me?” You asked him.

By now, your friends had moved to another corner. “I mean, I’m not complaining, I’m glad you did.” You offered him a weak smile. He did the same.

He looked tired, yet deadly cute.

He shuffled his chair closer to yours, letting his leg touch your bare knee. “Not really, Victoria said she called you in the morning, then told me that you intended to visit here for the night,” he mumbled, signaling to the bartender that he needed a beer, and so did you.

“She’s a gossip,” you wrinkled your nose, causing him to provide offer you a nasal laugh that you had learned to find lovely over the years. “But what has been happenin’ in your life lately? You’re good?” You tried to sound casual, but deep down you knew he wasn’t there entirely for you. Something was bothering him, he was looking for someone to rest on.

“Pretty much the same,” he sighed heavily. He wasn’t tired just physically. “We finished the last album, I feel exhausted.”

He looked at you like a lost puppy, watching your face, analyzing if you were in the mood to listen to him, or even if you were okay with having him around. After all, he came to you out of nowhere.

He’d never make you uncomfortable around him, maybe he hadn't noticed that yet. “C’mon, let it all out. I haven’t seen you for too many months for you to deprive me of the details.”

“If I tell you,” he pondered, “ you’ll tell me why you have a runny nose to match your watery eyes?” He poked your cheek, dragging his fingers so he could put some strands of hair back in place.

His seat was now so close to you that you'd be able to rest your head on his shoulder if you wanted to without creating any bodily discomfort.

“I guess life just hasn’t been all that gentle with me lately.” You giggled at him. “I lost my job last week, the same life shit is goin’ on as usual, and when I finally managed to move to a decent place, I’ll now be actually going back to sharin' apartment with strangers, because, y’know, I can’t afford bein’ in there anymore.”

Ethan was quiet for a while, you needed him more than he needed you. Listening to you made him realize how his worries were nothing at all. He knew that you didn't mind sharing an apartment with someone, but the loss of perspective was always tough.

Without further thinking, he pulled you to himself, fluffing your hair and holding you tight in his grip. You didn’t cry, yet it was possible to read your emotions. It was little, but Ethan knew you.

You took your head off his chest while he still had his arm around your waist. Taking a deep breath, you stared at your laced fingers, feeling it slow down. “I guess it’s all happenin’ at the same time, I’m just not sure how to handle it at the moment,” he held your face in his hand, his mouth close to yours as he ran his fingertips over your chin, until his lips were on you.

He was soft and wet, he had the same taste you still had etched in your mind, at that moment it seemed to be all you needed. He let go slowly, distributing pecks on the corners of your mouth, letting his forehead rest against yours.

You two stayed like that for a few minutes and you could bet that anyone who passed by could see how much of a fool you were for him. You tried not to think about it too much, it was better to have little of him than to have nothing. “Ethan?”

“Huh?” He murmured with his eyes closed, giving your lips a tickling sensation.

“Kiss me more,” and then he did. Ethan was holding you in place while your hands intertwined around his neck. You played with the chain of his necklace, savoring the touch of his tongue on yours, focusing only on him while pulling at his hair to hear his soft moans.

It didn’t take long for the bartender to come get your attention. You laughed nervously against him, you were embarrassed because you didn’t even remember where you were, still Ethan seemed untouchable about it. He wasn’t one to be embarrassed over small things like that, at least not with you. The bartender was quite irritated with the two of you and just now you noticed that your drinks had arrived and hadn’t even been touched; he was rightly pissed.

Ethan stood up, lifting you up with him. You looked in your pockets for your money, but then Ethan said it was okay and that he’d pay. You would argue, yet any money left over would be welcome. You held both beers in hand as he paid, thanking the old lady for the service, still feeling your skin burning with embarrassment, and then headed outside to wait for Ethan.

“Are you drivin’?” He asked, laughing at your state of awkwardness.

You bumped into his shoulder slightly, laughing along with him. “I am not, I’m living nearby,” you whispered as he put his hand inside your skirt pocket, bringing you to his side for a walk. “In the apartment that soon won’t be mine… how ‘bout you?”

“Not drivin’, I thought about staying somewhere to spend the night.”

He was close to home, but not that close, it would take about 3 hours to get to where he lives; it seemed plausible that he wanted to stay. “Are you only here because of me?” You risked asking.

“Yeah,” he took his hand out of your pocket and ran it through his hair. “I didn’t think it‘d be a bad idea.”

There was a silence, but it was far from being uncomfortable. “You know you can stay with me.”

——————-

Considering that you were in the process of moving to another place your house was a bit of a mess. Ethan wouldn’t be bothered by that, somehow your instinct of wanting things always in place - aka Monica from Friends - made you wander around the space in an attempt to make Ethan at home.

“What ‘bout the new album?” You asked, dragging one of the boxes away from him. It wouldn’t even bother anyone, but the thought that it would be in the middle of the room while someone was at your house bothered you.

“I don’t really know, I feel anxious about releasin’ it. It’s not that I don’t want to release it or am afraid of doing so, far from that, it's just, I don’t know… ” His voice fell silent, lost in his thoughts.

You turned to him, wanting to ask him what he had said, after all, that didn’t sound like Ethan, you felt as his hands touched your hips, pulling you on his lap. “Y'know I don’t care about your mess, right? Just, please, stop walkin’ 'round the house dragging boxes.” He said with his face close to your neck, hugging you from behind. His warm breath was in contact with your soft skin, providing heat to your body. Well, there was a minimal percentage chance that you were trying to make the place look good for Ethan, just because he made you a little nervous.

“Okay, fine. I’m fine,” you exhaled, turning to face him. He was smiling with his eyes almost closing; he still looked tired, but at least you were improving his mood. “You know you’re good at what you do, Ethan. You shouldn’t worry 'bout those things.” You held on to his shoulders, breaking something that could turn out to be a pity silence.

He squeezed your thigh at the same time as he laughed humorlessly at your words. “I know that. I guess that this is the short time they gave us to finish the album – it was drivin’ me crazy. The album isn’t bad, not at all, it’s honestly very good. Dami did a incredible job, still if it weren’t for the time it could have been even better. That’s crazy how I’m still letting myself get stressed over this, don’t you think?” He vented, moving his hands up your skirt.

“I know it’ll be good, I can’t think of anything you did that ended up bad!” You ran your fingers over his covered shoulders, down to his chest, going to the first open button of his t-shirt. “But if it’s just stress I can help you.”

He lubed his lips, nodding assiduously, putting you properly on top of him. That way, you were stuck to his body, feeling the rough of his jeans along with the zipper against your underwear. You gulped as he held your face, sealing your lips with his. You were relieved he always guided you through that; the leading up part was way better when it came from him.

You unbuttoned the rest of his shirt in middle of sloppy kisses and grips. Running your hand over his belly, tracing your fingers to the back of his neck while moving your hips lightly. You lugged on his hair, pulling him away to catch your breath. You opened your eyes to find Ethan with a deep pink mouth and brown eyes more intense than normal, at that moment you could have sworn that he was the most beautiful thing you had ever laid eyes on. You spread his shirt to the sides, sensing your body getting hotter, when Ethan smirked at your rush, managing to hold both of your hands behind you; stopping you in place.

“No need to rush, we have plenty of time,” he clenched you in his hands. You arched your back, breathing heavily at each touch of his fingers on your wrists.

He ran his nose over your neck, placing kisses and bites on the way to your collarbone, leaving wet tracks that would later turn into dark marks.

Your legs ached from that position, the couch wasn’t the best, but feeling Ethan getting hard under you as you writhed yourself against him, made you want to stay there for as long as he wanted you to. It was crazy to think that at the beginning of the day you were sure that the rest of it would be a pure disaster, and now being spoiled by Ethan’s lips your worries seemed to fade away.

Temporary as that would be, you were determined to give him your all, making his and yours next hours one of the best escapes from both of you. Unnecessary to say that you were lost in your own mind by now, craving for having his strands in-between your fingers, wanting him tugged into you furiously, causing you to ache. Your mouth was ajar, your vision was just white dots as he played with your sensitive skin, driving you insane. Ethan paralyzed when his grip became too strong around your fists and you got louder than usual.

“D’you like that?” He did it again, but this time pushing your body backward. He kept his devilish grin on his face, watching you from top to bottom. You bit your lips, containing your noises to yourself. Such an angel in his eyes. “Up, babe. I need to see something.” He didn’t let you answer, not as if he needed to. You stood up in front of him, legs shaking with your head definitely not in the right place. “Undress.” He rested his elbows on his knees.

His face was serious, and you didn’t see any problem in obeying his voice, but perhaps, due to the lack of his body being glued to yours, you couldn’t help but let out a laugh.

“Don’t act like you don’t like it when I tell you what to do,” He caught you by the hem of your underwear, helping to take it off while you got rid of your blouse. “Especially, when I just got you off my lap, almost unconscious 'cause of some kisses to your soft neck, pet.” He added, drawing circles on the inside of your thigh, smoothly going up to your center.

You felt your breath come to a halt. “You’re just too bossy.” You teased, confirming that your breathing was faulty.

He patted his nose over the damp stain of the fabric, placing a kiss there. “And you love it.” He pecked you a few more times, teasing you by running his fingers on the edges as putting the cloth to the side; never touching you where you needed him.

Almost involuntarily you took hold of his hair, bringing him closer to your core. And then, you understood his previous question, it wasn’t just about not being able to touch him, but also about the power he was having over you.

He cut his actions short and got up, hovering over you. “Tonight, you won’t be allowed to touch me, all right?!” He whispered, tossing your hair behind your ear.

That’d be comical in any other situation, yet with his body and eyes fixed on your frame you felt in his domain.

You nodded, diving into the way he pulled at the hair on the nape of your neck firmly so that you were looking at him. “Go on, babe,” He insisted on having the words he wanted.

“Yes, it’s all right, Ethan,” it was far from all right, you couldn’t do that. How could you go without touching, making a mess of his hair or marking your nails on his back?

“That’s my girl,” he praised you in between sighs.

He was excited while your face was overflowing with nervousness; not out of fear, but out of curiosity. He finished removing his shirt and indicated with his fingers for you to lie down on the couch.

You shut your eyes tight, with his voice echoing 'my girl’ in your mind, Ethan was lugging your wrists above your head as you did what he told you to do. He tied them with his shirt. “Is this hurtin’ you? Are you comfortable?” He tightened it in a knot.

Your head and elbows were on the arm of the couch, only your hands were unsupported. Although you weren’t uncomfortable, it was to be expected that pain would appear the next day; it’d be worth it. “No, it’s fine. I’m good.” You assured him as he knelt beside the couch, running his hands down your torso, making you squirm.

He went down to the hem of your underwear, taking it off with the help of your legs kicking the lace away. “Good then,” he warbled, pattering lines on your pubic hair. “Needy and in your proper place.”

“Bastard,” you swore through clenched teeth.

He grinned, admiring how your breast rose and fell in a quick but punctual rhythm while your hips fidgeted at his touch. You looked like a piece of art he had just created, swollen lips, filled in lovely marks on the collarbone. He found himself in need to concentrate on his breathing while watching you, to control his pulse as he reached his fingertips to your pussy.

“Ethan” you breathed out, forcing your fists. “Go on, please,”

With that, he held your hands, forcing them down and slid a finger inside you. Your lips opened in a sigh and he took the opportunity to kiss you, running his tongue over your bottom lip and nipping it to his mouth, keeping things on a slow pace.

You wanted to hold his hand, make him go faster or be able to pull the locks of his hair until he understood how much you wanted him, but you had no way of doing that, and you knew he was just doing that to provoke you.

His lips traveled over your neck again, this time giving light kisses, blowing air on the soft fresh he had left in there.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he said without even opening his eyes, delighting in your skin as he sped up, now rubbing his thumb gently over your bud.

You whispered something almost inaudible that Ethan recognized as his name. He raised his head, coming face a face to you. “Right there, huh?” He asked, focusing on the spot that was blurring your vision.

You groaned. The satisfying delight running through your veins. You closed your legs, wishing you could hold on to his body, but all he did was laugh, shoving his fingers leisurely into you.

“No, no Ethan,” you looked at him properly, thinking that if you hadn’t been with your wrists tied you’d have slapped his chest.

He wiped his hand on your thigh, and stood up slipping his jeans down his legs along with his underwear. You sighed at him, stretching your arms, staring at the ceiling to disguise yourself. Not that it was necessary, Ethan was already too much of a show-off when it came to you for your liking.

“You good? How’s your arms?” He doubted, getting on top of you.

He had his hair damp, falling over the spots on his forehead. Some of his locks was glued to his chest and his golden pendant dangled in front of your eyes. For a split second, you though about saying that you missed him, but you were wise enough to know better than doing such a thing.

“If I say that I’m not good. Are you goin’ to untie me?”

He pressed his chest to yours, your body sticking to his since you were both sweaty.

“Not even a chance,” He stroked your neck with his thumb, up and down, with a silly look on his face.

You grunted as soon as you felt how solid hard he was against your thigh, he aligned himself in-between your knees, holding on to your shoulders, and without hesitation he filled you up. Your body tingled and your voice failed, causing a silent moan to slip from your lips. His head fell over the crook of your neck and you could feel how dysrhythmic his breathing was. His warm body along with his breath hitting on your neck added a pleasant feeling in your stomach, leaving you dizzy under him.

“Move Ethan,” you tried to sound understandable, embracing his waist with your legs.

He thrusted deeply in you, leaving a breathed sigh of relief in your ears. You stretched out your arms, tightening your thighs around him. He held the shirt in your hands, preventing it from coming loose.

“No, I wanna touch you,” you whined.

“You will, just be patient, babe,” he squeezed your wrists in his hand.

Closing your eyes, you enjoyed the way his body was over yours, every movement and every delicate touch.

He went slowly at first, making sure you were taking all of him before going faster. Once he felt your walls clenching around him, he murmured a breathless 'fuck’, letting go of your hands so that you could finally feel him. You dug your nails into his back, kneading your body against his at the same time as he hugged you.

As you opened your eyes, he was already looking at you, with an intense gaze, building you up to feel sexy and wanted.

Both of you were a mess; sweaty and sticky. You felt a tingling ecstasy take all over your body, your toes twitching as you emptied yourself into him. He kept working on you until his body collapsed into yours, filling you up to perfection.

The last thing you remembered was having your fingers entwined in his hair, patting at it slightly as he whispered sweet nothing against your skin; just like a lullaby.

———–-------

You woke up to the noise of the television, trying to adjust your vision to the brightness of the daylight. Failing to stretch, you felt how sore your body was.

Your eyes searched for Ethan, finding him sitting opposite to you with a lazy smile and a cup of tea in hands, his attention was all on you. Friends was playing on the television, but you doubted he was really watching it.

“Good mornin’ babe,” his husky voice echoed through the room. It was the best thing to hear in the morning. “How’s it? Hurtin’?” He asked when you started examining your marked wrists.

He was fully dressed and although you weren’t, he had managed to get a sheet to cover you.

“Good mornin’. It’s fine, it doesn’t hurt,” you mumbled, scratching your eyes, curling up on the sheet. “How long will you be stayin’ in town?”

“Not long,” he paused thoughtfully. You already expected that he wouldn’t be with you for long, still sometimes you liked to think that it’d last longer than just a few days before he disappeared to another continent. “I need to go home in a few minutes, I’m going to take a flight at night to adjust the final details of the album.”

“Sounds nice,” you wanted to have the courage to tell him how he made things in your life look just right, as if he were some kind of piece missing from your puzzle. “I can’t wait to hear it, hear what your great fingers are capable of.” You ignored your thoughts. He laughed.

However, you truly believed that not saying anything was a wise move.

He lifted a cup from one of the boxes next to him, holding it out to you. “I made one for you too, I hope you don’t mind.”

You didn’t mind it, in fact, you loved the way he made himself at home so quickly. The home that soon wouldn’t be yours anymore. You wished Ethan could remedy your worries for more than just one night.

“Thank you,” you took the still warm drink in your hands, looking at him as if he were part of your decor. “You can smoke in here, I don’t mind that either,” you spoke up. You couldn’t even imagine that he’d have gone without lighting a cigarette all morning.

“The place is all clean, and smells nice. I bet you never lit one yourself, I wouldn’t do that.” He was right.

“Well, y'know that I don’t care about the smell, I just don’t see the need to leave the house impregnated with it.” You explained, remembering that Ethan’s house was a perfect description of that smell, yet you loved his place.

“I know this is going to sound strange,” he started. “But if you can’t find a place in time to live in… you can stay at mine, I mean, you know I am never home and as I’ll be travelin’ you could make yourself at home.”

He said it casually, and you knew he wasn’t lying, if you wanted to he wouldn't even think twice about letting you stay at his.

“No need, I’ll be fine. I do appreciate it though.” you took a sip of your now cold drink.

He bobbed, checking what you thought could be the time on his phone.

“You have to go, I guess?” You asked, your soft voice revealing you didn’t want that.

“I need to,” he gave you a small smile, getting up. “It’s gettin’ a bit late for me.”

“I see,” you went to him, adjusting the sheet on your body, feeling ridiculous for still being undressed. “I guess I’ll see you, right?” You added it while he picked up your stuff on the couch; keys, wallet and the pack of cigarettes. There was no answer for your question.

“Yeah,” he breathed out, heading to the door. “You could come and visit, spend a few days with us. It’d be nice.”

“On tour? Like a groupie?” You wrinkled your nose. His arms wrapping around you. You’d miss it.

He squeezed you into his chest, his tiny beard tickling your cheek. “You know you are much more than just a groupie for me, Y/N.”

You didn’t answer that. He pulled away and for a second you thought he was going to kiss you, but he didn’t.

“See ya Y/N,” instead, he kissed the top of your head. “Think about it, both about comin’ to visit and also about needing a place to stay for a while.”

“I’m sure I will, thank you Ethan,” you watched him, from his rumpled shirt to dark circles under his eyes. He’d always have a special space in your heart. “I guess I’ll see ya then.”

>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<

taglist ( 'cause someone actually wanted to be tagged, i didn't even force anyone😁): @maybanksslut , @oro-e-diamanti

[neonlights92]

RUN: Chapter VII (Epilogue.)

Jeon Jungkook hops from bed to bed, sleeping with as many beautiful, rich women as he can possibly find time for.  He’s young and attractive, with a silver tongue that gets him practically anything he wants.  So when his friend and boss, Kim Taehyung, tells him it’s time to settle down, Jungkook takes it pretty badly.  And when he finds out that the woman he’s destined to marry is, in fact, his little sister’s best friend, he is less than impressed.

You have spent your entire life trying to forget the way you feel about Jeon Jungkook.   So when you find out that Jungkook is to be your husband - and that he is anything but pleased about it - your world is thrown into chaos.  How can you survive a loveless marriage with the man you are hopelessly in love with?

Hey friends! Enjoy the epilogue <3  Namjoonie next..

You were pissed.

Jungkook had promised you he wouldn’t be late tonight.

It was your one year anniversary - one whole year of being married to the love of your life - and you were meant to be celebrating at a fancy restaurant with champagne and good food. 

You’d gotten all dressed up - squeezed yourself into some ridiculous contraption of a dress - just for him, and now it looked like you were going to miss your booking.

Eight o’clock passed…

Then eight-thirty…

Then nine…

By the time your husband finally decided to make an appearance it was more than an hour passed your reservation time.  You’d taken off your dress - kicked off your heels - and made a move on your makeup when the door to your bedroom clicked open.

“Hi Angel…” 

Jungkook’s sheepish tone greeted - and you chose not to answer - instead glaring at his reflection in your vanity mirror.

“I know, I know I’m late,” He’s pulled his tie and blazer off, the sleeves of his crisp white shirt rolled up to his forearms.  You chose not to comment on the suspiciously red coloured stains peppering his collar.

“Happy anniversary to us, I guess.”  Your own voice was sharp and angry - in the year you’d been married to Jungkook he had made you feel special and loved - but that didn’t mean he still didn’t fuck up.

“I’m sorry baby,”  He moved towards you quickly, and you stood turning to face him, “It was - y’know… God.  It’s Bangtan.” The desperation on his face pulled at your heart strings.

You knew your husband’s job was important - you knew that as a member of the Special Seven - as Bangtan’s shadow he had more responsibilities than he would probably ever tell you. 

And you knew that you wouldn’t be able to stay mad at him for long.

But still.  It was meant to be a special night for the two of you.  An acknowledgement of everything you’d been through together.

An acknowledgement of your love for one another.

You couldn’t help that you were disappointed.

“It’s alright,” You shrugged, “It’s part of the package, right?”

He sighed heavily and reached up to push some of your hair out of your face, “I hate disappointing you.”  His tone was tender and a little more of your anger fizzled out, “I love you so much Angel.  I always want to be with you - I always want to make you happy.  But I’m not always very good at it, huh?”

You chose not to say anything - slipping your bottom lip between your teeth and staring into the eyes of the man who had changed your life.

God.  Your heart swelled to nearly three times it’s size at the look on his face.

Such reverence and adoration - like you were a work of art.

He always made you feel special, like that.  

“I’m sorry baby,” His voice was sincere, “I really am.  I know tonight was meant to be special…. God.  What kind of husband leaves their wife waiting for them on their anniversary?” 

He laughed without humour, and you felt a stab of guilt.

“It’s okay Jungkook,” You licked your bottom lip and shrugged, “We’ll celebrate another time.”

He touched your face gently and frowned, “I know you’re disappointed… And you have every right to be, Y/N.  Tonight should’ve been about us.”

You sighed heavily, “What kept you out so late?”

His eyes darkened and you noticed for the first time how tired he seemed.  He’d been out all day - and if the blood on his shirt was any indicator it hadn’t been easy.

“Namjoon.”  He answered hoarsely, “He barely comes out on missions with us anymore.  Barely wants to be around any of us…” 

You felt a stab of guilt.

Since the night you’d been kidnapped almost four months ago, Kim Namjoon had turned into a shell of his former self.  You knew you couldn’t have done anything - you were just as much a victim of Sana’s brutality as he was - but you still felt awful.

“What happened?”

“We tried to help him… Lord knows we’re all emotionally constipated.  But Jimin thought it might be nice to take him out for lunch.  So we did.  And then…” Jungkook shook his head, “Namjoon cut himself with his steak knife.  He hasn’t gotten used to his prosthetics yet.” 

“The blood?” He clicked his tongue, “He was sitting beside me.”

You instantly felt terrible.  You moved to wrap your arms around your husband, pulling him down for a fierce kiss.

“I’m sorry baby,” You whispered against his mouth, “I’m so sorry.”

He shook his head and frowned, “No stop - don’t.  I’m sorry.  I’m sorry I can’t take you out for anniversary meals like normal couples.  I’m sorry I come home with blood on my shirt -” 

“It’s okay Jungkookie.”  You pressed a hand to his cheek and he smiled softly at the nickname he’d begrudgingly accepted, “I know who you are - I know the world we live in.  I accept it.  I accept you.  Is it annoying? Of course.  But I won’t give up on us.  Ever.”

He leaned into your touch and kissed your palm, “I love you baby.”

“Me too.”

“Next time though, text me alright?” You pulled a face, “I wouldn’t have bothered getting dressed up.”

He nodded and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“I will Angel.”

He spent the rest of the evening showing you just how sorry he was, and how much he absolutely adored you.

Needless to say, it wasn’t the worst way to spend an anniversary.

//

“I have something to tell you.”  Nayeon had shown up not five minutes ago, with a promise that you had to sit down and listen to her.

You’d obliged of course - she was your best friend after all.

But her confession had knocked the air out of you.

“I’m getting married.”

She was grinning from ear to ear.  You almost dropped the cup of tea you were drinking.

“What?”

“I’m getting married.”  She didn’t seem upset, “That’s why I came round.”

“To who?”

Her smile widened, “Song Mino.”

“Oh!” You mirrored her expression, “Song Mino.  He’s… Nice.”

“And hot.”  

Your face flushed and you nudged Nayeon playfully, “Stop it.”

“I’m happy.”  She told you honestly, “I might not know him very well but he seems like a decent guy.  And like I said… Hot.” You laughed this time at your friend’s unabashed appreciation of her husband-to-be and clicked your tongue, “Well if you’re happy sweetie, then so am I.”

“My dad told me last night.  Mino’s father approves - so does Taehyung….”  Her eyes flitted to yours guiltily and immediately you realised what this was.

A setup.

“You want me to tell Jungkook.”

Her lips stretched into a thin line.  She grimaced.

“Yes.” 

“Why can’t you tell him?”

She frowned deeply, “Because Jungkook’s hated Song Mino ever since they were kids and he stole Jungkook’s first girlfriend.”

“Your brother is not that petty.”

“Yes he is.”  She raised a brow and scoffed, “Don’t tell me you don’t know that about him.”

You bit back a laugh at the thought of Jungkook holding a grudge for as long as he apparently had with Mino.  Then you frowned.  Tonight was meant to be a different kind of surprise for your husband.

“I also had some big news for Jungkook tonight.  I was going to wait to tell you but since you’re already here….”

For a brief moment Nayeon seemed confused by what you’d said before her eyes widened and she shot out of her seat.  She moved towards you like you were a glass of water and she hadn’t drunk in a week.

“Oh my god.  Oh my god.”  She pulled you in for a hug, “You’re pregnant aren’t you?  Oh my God! How far along?”

You laughed at your friend, “I only found out this morning.  We’ve been trying for a couple of months… But I’ve only missed one period.” 

Nayeon’s eyes were sparkling with tears and you were sure your own weren’t too far off, “Oh my god!  Don’t worry about telling him about the wedding.  I’ll do that sweetie.  You just worry about telling my brother he’s going to be a dad!” 

A loud thud caught both your attention and you turned sharply to find the brother in question - your husband - staring at you both in shock.

“Wait… What?”

Jungkook’s eyes flitted between yours and his sister’s.  He blinked slowly, as if slotting everything into place.

Nayeon pulled away from you quickly and shot you an apologetic look.

“Surprise?”  She said to her brother with a weak smile before grabbing her things and making a nervous beeline for the exit. 

Nayeon mouthed “I’m sorry” to you as she disappeared and you had to stop yourself from laughing at the entire situation.  Of course it would all happen like this.

“Was she… Was that…”

You stood quickly and moved towards your husband, cupping his face in your hands softly.  Your eyes roved his his features carefully, looking for any sign of apprehension.  But all you saw was surprise… And joy.

“I’m going to be a dad?” He whispered, eyes wide, “For real?”

“For real.”  You smiled up at him and pressed a kiss to his lips, “You’re going to be the best dad.”

He broke out into a wide grin and bundled you up in a hug, raining  his own kisses down across your face.

“Oh my god Angel.  We’re going to be parents.  Oh my God!” 

You giggled at his reaction and squealed when he lifted you off your feet.

“Pregnant wife.”  You warned him, and he put you down quickly, patting your head and shoulders to check for signs of injury.

“Oh my god.  Pregnant wife,” His smile was dazzling, “I love you so much Angel.”

“I love you too Jungkookie.”

You had spent so long running from your feelings for Jungkook.  And he’d done the same.

Thank God you finally decided to stop and rest.

Things would never be perfect - but you were happy.  And so was he. 

And that was all that really mattered to you.

//

[bluejayblueskies]

an ill-fitting definition

rating: M words: 4.3k relationships: jongeorgie, jontim, jonmartin, background wtgfs additional tags: canon compliant, pre-canon, scottish safehouse period, canon asexual character, fluff, kissing, implied sexual content, rumors and misconceptions

written for weeks two/three of @archivalpride for the prompts identity and doubt!

cw for misconceptions about asexuality, assumptions made about somebody’s sexuality, rumors and outing somebody without their knowledge, non-explicit/implied sexual content, mention of canonical character death, mention of canonical stalking and paranoia, gossip (including of the sexual nature), food, very mild blood, mild internalized acephobia

ao3 link in source

.

It’s three weeks and two days after they began dating, when Georgie picks up Jon’s hand where it’s clasped in hers and asks with plain curiosity in her voice, so does the ring, y’know, mean anything?, that Georgie hears the word asexual cross Jon’s lips for the first time.

It’s not a word she’s unfamiliar with; she’s run in enough LGBTQ spaces in her time in uni that she has a good idea of the breadth of identities that are out there. She rubs her thumb across Jon’s ring and thinks, in the voice of the gender and equality training instructor with sharp red heels and a “fun” black dress who’d stood in front of the seminar she’d been mandated to take for one of her courses:

Asexuality. A lack of sexual attraction. An aversion or repulsion to sexual activities.

It had been a small word on a large black-and-white slide, crammed in next to aromanticism and overcrowded by a myriad of other sexual identities discussed at length. It had been… quite a comprehensive training, Georgie thinks as she quits fidgeting with Jon’s ring and instead threads their fingers together. For a moment, she considers asking what he means anyway, but she quickly dismisses the thought. She wants to be supportive, and as Jon looks at her with open, trusting eyes and a faint smile, she decides that she knows enough. She doesn’t want to make it awkward, and with things like these, she’s found that asking Jon to explain his feelings in plain terms can be… well, awkward is certainly a word for it. Best just not to bring it up, she decides.

Still, she feels the need to ask, “Can I kiss you?” because the red no sex sign blinking on and off in her head is frustratingly vague on what, exactly, is contained within that stipulation. When Jon voices his assent, she tips her head up and presses a quick kiss to his chin before kissing him on the lips, wiping the disgruntled look off them.

So yes to kissing, she thinks, tucking that away next to no sex. Yes kissing, no sex. Yes holding hands, she adds as she squeezes Jon’s hand in hers and he smiles at her, warm and soft, that special side of Jon that she only sees on occasion. No pet names, she adds a week later when she tries out sweetheart and Jon’s nose wrinkles with displeasure. No foot rubs, when Jon swats at her and says, between giggles, that he’s awfully ticklish. Yes back rubs. Yes cuddling. No PDA. No touching with wet or sticky hands. Yes brushing hair.

That’s as far as she gets before, one year and two months after she begins dating Jonathan Sims, she stops. After which point she stops keeping track, because, well. There’s really no point anymore, is there?

.

.

.

“I’m sorry,” Jon says, burying his head in his hands.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Tim says quickly, holding his hands in the air in a placating gesture. He scoots a few inches away from Jon on the couch for good measure, unsure just how much space Jon needs right now. “It’s okay. You don’t have to apologize—I should apologize. I should have asked first.”

“It’s just—” Jon makes a frustrated noise, and when he takes his hands away his cheeks are dark and he won’t meet Tim’s eyes. “It’s complicated.”

“It’s okay,” Tim repeats, watching with a twisting feeling in his stomach as Jon apparently notices that the button of his trousers is still undone and quickly goes to redo it. His eyes follow the movements of Jon’s hands automatically, and just as automatically, he notes the distinct lack of a tent in the front of Jon’s trousers. The same… cannot be said for his own. Particularly after nearly twenty minutes of kissing, which Tim had very much enjoyed.

Christ, had Jon been uncomfortable with that as well? All in a rush, Tim says, “Was the kissing bad too?” Then, he winces—fuck, that sounded accusatory—and adds, “It- it’s okay if it was, I just- I didn’t know, and I don’t want to do something that makes you uncomfortable, Jon.”

“No, the- the kissing was fine, it’s just...” Jon makes an aborted motion with his hands, like he’s trying and failing to find the words.

“... complicated?” Tim supplies.

Jon nods mutely.

“That’s okay,” Tim says, and he finds that he means it. “We don’t have to do anything more than kissing if you don’t want to.”

“I- I don’t…” Jon worries his bottom lip between his teeth. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, like he’s searching for the right words, the crease in his forehead deepening every moment he fails to find them. Finally, he lets out a long, labored breath, pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers, and says, “Yes, that… that might be best.”

Tim studies Jon’s face. It’s pinched and a bit stiff, like Jon would very much like to crawl out of his skin or melt into a puddle and disappear. “You sure?” he feels compelled to ask, placing a hand carefully on Jon’s knee. “You, uh. You seem a bit unsure.”

Jon sits there a moment more, spine straight and rigid, before melting slightly against Tim’s hand, his face slipping into something more relaxed but no less unhappy. “Yes.” He hesitates a moment, then says, a bit stiltedly, “I’m, um. I’m asexual. Since we’re already talking about this, I… I may as well get that out in the open as well.”

Oh. A few pieces slot into place, and Tim says with perhaps a bit more enthusiasm than necessary, “Oh. Why didn’t you tell—?” He cuts himself off and offers Jon a sheepish smile. “Sorry, sorry. That was rude of me. Thank you for telling me.”

“We’re dating,” Jon says bluntly. “It was going to come up eventually.”

“Still.” Tim shrugs, then reaches for Jon’s hand and holds it tightly in his. “Thanks.” He hesitates only a moment before leaning forward and pressing a quick kiss to Jon’s nose. Jon makes a disgruntled noise, which Tim thinks is adorable. Then, because it feels appropriate, he says, “Y’know, Danny… Danny was asexual. Aromantic too, actually. We had a big talk about it a few years ago where he sort of… laid it all out for me.” No sex, no romance, no thank you, had been the overall gist of it. Tim makes a new box for Jon and fills it in with the words no sex, yes romance, it’s complicated.

“Oh,” Jon says quietly, with that same sort of sadness in his eyes that he gets every time Tim mentions Danny, something much gentler than pity and significantly less cloying. If Tim notices the faint discomfort that accompanies it, something that whispers that isn’t my definition of asexuality, we’re not the same, you don’t understand if one were to listen closely enough, he doesn’t let on.

Tim does, however, notice the discomfort in Jon’s eyes—now mixed with anger—when two years, six months, and seven days later, he accuses Tim of murder. But by then, their days of hand-holding and nose-kissing are far, far behind them.

.

.

.

“Maybe he just needs to get laid,” Melanie says with a groan, lying on Georgie’s couch and staring at the ceiling. The Admiral is curled up on her lap, purring contentedly. She scratches absentmindedly under his chin.

“What, Jon?” Georgie appears in Melanie’s field of vision, wielding a damp wooden spoon and frowning.

“No. No.” Melanie shakes her head emphatically. “Martin. He’s been all… sulky lately. I think he’s still upset that Jon came to me instead of him for help, but I don’t know why he has to be all… touchy about it.”

“Ah. Well, you know, he is a bit hung up on Jon. At least, according to you.”

“I don’t see how that’s my problem,” Melanie says grumpily. “Besides, didn’t you say that Jon went on about Martin, like, all the time? Sounds like he’s got it bad as well. Maybe they could just… y’know.”

“Melanie.”

“What?” Melanie tries to shoot Georgie a glare, but it’s obstructed by the back of the couch. “I’m on my last nerve, Georgie!”

“I know, honey. But Jon’s really not… well, he’s not very open about these sorts of things. Getting him to talk about his feelings was like pulling teeth when we were together.”

“It still baffles me that you used to date.”

“He’s very sweet when you get to know him!” There’s a pause, a few clatters from the kitchen. “Besides, even if he and Martin got around to talking, Jon… well, he doesn’t.”

Melanie frowns. “Doesn’t what?”

“Have sex.”

“Really?” Melanie sits up, disturbing the Admiral, who lets out an irritated mrpp before adjusting himself accordingly and curling back up on her lap. “So when you were together…?”

Georgie shakes her head. “Nope. Never.”

“Huh.” Melanie thinks for a moment. “Is he like… religious or something?”

Georgie chuckles. “Jon? No, not at all. He’s asexual.”

“Isn’t that like… that thing that sponges are? Where they self-reproduce?”

“Seriously?”

Melanie scowls at the incredulous look Georgie’s giving her. “What? I’m not being a- a dick, I’ve just never heard of it before.”

“You were a YouTuber. Your job was to be internet famous.”

“Okay, now you’re just making fun of me.”

Georgie shoots Melanie a grin. “Sorry. Basically, it means that Jon doesn’t do sex. Like… at all. He just… doesn’t.”

“Huh,” Melanie says again.

“Yeah.” Georgie turns back to the stove. “Now, come here. Tell me if there’s too much salt?”

“Sorry Admiral,” Melanie whispers as she deposits him onto the floor and crosses the room to wrap her arms around Georgie’s waist from behind and take the bite of sauce on the spoon Georgie holds out for her. “Mm, tastes great. As always.”

And in the back of her mind, Melanie adds another line to the section labeled Jonathan Sims and writes, with careful handwriting, he doesn’t.

.

.

.

Although… according to Georgie, Jon doesn’t.

Martin pauses the tape and rubs his hands over his eyes. His cheeks are burning red, and he takes a few minutes to just breathe.

Doesn’t what? Doesn’t date? Doesn’t kiss? Doesn’t—

Martin stops that train of thought before it goes any further, the flush on his face growing in intensity. It’s none of my business, he tells himself as he ejects the tape and turns it over in his hands a few times before sliding it back into the small box it had come from.

He still can’t help but think about it. He thinks about it before the Unknowing, when Jon hesitates just a moment before wrapping him in a tight hug and whispering, I… I’ll be back, Martin. Then we can talk. He thinks about it when Jon’s in his coma, when Martin sits at his bedside and loses himself in daydreams and what-ifs. He thinks about it when Jon’s hand is clasped in his and he’s leading Martin out of cloying white fog and sea-salt air, his shirt speckled with bits of dark liquid that Martin tries to pretend isn’t blood. He thinks about it on the way to the safehouse, Jon leaning against his side, Martin’s hand clasped firmly in his.

He thinks about it a lot, in the confines of the wooden walls that let in the growing chill of the Scottish countryside.

Jon doesn’t.

He knows what Jon does. Jon makes him breakfast most days, eggs and toast and sometimes waffles, which Martin’s always considered a guilty pleasure but that he’s had more times in the past week and a half than he’s had for the past ten years. Jon puts his head on Martin’s shoulder when they sit on the couch and read, flipping through the dusty novels they’d found tucked in cardboard boxes underneath the bed that Jon had wrinkled his nose at but has been slowly making his way through nevertheless. Jon clings to Martin like his life depends on it when they sleep, and Martin will wake in the morning with one arm slung across his chest, a leg between his, and a sizeable portion of hair tickling at his nose.

And, nine days into their stay, Jon smiles at Martin as he shuffles into the kitchen in the morning, stands on his toes, and presses a soft kiss to Martin’s lips.

“Um,” Martin says eloquently, still half-asleep and trying to process what he’s 98% sure is their first kiss. He’d be 100% sure except for the fact that Jon kissed him like it was nothing, like it was easy, like it was something they do every morning.

The smile slips from Jon’s face, and he looks nervous. “I- I’m sorry, I should have asked first—”

“No, no, it’s- it’s okay,” Martin hastens to say, taking one of Jon’s hands in his and squeezing gently. “Just- just surprised, that’s all. I, um. I wasn’t sure if you wanted to kiss me, given that we haven’t…” He gestures absently, his face heating up. Stop talking, Martin. “Yeah,” he finishes lamely.

“Oh,” Jon says with a frown. “I… apologize for giving you that impression. I- I love you, Martin—I have no problems with kissing you.”

Warmth courses through Martin, as it always does when Jon tells him that he loves him. It all feels so unreal sometimes that he’s here, with Jon, away from it all and living in quiet domesticity. “Oh,” he says, face flushed. “A- all right, then. Great!”

“Great,” Jon echoes.

“Just- just thought maybe you didn’t—”

Martin clamps his mouth shut, face heating up more, this time in embarrassment. Shut up, Martin.

Jon raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t… what?”

“Um.” Martin rubs a hand across the back of his neck. “Kiss?”

Jon looks at Martin blankly. “Oh. Well, I- I do.”

“Right, yeah, I- I put that together. When we, um. You know.”

Jon looks amused. “Kissed?”

“Yep, that,” Martin squeaks out.

They look at each other for a moment before dissolving into giggles. Jon presses another kiss to Martin’s lips and finishes making the waffles and kisses Martin again when he hands Jon his tea, and it’s really quite lovely indeed.

So Martin adds Jon kisses to his mental list of Jon does and finds a sole remainder on the list of Jon doesn’t. And it’s fine with him, he decides, if Jon doesn’t want to have sex. He just wants Jon, in whatever way Jon will have him.

Jon doesn’t do sex, he thinks as he kisses Jon goodnight.

So, three days later, when they’re on the couch and they’ve kissed until Martin is red-faced and breathless and Jon pulls back with a pinched expression on his face, Martin assumes—with hot embarrassment coursing through him—that he’s somehow gone too far and strayed into sex territory and made Jon uncomfortable.

Then, Jon says with cheeks dark and eyes focused resolutely on Martin’s chest, “Martin, would… would you like to move to the bedroom?” and Martin’s thoughts grind to a halt.

“Sorry, what?” is all he can think to say.

Jon’s cheeks grow incrementally darker. “I am asking,” he says slowly, like the words are clunky and unwieldy in his mouth, “if you would like to have sexual intercourse. With me, of course, I- I hope that was implied.”

Martin’s aware that his mouth is quite literally hanging open in shock. He closes it quickly before swallowing and saying, “I… yeah, Jon, I- I’d love that, but I thought you—”

He clamps his mouth shut again, a touch too late. Jon’s forehead creases in confusion and he says, “I what?”

Martin hems and haws for a moment before biting the bullet and saying, all in a rush, “I thought you didn’t like sex.”

Jon’s frown deepens. “What? Why?”

And god, Martin doesn’t want to admit that he’s been thinking about office gossip for nearly a year, but he’s dug his grave—he may as well lie in it. He sighs, worries his hands on his lap, and says, “I… may have listened to a tape where Melanie said that Georgie said that you… didn’t.”

Jon looks at Martin blankly for a moment before his expression flattens into something that’s equal parts irritated and resigned. “Ah. Right. That… that makes sense, I suppose.”

“I’m sorry, Jon,” Martin says emphatically, placing his hand atop Jon’s and squeezing. “I- I didn’t mean to hear it; I was listening to the statements and it was just there.”

“No, it’s… it’s not your fault.” Jon sighs and rubs a hand across his eyes. “If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine.”

“What?”

Jon makes an aborted, dismissive gesture with his hand. “I’ve… never been good at explaining my own preferences. I never did with Georgie, just… told her I was asexual and left it at that. I suppose she took that to mean that I, er. Didn’t.”

Asexual. Martin has a vague notion of what that means—he’s been in enough online LGBTQ spaces to have encountered the word before, but he’s never really looked into it much himself. If pressed, he thinks he’d also assume it meant that Jon didn’t. Something a bit guilty twists within him at that thought, amplified by his next thought that Georgie shouldn’t have assumed, because, well, that’s a bit hypocritical, isn’t it? Still, he feels the need to voice it; he squeezes Jon’s hand again and says, “It’s not your fault that she just- just made assumptions about what you wanted, Jon.”

“Yes, but it’s my fault that I never corrected her.” Jon makes a face. “Or Tim, now that I think about it. I… I suppose I’m just not very good at talking about these things. Particularly because my own preferences are…” Jon’s pained expression deepens. “Christ, I don’t want to say complicated again, but there really is no other word for it.”

That’s not your fault either, Martin wants to say, but he knows Jon will just contradict him again, and he’ll repeat himself, and then they’ll just be talking in circles, and that won’t help anything. It’s frustrating, but it’s the truth. Still, Martin finds the words waiting on his lips when he opens his mouth, so he shuts it again and thinks for a moment, promising himself later. I’ll tell him later. Finally, he says carefully, “Do you… do you want to talk about it? We don’t have to if you don’t want to, but I don’t want to assume.” He lets out a humorless laugh. “Well, I don’t want to keep assuming, I suppose, given that I’ve already assumed quite a lot.” Quieter: “Sorry, again.”

“It’s fi—” Jon cuts off, takes a breath. “Th… thank you, Martin.” He hesitates a moment, then says haltingly, “I- I do want to talk about it, but I don’t—” He makes a frustrated noise. “—I don’t know how.”

“Okay,” Martin says after a moment. “You said it’s complicated, yeah?” When Jon nods mutely, he continues, “Would it help if you described how you feel right now? That’s- that’s less complicated, right?”

Jon’s mouth flattens into a thin line. “I… suppose.”

“All right, then.” Martin makes a go-on gesture, then rests his hand atop Jon’s and applies a gentle pressure.

Jon takes a few deep breaths, squints at nothing, makes a few wordless noises, then says bluntly, “I want to have sex with you.”

Martin tries really, really hard not to blush, but he doesn’t think he quite succeeds given how hot his face feels when he says, “Right, okay.” His voice is a bit higher-pitched than normal; he hopes that Jon doesn’t notice. “And, um. Do you always… want to have sex with me? Or just right now.”

Jon grimaces. “That’s where it gets complicated.” He makes an I-don’t-know gesture with his free hand and says, “No? Yes? I don’t know, Martin. I’m told that not wanting sex all the time is- is normal, that- that you have to be in the mood, but apparently I’m just supposed to know when I’ll be in the mood and when I won’t be, and that- that doesn’t really work for me.”

“Are you—” Martin cringes internally, but forces the words out. “—in the mood right now?”

“Well,” Jon grumbles, “not anymore, but I was. And it’s complicated, because even if I am, I- I don’t always want to be touched, but how do you explain that to someone, how- how do you tell someone that it’s mostly no but sometimes yes and there’s a very good chance that I might change my mind halfway through and decide that it’s no after all?”

“I think,” Martin says patiently, “that you just say that.”

Jon gives Martin a look. “Martin.”

“What? It’s true!” Martin gives Jon as reassuring a smile as he can muster. “It made sense to me, at least.”

“Yes, but that’s not—” Jon makes a frustrated noise. “It’s not whether or not it makes sense, it’s whether or not somebody is willing to put up with a sexual partner who doesn’t know whether or not they’re going to want to have sex on any given day, whether they- they’ll be repulsed or interested or want to give but not receive or the other way around or- or something else that I haven’t thought of but that will likely happen because consistency is, apparently, off the cards for me entirely.”

“Hey, hey,” Martin says gently, placing a hand on Jon’s shoulder and rubbing gentle circles with his thumb. “Jon, look at me.” When Jon looks, albeit reluctantly, Martin continues, “I can’t speak for other people, and I- I can’t tell you how to feel, but I can tell you how I feel, and I… I’m willing. No, more than willing—I love you, Jon, all of you, and if this is how you feel, then I love that about you too. Whatever you’re willing to give me, it… it’ll be enough. You’re enough.”

Jon’s cheeks darken and he looks away. After a long moment, he says in a stiff voice, “Well. Thank you, Martin.” Then, a bit softer: “I… I love you too.” He looks at Martin then and offers him a small, weak smile. “It’s… well, it’s still awkward, but it’s not quite as bad—talking about all of this—as I thought it would be.”

“Well, I’m glad you did. Talk to me about it, that is.”

Jon’s smile turns a bit hesitant. “So you would really be okay if I… if I never asked again? To, er. To have sex.”

“Yes,” Martin says, without hesitation.

“Oh,” Jon says quietly. “And- and if I said that I did? Want to? That… that would be okay too? Even if I’d already said that I didn’t?”

“Yep.”

Jon looks down at his hands where they’re twisted tightly in the hem of his jumper, then back up at Martin. “All right.” He hesitates a moment, then says, “And if… if I said that I wanted to have sex… now?”

Ah. It looks like Martin’s not done blushing quite yet. “Yep, that- that’s fine with me,” he squeaks out, then cringes internally. Fine? Really?

Thankfully, Jon doesn’t seem offended; if anything, he seems amused, his mouth quirking up into a small smirk. “All right, then.” He leans forward and presses a kiss to Martin’s lips, soft and chaste and ever-so-slightly lingering before he pulls away. “I, er. I think I’d like to just kiss for a bit, though.” His smile turns teasing. “Foreplay is very important, after all.”

Martin groans and gives Jon a look, his face likely fully tomato-red by now. “Jon.”

“Need to make sure we’re fully in the mood before beginning proceedings—”

“Yes, yes, you’ve made your point,” Martin says, a giggle slipping out around the words. Then, because he’s nothing if not a little mischievous himself, he leans forward and captures Jon’s lips in a kiss, significantly less chaste and a touch more insistent, pressing until Jon is leaned back against the arm of the couch and Martin is hovering over him. Martin disengages from the kiss so he can marvel at the flushed, wide-eyed expression on Jon’s face. “Like that?” he says innocently.

Jon blinks up at him for a few seconds, like he’s not entirely sure how to process everything in front of him, before he smiles, a warm, happy thing that captures Martin’s heart entirely and steals it away. “I do believe that was adequate, yes. Perhaps you should do it again though, just to make sure.”

So Martin does. I love him, he thinks as he kisses Jon on the couch and kisses him again on the bed, kisses him in the spot between his shoulder blades where he always carries tension and in the dip of his clavicle and on the inside of his thigh. And when he’s curled up next to Jon after, he presses another kiss to the crown of Jon’s head and wraps his arms around him and quietly discards his mental lists of does and doesn’t. He’ll start from scratch, he decides, and after a moment’s thought, he comes up with two more lists, upon which it’s surprisingly easy to add item after item after item.

Jon likes to be kissed. Jon likes eggs and toast, but not jam, and likes his tea black and slightly oversteeped. Jon doesn’t like wool because he finds it itchy. Jon doesn’t like white wine, but he likes red, the kinds that are too dry for Martin’s tastes.

Jon likes Martin, and Martin likes him too. So, so much. And even when things change, when Jon finds a white wine he likes at a restaurant they visit and he takes his tea once with honey and enjoys it and he goes through a period where he doesn’t enjoy open-mouthed kisses and Martin adjusts his lists accordingly, that remains.

[yourmcu]

Emotional Support Mode

Pairings: Tony Stark x daughter!reader

Summary:

in which the reader is the loner, antisocial daughter of Tony Stark and the other Avengers including her father never acknowledge her presence (they thought some sort of interaction made you uncomfortable) so she becomes friends with Friday instead - Tony probs finds out and it’s gonna be all cute n fluffie once he realizes -

Word count: 2,243

a/n: hi just wanted to write fluffy tony :)) also I used they/them for friday’s pronouns

Warnings: angst n fluff, friday’s a bit more advanced (not like they aren’t already but) bc they could almost act like a literal human here.

read it on ao3!

You arrive back at the Avengers facility, shoulders slumped and just tired in general since you have a lot of homework and projects to do from school, most of them due by the end of the week. You also have exams later in the week.

“Hey, Fri,” you huff as you make your way to the elevator.

“Welcome home, Y/N. Where do you want to go?”

Yes, you're very close with the A.I that they started calling you by your first name. “To my room - and uh, will you remind me to read two chapters in my history book after I’m done with all my homework? I also have this project, I just need some measurements later, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure thing.”

“Thank you.”

It’s going to be a long night, you sigh heavily just thinking about it. Now you’re probably wondering, ‘you live with the Avengers! Why don’t you ask Tony and Bruce for help? Maybe Steve and Bucky for your History test?’

Yeah, well... you barely talk to any real person you live with. Maybe it’s you, you always thought you're making the team uncomfortable. You don’t even talk to your own father often which is kind of depressing on your part.

You love them, they’re like your extended family, but it just isn’t working out. Maybe they just don’t like you. Up to this day you still wonder why Tony took you in when you were just a baby (you were a mistake from one of his one night stands) - he had the choice not to.

“I’m assuming you zoned out again. You have arrived to your room five minutes ago.” Friday announces.

“Y-yeah sorry,” you shuffle out of the elevator and swiftly head to your bedroom, closing the door behind you.

“I also asked if I should inform Mr. Stark that you have arrived home.”

“No, no thanks. He’s busy and... probably wouldn’t care anyway,” You mutter the last part as you pile the books you need on your desk. “Can you put my study playlist on, please?”

----

“What time is it, Friday?”

“7PM. I was about to remind you to take a break.”

You get up from your chair and stretch, halfway through the last of your homework which is a two page essay. “You’re too kind, thanks pal,” when you walk out your room to head to the kitchen and grab a snack, the lounge is empty, kitchen empty,

“The team’s on a mission? I thought they had the whole week off,” you say before gulping down a water bottle.

“I checked the security footage: they left about an hour ago. Captain Rogers was talking about getting dinner.”

You put the bottle down. “Oh,” you try to mask your disappointment. This isn’t your first time being alone, they always left you here when they had a mission of course but... well, it’s not like they want you around them. “I’ll - I’ll just make myself something later, then. Not a big deal. I have to study anyway.”

Another hour later, the Avengers are back. They're all conversing happily as they pile in the lounge. Peter's rambling about upgrades for the Spiderman suit while Tony's typing away in his phone, nodding at everything he says. Everyone else is arguing about the TV channels and talking about the new restaurant they ate at.

Rhodey shifts, looking around. “Why do I feel like we forgot something?”

Natasha looks at him, waiting for him to go on.

“I assure you, I brought Mjolnir with me this time.” Thor butts in.

“No not that, what time does Y/N get home from school?” No one answers. It’s not like any of them know. It's natural that Rhodey would be worried about his goddaughter (even if they rarely talk). He turns his head to his best friend who’s now walking away with Peter, an arm around his shoulder. “Tony, where’s Y/N?”

He doesn’t hear since he has his full attention on his protégé.

“I’ll start making this tomorrow, I guess. I still have to buy materials.” You mumble to yourself, but you hope Friday's listening to everything you say just to make you feel less lonely. You swipe the hologram of the blueprint away and place the thick books in front of you.

“I would like to recommend a suitable study plan.” they state.

You rub your eyes, sighing, “I’m already halfway, I would’ve considered it earlier though.”

“This is only a recommendation, feel free to ignore it.”

You push yourself away from the desk and mutter a “go on,”, fiddling with your pen.

“Asking Mr. Rogers and Mr. Barnes would give you more details for your History examination, since the pair were originally from that time period. The same goes for Mr. Banner for your Science examination, I believe he has seven Ph.D’s, you may also approach Vision for the same topic. Mr. Stark has all the necessary materials for your project in his lab. Would you like me to-”

If only it were that easy. It should be easy, the thought alone makes you really nervous. “No, I - I appreciate the recommendation, Friday, but - I think I can do this on my own.”

“But you’re tired and it is almost midnight. I would help you myself but you specifically told me not to.”

They’re not wrong. Your eyes are starting to droop and you barely understand anything you're reading. You're also fighting back tears - why is talking to your family so hard?

“I can sense sadness. Would you like me to activate emotional support mode?”

“Yeah, okay. That sounds great right about now.”

----

“Crap. Guess we lost track of time again, kid,” Tony wipes his hands with a rag while he looks at the time on his computer. “You better get home. I’ll send May a text for keeping you this late.”

“Okay, thank you Mr. Stark. I’m just gonna use my suit-”

“No. Happy will drive you.”

Peter knew better than to argue and insist so he just nods and smiles sheepishly. A minute later Happy came ‘round to take him home.

Tony turns back around. “Friday, make a new project for me please, I’m adding minor upgrades to the Spiderman suit.”

“Not now, boss.”

Oh. He did not expect that. “Excuse me?”

“Y/N is currently opening up. I would like to give her my full, undivided attention. Please come back after fifteen minutes or so.”

Tony doesn’t exactly know how to feel about that. He never sees her outside her room anymore that he kinda forgot she existed tonight - oh fuck, they didn’t bring her to dinner with them.

“Well,” he exhales. “What is she saying?”

“That would be an invasion of privacy.”

“I’m her father-”

“Are you, sir?” Friday’s clever remark makes him stop abruptly.

It’s pretty clear that he’s been a shit father. Not only does he ignore you all the time but he treats Peter way better than his own flesh and blood. The Avengers on the other hand, they were nice people, but just didn’t understand so they try their best to get out of your way.

You were afraid of rejection, afraid to interact, because you had no idea what everyone thought of you. Did they like you? Did you make them uncomfortable? Did they want you around? What about Tony, did he really want a daughter in his life? Because you noticed he’d be better off with a son, yeah, like Peter goddamn Parker.

Tony sighs, walking out of his lab and heads to the mini bar to grab a drink. He needs to think: there's absolutely nothing wrong about you, he just didn’t do his job right, you thought he didn’t care, you thought nobody did. Even Friday is turning against him, doing a better job of comforting and being there for you.

“God, I’m such an asshole,” he mutters to himself, rubbing his forehead. He drinks his last shot and heads to the kitchen. “She still awake?” He calls out.

“She is.” Friday has a bitter tone.

He's hesitant to ask again, feeling really bad for not knowing this simple question - “what’s her favorite beverage?”

----

“How do you feel?”

You sniffle. “Well y’know, better than before. I should probably go to sleep. Thanks, Fri.”

“You’re welcome. Also, Mr. Stark is outside your door.”

“W-what?” You put away your books and straighten up, rubbing your damp eyes. “You’re serious? Okay, uh, let him in?” It's more of a question.

“Alright.”

You turn to face your desk as Tony enters the room, holding two steaming mugs. He sits at the end of your bed, just right next to the chair you're sitting on. “Hi,” he gives you a small smile and hands you a mug.

What’s the occasion?

“What’s this?” You ask quietly before taking the mug from his hands. Tony's being gentle and soft, it's odd but you’re not complaining.

“Green tea with honey. I... I thought I saw you make that stuff once.” He says, not mentioning the fact that Friday told him that.

“Oh, well, yeah,” you take a small sip. He added a bit too much honey but other than that it was good. “I thought you preferred coffee, though,”

Tony shrugs, his eyes glistening when he looks at you. “Wouldn’t hurt to try something new.”

“Did - did you want something, Dad?” You always found yourself awkward, couldn’t even make conversation with someone for long, always wanted to get straight to the point so it could be over with.

He looks like he wants to say something but he just averts his gaze to you, his hands, the floor, then suddenly he leans in and hugs you. Your feel your heart swell and body warm up, it’s a new sensation for you after all, you rarely get hugs from people. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “For everything. I’m such a bad dad, I don’t deserve you. I even forgot you when we went out to dinner.”

“You don’t have to be sorry for anything. I had loads of stuff to do earlier anyway, so, but yeah I was just - I just overreact, I’m sensitive. I don’t blame you and the others for not liking me, I know there’s nothing like-able about me, I’m not like Peter-” You ramble, tears now leaving your eyes again.

“Sweetheart, don’t say that,” Tony says as he pulls you closer to him, head resting against his chest while he rubs your back comfortably. “Y/N Stark, you are smart, brilliant - I was just an ass for not acknowledging that.”

“I know you’re just saying that to-”

“Oh, but I’m not,” he now places his hands on your shoulders, getting you to look at him. “Tell me who built their first engine when they were eight?”

You blush, “Dad-”

“No, come on, I wanna hear it.”

“I did.”

“Yes you did. And who made a completely functioning robot at their middle school science fair that blew all the teacher’s minds?”

You’re trying to hide a smile, recalling the memory,  “I did.”

“And who,” Tony gets up and walks to the bulky looking thing that you covered with a sheet, pulling it off, “is currently building a computer from scratch?”

“Dad! That’s still a work in progress,” he messily places the sheet back and chuckles.

“My point is, you’re a clever and talented girl, Y/N. Don’t bring yourself down. And you don’t have to be shy around your family, those idiots have been dying to get to know you but since you don’t talk much... they don’t want to force it. We love you,” he says. “I hope you forgive me ‘cause I really wanna make it up to you. I’m not calling Peter in for a few weeks.” Tony sits down beside you again.

You couldn’t believe he’d do that for you. “You don’t have to, if you need him for something then-”

“-then you could help me instead, if you’re up for it.”

“I’m really sorry for being such a lonely freak,” you yawn, getting back into Tony’s open arms. “I love you.”

Tony tucks you in and lies down beside you, “I love you tons, kiddo.”

You snuggle into his chest, feeling his steady breathing while he rests his chin above your head.

----

It's morning. The Avengers are gathered at your open bedroom door.

“Are you getting all of this, Friday?”

“Yes, Ms. Romanoff.”

“Steve turn that shuttering sound down!” Natasha hisses at the super soldier who's doing his task, taking pictures.

Steve almost drops the phone and has Bruce fix the volume for him.

They’re all watching you and Tony cuddle together, still fast asleep.

“Do we have to stay here until they wake up?”

“Unless you have a great way of waking them up, yes. Now shut up.”

“If you think about it we definitely look creepy right now.” Sam comments.

“It’s their fault for having the door wide open all night!” Clint says.

Tony's actually awake the whole time, listening to them bickering. “You have three seconds to get the hell out of here before I make all of you polish my suits.” With that, the team races down the hall, pushing each other to get away first like literal children.

[illfoandillfie]

A Different Kind of Education: I Is For Impact Play (Chapter 8)

ADKoE MASTERLIST

Pairing: Professor!Roger Taylor x Fem!Reader

Series Summery:  After being broken up with for not being kinky enough, Reader seeks out her professor to give her some private tutoring so she can win her boyfriend back.

Chapter Summery:   A new week and a new lesson, but also a new challenge. How can you possibly find the courage to talk to your professor about your period?

Warnings: Modern AU, smut (18+), slow burn romance, dom/sub dynamics, dom!roger and sub!reader, professor x student sex, dialogue heavy, conversations about and mentions of menstrual cycles/periods, discussions of impact play including: spanking, kicking, slapping, punching, floggers, paddles, crops, whips, and canes

Words: 10,391

A/N: Better late than never, right? Big apologies for taking so long to get this one up! Once again I've had to split a single topic into multiple chapters lmao. This one is mostly the theory part of the lesson and a bit of an info dump, but the next part will focus more on the actual smut.

Taglist: @labessieisallama @deakyclicks @jennyggggrrr @drowseoftaylor @hannafuckingsucks @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming @queenmylovely @ilovequeenmorethanyou @johndeaconshands @borhapbois @stardust-galaxies @cherries-n-rocknroll @rogersslave @scorpiogemini 

@80s-roger @libsterslobsters @okilover02 @cjand10 @dealorgirl32 @youngpastafanmug @onceuponadetectivedemigod​

You knew it was something you’d have to deal with eventually, that having your period would affect your lessons with Roger. But still you felt reluctant to broach the topic with him. It wasn’t something you generally discussed with people, especially not your professor (even if you were regularly sleeping with him). And you could already hear the lecture he’d give you about why you shouldn’t be embarrassed to tell your sexual partner about your cycle, and about how he’d taught reproduction enough to not be phased by it. The problem was you weren’t really sure how you felt about having sex during it and you knew even less about whether Roger would want to. You were definitely going to have to talk to him about it, no matter how much you didn’t want to. So, wondering when the best time to bring it up would be, you checked the curriculum he’d written for you. Impact play. That was the topic for the week. Roger might consider you clueless about kink (as you’d learnt during the previous week’s munch), but you at least knew enough to know that impact play meant spanking. For a moment you were distracted from your worries about the conversation you were going to have, rather excited by what you’d just read. Spanking was one of those things you’d been expecting to try. When you thought about BDSM, spanking was the second thing to come to mind after bondage. It was one of those things Dylan had hinted at being into. A couple of times during sex he’d given your arse a slap and, though you’d never really asked for it you also hadn’t told him to stop. He never hit too hard and it added a bit of excitement so there was no harm in it. And you suspected he might be interested in pushing it further if you ever suggested as much. So, to know that Roger was going to run you through the basics of it and show you how it felt, you couldn’t help but be a bit excited. And maybe you’d be able to keep things over the clothes to start and you wouldn’t have to tell Roger about your period after all. The good thing with having an implant was that it reduced the duration of your period. It would have been nice if it stopped it entirely but at least it shortened it and made it a little lighter. So maybe you could organise a second session later in the week for the more hands on part of the lesson, and not have to explain at all. You left your apartment feeling happier and excited to see Roger that night. But you didn’t have to wait so long to see him.  

You’d barely taken two steps inside when a familiar voice called out Ms Y/L/N and you found Roger walking towards you, his hand raised in a lazy wave.  “Hi Professor,” you smiled, surprised but happy to see him, “I’m just on my way to class, what’s up?”  “Oh, in that case,” he glanced over to a group of students ambling past you, “do you have time for a meeting before you leave this afternoon?”  Your heart rate sped up at the serious way he looked at you over his glasses, “Umm sure.”  “Good. I’ll see you this afternoon then. Don’t forget.”  You nodded but a new worry had taken over your mind. There was only one reason he could want to talk to you. Your degree. If it was anything to do with his tutoring sessions then he would have just said it when you got to his place that evening. No, it must be to do with your class work. Maybe something had been wrong with your last exam? Possibilities were turning over in your mind as you resumed your path to your first class, each worse than the other. Maybe you’d misunderstood a question and gotten it completely wrong. Maybe he’d had to fail you. Maybe your overall grade had dropped. Maybe he was going to call the whole tutoring thing off because you’d gotten too distracted and done so badly on your recent assessment. You spent the entire day trying not to get too worked up about it, trying to tell yourself that if your work had slipped even a little he would have called to talk about it earlier, that if it really was as bad as failing his subject you’d have discussed it long before now. By the time your last class of the day ended you were somewhere between terrified about what Roger was going to say and relieved that you were about to find out.  

Your hand was shaking as you knocked on Roger’s office door and pushed it open at his word.   “AH, Ms Y/L/N, shut the door please and take a seat.” he said, shifting a stack of papers to the side of his desk. It was only once you were sitting that he seemed to look at you properly, “Are you alright? You look a bit pale.”  “Professor I’m so sorry, I swear if something was wrong with my last exam then it wasn’t because of our lessons and I promise I’m not letting them distract me at all. I put so much time and effort into studying and if-”  “Woah, woah, hang on. No one said anything was wrong.”  Your breath caught in your throat and it seemed to take you twice as long as it normally would for you to understand what he’d said, “There’s not? Then....why am I here?”  “It’s about tonight’s tutoring session.”  “Oh?”  “I wondered if you’d be okay making a small change to the plan.”  “S-so nothing's wrong with my work?”  Roger shook his head, “Your work is impeccable Ms Y/L/N. Sorry, I didn’t realise you’d assume the worst. I had no intention of worrying you like that. I was intending to mention it this morning but you seemed to be in a bit of a rush and I didn’t want anyone to overhear so...” he gestured vaguely towards you with his hands.   You let out a relieved chuckle, feeling a weight lift from your shoulders, “What was the change you wanted to make?”  “Do you know what we’ll be focusing on this week?”  “Impact play, Professor.”  “Very good. And do you know what that entails?”  “It’s like spanking isn’t it?”  “Spanking is definitely part of it, yes.”  “Cool. But you’re not wanting to switch topic are you? Only I’ve been kind of looking forward to this one since it’s like proper BDSM stuff....or like, not that other things aren’t I just mean that spanking is part of what I initially imagined, y’know?”  Roger held up his hand to quiet you, “I understand what you mean Ms Y/L/N. And it’s not that I want to change the topic, I just wanted to change where the lesson would take place.”  “Okay...” you were a little surprised by that. Where else could he have in mind when your lessons were supposed to be secret.  “I thought we might have the first lesson here.”  “Here?!”  “Keep your voice down, Ms Y/L/N. Not here exactly, not this office. In the first-year bio room actually.”  “Why? Isn’t that kind of risky? What if someone saw?”  Roger shrugged one shoulder, “It might be, but I think what I intend to show you could be covered as a biological experiment. Let me explain,” he said upon seeing your confused face, “So, as you no doubt remember, first years do a lot of dissection of various animals, working their way up to human.”  You nodded, remembering hours spent bent over various carcases and cadavers.  “Well, I thought it might be beneficial to show you some of the impact play tools we can use, demonstrating how they work and what effects they can have, but I don’t want to demonstrate them on you straight away. Luckily, it just so happens that one of the animals my first years are studying right now is pigs, so I thought we might use a pig carcass instead. Pig and human flesh are quite similar so you should get a decent sense of how being spanked with various tools will look and the impact they would have on your skin. We can compare being spanked by hand to flogging to a crop and so on. All without experiencing any pain at all. Of course, it is a dead pig so it won’t be exactly the same and you probably won’t see the same levels of bruising you would on a living human being, but it’s a good starting point. Plus this way you could try wielding the tools too, so you can get a sense for how they feel to use them and how much force is required to make them work.”  You were taken aback by the explanation and had to stop your jaw from falling open as you listened. But Roger waited patiently for you to think it over and you quickly concluded it was a good plan. You could easily write it off as related to your dissertation if anyone saw and asked what was going on. It wasn’t at all related but Roger was about the only person who knew what topic you were researching so no one else would pick up the lie.   “Okay then, let’s have the lesson here.”  “Excellent. You really don’t mind hanging back?”  “Not at all.”  “Good. I think we should possibly wait until a little later before we start, just to let the place clear out a bit. Perhaps we could get some dinner and eat it in here before we head down to the room. You can tell me how you’re getting on with your dissertation.”  “Okay, I like that idea.”  “Shall I duck out and get us some food then? What would you like?” 

After what could only be described as a minor argument about the merits of Mexican food, you and Roger eventually settled on a nearby Greek place. He tapped the order into Uber Eats and then went to wait for the delivery out on the street so the driver wouldn’t have to find their way through the numerous carparks and laneways on campus. You ducked out to your own car to drop off your bag full of books, though you kept your laptop to make notes on. It would also make your story seem more legitimate if anyone did stumble onto the lesson and ask what was going on. The thought of the lesson made you smile. Partly because you were keen to learn about the topic but also partly because you knew there was no way sex would be part of it. Roger would definitely draw the line at fucking his student in his classroom where anyone could catch you. And if you were going to be spanking a dead pig then you wouldn’t be asked to remove clothes or anything like that. So you wouldn’t have to discuss your menstrual cycle with Roger at all. You’d just say you were busy until later in the week when your period stopped and organise the follow-up lesson then and Roger wouldn’t be any the wiser. It was perfect. That, in addition to knowing nothing was wrong with your actual schoolwork, put you in a very good mood and you could have whistled with joy as you made your way back to Roger’s office.  

By the time you’d finished eating, the sky outside the window had changed from a mix of warm pinks and yellows as the sun set and was gradually darkening the longer you watched. It was only when Roger glanced at his watch and saw that it was a quarter to seven that he decided the building would be empty enough for your lesson to start. He grabbed his own laptop as you grabbed yours and then led you along the corridor and down a set of stairs, taking you towards the back of the building where the hands-on biology lessons were held.   Roger made sure the door was shut and locked before dumping his belongings onto a desk. “Can you give me a hand?” he asked, before moving to the door to a walk-in freezer at the back of the room.  Together you hoisted a large pig carcass onto a cart and wheeled it out into the main room.   Roger then ducked back into the freezer returning, after a little rummaging, with what looked to be a child’s toy crate. It was made of yellow plastic and seemed light enough that Roger had no trouble hoisting it onto one of the desks, but it was not full of children’s toys. You couldn’t see everything immediately but poking out of the top was a long black handle with a leather flap hanging off the end.   “Is that what we’ll be using then?” You were eyeing the box warily.  “Yup,” Roger began pulling the items from the box one by one, laying them out on the desk, “I brought the box in earlier and hid it down here so no one would stumble onto it. I didn’t want any awkward questions. Or to have any of them stolen since they’re mine,” he added with a chuckle.  You looked over the collection with interest, some of the objects familiar to you and some only vaguely recognisable, “Is that a hair brush?”  “It is,” Roger winked playfully, “Kink can be very D.I.Y and the back of a hairbrush makes for a good makeshift paddle. The front of the hairbrush can be fun too actually. Anyway, I’m getting ahead of myself. I’m going to go through everything individually, explain what they are and what sort of effect they have and I’ll demonstrate them on our piggy participant. There’s also a few things I don’t have which we can run through at the end, sound good?”  “Sounds great.” You sank into one of the nearby seats, pulling your laptop towards you, ready to take notes.   “Right well. Impact play is a BDSM practice where one partner strikes another for sexual gratification. As you rightly said earlier this includes spanking but there's a little more to it than just that. You can slap your partner, punch them, kick them, whip them or flog them. There’re numerous ways to play with impact and as with all BDSM it’s important to negotiate what you want before you start. Being struck can leave marks of course. Brusies, welts, scratches, right through to cuts that draw blood. For some people, the marking aspect is an important part of their enjoyment, and they might go so far as to intentionally make the marks more apparent. But whether or not you want visible marks might be influenced by your job or the season or your social life or any number of other things. Personally, the marks are secondary to why I enjoy the forms of impact play I partake in. But my feelings aside, the nature of our lessons and the secrecy required, means I won’t intentionally be marking you anywhere that isn’t easy to cover up. If you even want to try it out. You might see everything today and decide it’s not for you and that would be okay.”  “I don’t think there’s much danger of that Roger. Dylan’s spanked me a little before and I’m interested enough to try more.”  “In that case then, you should know that physical pain is part of impact play no matter what aspect you try. And it can bring up more mental pain too, depending on the individual. Which is why I want to start with testing some implements on this pig. We can go through a few things and you’ll get a sense of them and then we can talk about what you might actually want to try or if any of it seems wrong for you. I’m also going to be much more diligent with your safe word in these lessons than any before. So what is your safe word?”  “Pizazz, Roger,”  “Good. Remember you can use it whenever you need to, even today. If things get too much for you I want to know.”  “I know. I promise I’ll use it.” You were struck by how serious Roger’s tone was but understood it, after the conversation you’d had during your previous lesson. And, for the first time, you wondered if this would be a topic Roger would find hard to teach.  “Thank you. I’ll check in with you every so often, especially when we move onto the practical lesson and you’re experiencing it firsthand. So, if I ask you what your safe word is, I need you to respond as loudly and as quickly as you can. It’s a way for me to gauge how well you’re coping and to make sure you’re still capable of using it.”  “That makes sense.”  Having assured himself of your understanding, Roger took a deep breath and smiled again, “Well, I have a range of different implements you can use here today but we’ll start with the most basic,” he held his two hands in front of him, palms towards you, fingers wiggling, “Hands.”  You smiled at his showmanship but your gaze lingered on the offered view. His hands had always seemed quite lovely, even when he was just teaching you biology. The way they moved so delicately as he demonstrated necessary scientific processes for the class, or rapidly twirled pens around his fingers to impress new students. Of course, you’d felt them too since you’re first private lesson, the way he caressed you and held you. His fist tightening in your hair and his fingers plunging into you and making you moan and the way he’d gently stroke your skin as you were both regaining your breath. You were excited to feel the power in them as he spanked you.   “Spanking is entry level impact play. Everyone and their mother has heard of it. It’s a common thing to see in pornography and even in Hollywood movies when they want to show sex as kinky. And because you don’t need more than your hands it’s easy to experiment with. Do you want to see what it looks like?”  You nodded and Roger stepped closer to the pig, angling himself so you could see.   Suddenly there was the sound of a clap as Roger’s palm hit the pig’s flesh.   “See how my hand was open and my palm was flat?” Roger demonstrated again but slower so the hit barely made a sound, “But what if I do this?” He hit the pig again but changed the position of his hand. The sound of his hand colliding with the pig was deeper the second time around, “If you cup your hand, curve it slightly, you can change the way the spank feels and sounds. Just like clapping.”  You experimentally clapped your hands together, first with open palms and then with each hand cupped so that the fingers wrapped around the back of the other.  “Now you give the pig a try.”  Feeling a surge of nervously excited butterflies, you got out of your seat and took your place at the pig. With a breath and a swallow you quickly brought your hand down. The slapping sound seemed to echo in the quiet room but it wasn’t as crisp as the noise Roger’s hits had made. With a look to Roger for permission, you tried it again, creating a slightly more impressive sound.  “Good, now cupped?”  You did it again, curving your fingers in a bit and bringing it down again. It felt more awkward than the open palm hit had so you repositioned yourself to hit the pig from a slightly different angle and tried once more.  “Don’t be afraid to pull your arm back further. The more your rear back, the more force will be in the spank. Like this,” he pulled his hand back past his ear and swung down hard, the spank echoing around you. “Of course, you can also spank from a nearer point too. Spanking, and a lot of impact play, is best if you mix it up a bit, don’t stay in one rhythm too long, do some spanks with your fingers spread, or change how hard or fast they are. I might give a sub two or three hard hits each with a pause between but then I’ll switch to a more rapid series of spanks that don’t have as much force behind them but come faster.”  You nodded and experimented with taking your arm back further, testing out ways to change the strength of each spank, until Roger finally called you to stop.  “How did that feel?” he asked as you took your seat again.  “My hand tingles.”  “That’s normal,” Roger laughed, “in fact it’s one thing I really enjoy about spanking by hand. The sub isn’t the only one who feels the spanks, the dom gets some of the pain in his hand too, especially if the intensity ramps up or there's a section of quick-fire spanks. And that can a) help the dom understand what the sub is feeling and work out how long the scene should go and b) brings a sort of intimacy to the scene that is harder to achieve with a tool.”  You hummed as you noted down what he’d said, “Have you ever spanked someone so much you injured your wrist or anything?”  “No.” Roger shook his head, amused by the question, “My wrists are pretty sturdy. But a few times I’ve been left with a stingy, tingly hand for an hour or two. Which brings me to an important note about pain. There are two main types of pain you can experience in impact play. We refer to them as thuddy and stingy.”  “Thuddy and stingy? What is this, an afternoon kids show?”  Roger rolled his eyes, “The names are simple but they explain exactly what they mean. Some types of impact will have a stingy sensation which is usually superficial. It won’t go deeper than the first few layers of skin and probably leaves the skin feeling warm and a little tingly or like sunburn, y’know? It’s typical of spanks and slaps. Thuddy pain is deeper, it gets into the fat and muscles and tissue and aches more. And I’ll go through which tools cause which sort of pain as I get to them. Generally though, people who enjoy impact play have a preference for one or the other.”  “And your preference is what?”  “Thuddy. Definitely. Although I prefer inflicting stingy.”  You hummed thoughtfully.  “Now, I’ll go into details about ways to actually incorporate spanking into a scene later. We can talk about it while we’re negotiating our scene. Today is just about the practicalities and sensations involved in the different types of impact play. So are you okay to move on?”  “Yup, definitely.” And then, sensing Roger might ask, you added, “Pizazz.” feeling pleased when you saw him smile. 

“I don’t expect us to delve too deep into them but I think I should touch on kicking, punching and slapping. Kicking and punching are things I’ve not done. They can, obviously, be quite painful. But they’re pretty self-explanatory. From what I understand about it, and what I’ve heard others who enjoy that kind of thing say, kicking and punching can both be very intimate, similar to the way spanking by hand is, but in a more primal or animalistic way. Punching is, of course, done without any accessories but kicking often includes footwear of some kind. A lot of time it’s something like a steel-toed boot or something with a bit of weight to it.”  “That isn't something I want to try.” You’d learnt a lot about how far kink went so weren’t completely shocked that some people would enjoy something as forceful as kicking, but it did take you by surprise to hear Roger talking about it.  “What about slapping?”  “How is that different to spanking?”  “Well, you’re right, they are similar. But slapping generally refers to slapping on the face whereas spanking is usually on the, uh, derriere. Of course you can slap or spank other parts too. For clarity’s sake, if I say slapping assume I mean on the face whereas spanking is anywhere else on the body.”  You thought about it for a second, “I’m not sure if I’d be game to try it but I do want to know more.”  “Slapping can be fun. Again, it’s not one I do a lot but I have played with it in the past. It comes in handy for particular scenes and there’s a fairly bratty sub I’ve worked with who responds really well to it. The most important thing to know is that if you are slapping someone’s face only ever aim for the cheeks. There’s a lot of fragile places around the face and it’s close to the brain so you need to be careful not to do any lasting damage. Never hit the temples because you hit them with enough force and it can kill a person. Nose and ears are off limits too, anything that is important.  You knew enough about biology to know Roger wasn’t making those rules up for fun. Noses were easy to break and hitting an ear too hard could damage someone’s hearing. But face slapping did still intrigue you. 

“Well, I’d say the next – let's call it the next level – of impact play is paddling.” He picked up what looked to be a wooden plank with a handle. It was an inch or two longer and wider than his hand with small holes cut out in a repeating pattern over the flat side so you could look right through it. “They don’t always look like this. Paddles come in lots of different shapes and sizes. This is a wooden one but they’re also frequently made of leather and sometimes the leather ones will have one side that’s a little more padded than the other. That gives you a bit of versatility with the pain. You can start off lightly with the padded side to get you in the zone and then during the scene switch it to the firmer side that hurts more. Or, if you don’t have access to a paddle at all, you can substitute a hairbrush.” He picked the hairbrush up and waved it back and forth.  “And that-” you pointed at the hair brush, “will feel the same as that?” you pointed at the wooden paddle, not quite able to reconcile the two in your mind.   “Not exactly the same but close. Honestly you can get really creative with impact play and not spend any money to get nearly the same results. I mean a plastic hairbrush might take a few extra hits or a little more force to really bruise someone but they’ll still end up sore from it. Or, if the hairbrush doesn’t do it for you, dig through your draws and see what else you can find. Wooden spoons, cutting boards, rulers, leather belts, spatulas, rolling pins, ping pong paddles, anything you can get your hands on. Just be mindful of how easily they’d break or them causing more pain than you expect.”  Again, you weren’t necessarily surprised by the lengths people would go to for sexual gratification, as Roger had put it, but it was a bit astounding. Still, you noted it all down just in case.   “Now a paddle generally falls under the stingy category but you do tend to get a deeper bruise than with your hand. Different factors could alter the way it feels too. If you put less force into it the pain will fall more on the thuddy side, same goes for if your hits are slower. But the pain call also be influenced by the size of the paddle, the material it’s made out of, the texture of it.”  “Texture?”  “Sometimes paddles have added texture, so they aren’t just a smooth, flat board. They might have metal studs that are more raised than the surface of the blade – the part you hit with – or ridging that will imprint the skin. This one has holes in it which definitely changes the feeling, makes it more intense. As you strike and the blade hits, the holes do two things. They stop any air cushions forming that would lessen the impact and they sort of push the skin into the holes which means the pain isn't completely even along where was hit. Plus it also leaves these cool circle marks behind which is fun.”  You realised you’d held your breath through the explanation, eyes following the paddle as Roger waved it through the air and ran his hands over it unconsciously. You hoped he had something more beginner friendly at home, though you couldn’t pretend you weren’t turned on by the way he wielded his weapon.  “Using it is quite similar to spanking but your hand isn’t hitting, it’s holding onto the paddle handle. So you just pull back,” Roger’s arm went back and the paddle swung backwards,” and then hit,” he swung his arm forward, the paddle cutting through the air and landing directly against the soft flesh of the pig. It made a satisfying thwack sound on impact and when Roger’ brought it back again you could see the circular patterns he’d talked about.   He demonstrated a few more times before he handed the plank to you.   It was heavier than you’d been expecting, solid wood, but the handle fit into your palm comfortably. You ran your hands over the flat part, what Roger had called the blade, and felt the holes with your fingers. The weight made it a little hard to swing but not impossible. You managed to mark the pig as well, stroking the circular imprints with your fingers.  “Try the hairbrush,” Roger said, swapping it for the paddle.  Its handle wasn’t quiet as long, but it was lighter and you found your hits were harder with it, without you even trying.   “Something to be aware of if you use an ordinary household item, or even just a different sort of impact toy. Because it’s lighter you can pull it back further and swing harder. A dom has to be aware of how much is going into each hit and how much their sub can handle.” 

“So what’s after paddles?”  “Floggers.” Roger picked his up off the table, “This is a fairly typical flogger. As you can see it’s made of black leather. It has the handle which is the thickest part and then a number of smaller tails. The tails is where you get the most variation which can be a stylistic choice or just a side effect of its price and overall quality. There’s a trick for knowing if a flogger is good quality or not. It should be pretty evenly balanced between the handle and the tails, so you should be able to do this,” he held out a finger and balanced the flogger on it carefully, the handle pointing out one way and the tails dangling over the other.   You thought for sure it would tip forward onto the tails and tumble to the ground but it hung there perfectly.  “Sometimes there will be more tails or they'll look different but no matter what, it should be balanced.” Roger gave a practiced flick of his hand so the flogger leapt into the air and he was able to catch the handle before it fell. “From a more stylistic point of view, you could get a flogger with less tails but they’ll be made of braids of leather which makes them heavier and thicker. Braided tails are also likely to have knots in the ends which can be a bit scratchy and even draw blood. They don’t have to be made of leather either. Rubber floggers are also popular. The tails on them tend to be more rectangular in shape, still flat but they have more edges and it actually feels like you’re being hit with more tails then there really are. And if you’re looking to really fuck someone up you can get hemp floggers. Sometimes they’ll look similar to this leather one but hemp is fairly stiff material and sometimes the tails will be shaped so that they’re sort of squiggly rather than flat lines. The squiggles hurt like a bitch, especially if they have knots at the end. Definitely start off with simple leather and work up once you’re more experienced.” Roger dragged the ends of the tails over his hand as he spoke, “I’d say this falls into the more thuddy type of pain. It can cover a large area of your body since the tails spread out and each of them creates an individual pain point. And because you’re being hit six or seven or nine or however many times at once, you can build up quite a rapid movement over a short period of time.”  You eyed the dancing tails as Roger moved his hand through them, “How long are the tails? Isn’t it a bit dangerous to have so many bits flying in all directions?”  Roger laughed, “Well yeah, kinda. I mean, that’s BDSM for you though, it gets dangerous which is why we’re all obsessed with safety. It’s a good thing to have noticed though, well done. The tails on this one are on the shorter side but some floggers will have much longer ones which means the dom can stand further back and still inflict a lot of pain. But you’re right, you do have to be mindful of the length and where they’re flying because a longer tail can potentially wrap around to somewhere you aren’t intending to hit. For instance, if you’re standing behind a person and flogging the back of their shoulder, you don’t want one of the tails to fly past their shoulder and around their neck. That would be incredibly painful and probably not what they expected or wanted from the scene.”  “So you have to take into account the length of the tails when you’re negotiating the scene then? And know where on the body to focus the hits so you don’t risk causing the wrong sort of pain and ending it early.”  “Exactly. That’s why negotiating the scene is important. Then both the dom and the sub will know what they want to achieve, what they want to get out of the experience, and they can tailor things to fit better. A lot of doms who are into impact play are likely to have multiple versions of their favourite toys – I myself have a few different paddles at home, I just didn’t bring them all in with me today – so by talking through what you want they’ll be able to choose the style of toy that will best fit the scene.”  “So how do you use a flogger then? Is it the same as spanking and paddling where you just swing your arm forward?”  “Sort of. Floggers have a few different ways to use them. There is of course the single strike option where, yeah, you do just hit them like you would with a paddle. I find that you don’t need to bring your arm back so far though, the movement comes from your elbow more than your shoulder.” Roger bent his arm so his hand and the flogger were roughly head height and then brought it down on the pig, “And you can change the angle of your single strike so that you hit them overhand or underhand or from one of the sides.” He demonstrated each direction as he said them, first bringing the flogger down from above, then swinging it up from below, then from the right side and finally a backhanded hit from the left. “But you don’t have to just pick a side to hit from. Paddles and hands are limited in how you can swing them but floggers have more movement. One way to use them is to swing them in a circle.” He moved back towards the pig to demonstrate, standing side on so that the tails whipped around and struck the pig, “I like starting off with circles because you can keep the pressure quite light. The tails sort of brush over the sub as they pass and it can be a good way to slowly build up. And then you can move into a figure eight as you get a bit harder.” Roger shifted his circles so they made a sideways eight in the air, subtly adjusting his stance so that the tail swished over the pig’s skin on both the forward and back motion.   You watched, awe-struck by how easily Roger swung the flogger, falling into a rhythm quickly. It wasn’t hard to imagine how he’d suddenly change the speed or the force of the swing when you were least expecting it.  

You were brought back to the present by Roger clearing his throat as he stilled the flogger, “The figure eight is why you should practice your backhand swing as much as any other. Because the tails will hit the sub on both the forward and back swings and you want them to be as even as possible.” He flipped the flogger in his hands, holding the handle out to you.   It felt smooth and cool in your hand, lighter than the paddle had been. You swished it experimentally, trying to get a sense of how it felt in motion.”  “Show me your overhand hit.” Roger said, leaning back against the nearest desk to watch.   You tried to imitate how he’d swung it, elbow bent, flogger raised.   It must have been good enough because Roger nodded and said, “how about underhand?”  He kept calling out different directions for a while, testing your reactions but you felt it helped you get a better grip on the toy and you found yourself adjusting how you held it so your movements became more fluid.   Roger watched you as you tried to keep up, his eyes locked onto your hands. Had you been looking, you might have caught sight of him subtly adjusting himself in his pants.   Finally, he seemed satisfied that you could successfully single strike from any direction and asked you to try the circle and figure eight motions.  They were harder to start, more awkward as you tried to work out the best way to move the flogger, and you caught Roger chuckling.”  “Oi, stop laughing,”  “Do you want some help?” he was still smiling but his request was genuine and when you nodded he stepped towards you. One of his hands moved to your waist as the other lay over yours on the handle of the flogger.  You tried not to grin too much as he did exactly why you’d hoped, and you felt him so close behind you.  “Like this,” His arm gently directed yours, the flogger beginning to move in a smooth circle.   “Oh, not so hard then,” you laughed, half turning to face him, “Y’know if someone walked in now this would be pretty hard to explain.”  His eyes darted to your lips, “Good thing we locked the door then.”  You hummed, waiting to see if Roger would close the gap.  He did a few seconds later, leaning in to kiss you softly. But the movement caused you both to forget about the flogger, your hands falling out of rhythm, and the tails whacking against your outstretched arms as they fell.   “Ow,” you both groaned, Roger stepping away from you.  It was disappointing but the disappointment was a little confusing. Surely you weren’t hoping for your professor to kiss you when you had no intention of sleeping with him that night.   Roger laughed, “Maybe that’s enough of the flogger today.”  “Might be for the best. Good thing I was so bad at it, otherwise we might have been really hurt.”  “You weren’t that bad. You actually looked good with it before I brought in the circles. Quite sexy really.”  “Thanks,” you said softly, trying to hide how pleased you were at that praise, “What else is there then?” 

“There's only one more that I can demonstrate but then there’s a few others I’ll touch on quickly too. So the last one I own is a crop.” He picked it up off the table, his fingers sliding along the length of it’s handle as he spoke, “This one I would put in the stingy category. It’s fast and sharp. Again, you can get crops in a few different styles. They will all have a handle like this, long and thin and probably with a slightly thicker point towards the end that’s easy to hold onto. The difference will be in the bit you hit with. This one is based on the sort of riding crop that's used on horses, so it’s quite plain. There’s just this loop of leather which hangs off the end. But others can be more decorative. I’ve seen crops which had ends shaped like hearts or that had studs pushed into them. Some of them are padded and some have a more rounded shape. We like our variety.”  “It looks scarier than the others I think,”  “Yeah, they’re quite intimidating aren’t they. And if you do it right, it’ll make a noise through the air, which just adds to how intimidating it can be.”  “Can you show me how to swing it now?”  “Absolutely. Now, you want to stand a bit further back with a crop because there is such a long handle. And the magic is in the wrist with these. You just flick the wrist and...”  You could hear the whooshing sound of it flying through the air before it cracked against the pig.  “Now some crops are more bendy and some are more stiff so, if you get one, you’ll want to practice swinging it a bit before you use it on a person, to get a feel for it. The flexibility of it might dictate how you stand or how strong the swing has to be. Give this one a go though.”  You felt oddly powerful as you took the crop and tightened your fist around the end. For a moment a vision of you decked out in leather dominatrix gear popped into your head and you nearly laughed. Unfortunately, the intimidating whooshing noise Roger had achieved was not as easy for you to make as you’d hoped, and the imagined power soon dissipated as you struggled to make the weapon sing.   Roger however was not disappointed. “It takes practice,” was what he said when you lamented your inability to create the sound, “And you don’t have to have the sound to make a good hit. It’s just kind of cool.”  When you still seemed disappointed he sighed.  “If it’s any help, I can’t always make the sound either. And besides, I wasn’t intending to use that one on you, unless you really, really want to. I mostly brought it to show you as an interesting part of your theory lessons. And so you’d have a sense of what a cane is like, even though I don’t have any of them to demonstrate.”  “A cane? Like....caning? Like what Victorian kids used to have done if they misbehaved or whatever?”  Roger laughed, “Kind of, yeah. It does have a history in corporal punishment. Which, might I add, wasn’t just for Victorian kids. It was still a thing when I was a kid. We didn’t get caned, more likely to be whacked over the knuckles with a ruler, but still. I don’t think it really left schools until the 80s.”  “Jesus,”  “Yeah. Occasionally I do wish I could bring out a ruler to shut a kid up,” he winked in jest, “Anyway, caning for BDSM is similar and uses the same sort of tool. A cane, funnily enough. Canes are long and thin like a crop but without the leather flap at the end or the more padded handle area. Traditionally they’re made from rattan which is a type of plant, but you can also get synthetic canes which are covered in leather. In my experience synthetic canes are actually harder. Not to use, I mean in the way they feel when you’re hit with them. The traditional rattan ones require a lot of maintenance though. You have to water them between uses, literally soaking them in a bath of water so they don’t dry out and break. But the benefit with a rattan cane is that if you get it home and realise you’d like something a bit shorter, you can cut it off yourself and just sandpaper down the rough edge and it’s good as new.”  “So are there any different version aside from synthetic? All the other toys had lots of variety.”  “Hmmm, not really. Most of the difference will be in how thick the cane is, which can effect the feel of it a lot. A thinner cane will sting when it hits and the force will make the skin hug the cane so it leaves these long marks behind. A thicker cane though might sting less but it’ll still hurt a lot, just more thuddy. And you tend to get more bruising from the thicker ones.”  “And do you use it the same as a crop?”  “Mostly, yes. The biggest difference is that you can use a larger section of a cane. The crop has the specific bit at the end to hit with whereas a cane doesn’t have that limit. The most important thing to remember is to try and aim a little short of where you want to hit because if you hit with a part of the cane six inches down, those top six inches are going to hit as well, and with force behind them they will wrap around the person’s side or arse or whatever until they make contact. But other than that, it’s a similar motion from the wrist and uses a similar amount of energy. And canes can make the cool whippy noise too.” 

“Is that everything then?”  “One last one, really quick. Whips.”  “Oh yeah, I’ve heard of whipping in kink.”  “Yeah, it’s one of those things that gets mentioned a lot even if comparatively fewer people are actually into it. But everyone’s heard the phrase chains and whips in relation to BDSM. There's a few different varieties of whips but I don’t really know enough about them to know the difference. They all look like whips to me. Very cowboy. But they’re one of the more intense versions of impact play. The pain they cause is quite sharp and stingy and will be very localised to a specific point because they have the one tail, as opposed to floggers which have multiple tails. Whips are very capable of breaking the skin though and feel very intensely painful. I do not recommend them unless you discover you’re a masochist and you’ve tried everything else impact play has to offer.”  “No need to tell me twice, Professor. Definitely do not want to try whips any time soon.”  “That’s very reasonable. And that is all of the impact play options I wanted to go through. There’s a little more to cover regarding safety before I let you go for the night, but how about we put the pig away and hope no one notices it’s been marked by crops and floggers.”  You chuckled and quickly moved to help Roger push the trolley back towards the freezer, locking the dead pig away securely, and to help pack up his toys.  When everything was tidy again you re-took your seat, Roger taking the one beside you. It made the end of the lesson feel less like a lesson and more of just a casual chat, the topic of which happened to be BDSM.   “The most important thing to remember when trying impact play is which parts of the body are safest to hit.” He paused for a moment, considering you, “But you’ve been studying biology for a while now, Ms Y/L/N. Care to guess which parts are safe and which parts you should avoid?”  You hadn’t expected to be asked so took a moment to consider your answer, “Well, the arse obviously. Ummm.... I guess I’d assume the best places to hit are the bits with more meat on them.”  “Very good. Entirely correct. There’s a reason most people think about spanking on the arse and that’s because it’s one of the best places to spank. Well, that and the fact that spanking is used so frequently in punishment scenes where you bend the naughty girl over your knee. But, yes, hitting the arse is good. Hitting the thighs can also be good, though the bit just under the arse cheek where it connects to the thighs hurts a lot. Which isn’t to say don’t ever spank there, just be mindful that it’s going to hurt more than directly on the arse cheeks. The pecks or breasts can be good places to hit, even the upper back where the shoulder blade is can be good. What about places to avoid hitting? Any ideas what those might be?”  You hummed in thought, “I’d imagine you wouldn’t want to hit the spine since it’s so important.”  “Right again Ms Y/L/N. The spine is definitely something to avoid. I don’t like hitting on the back much at all because there's too much important stuff there but I do know some others who don’t mind using a flogger there, especially while warming up before things get too intense. There are also the kidneys to watch out for,” he moved his hand to press against the spot on his own back, “because, as you no doubt know, part of the kidneys stick out under the ribcage so aren’t fully protected. Then a little lower down, just above the arse, is the tailbone which should also be avoided.   “What about the neck? That would be bad to hit too, right?”  “Yup. And that’s something to watch for if you’re doing anything on the shoulder blades. The spine of course runs all the way up the back of the neck and hitting there can do some very serious and lasting damage if you’re not careful. I know some people who will only flog the shoulder blades if the sub is wearing a collar because that adds a bit of protection around the C5 and C6 vertebrae but even so, better safe than sorry in my opinion. The front of the neck is also not good to hit since that’s where the vocal cords and all that is.”  “Which is why you have to be careful with a flogger’s tails, right?”  “Right. But what about on the front? Is there anywhere else you’d avoid?”  “Pussy,” you said with a laugh.  Roger laughed too, “Actually, depending on how it’s done, spanking a pussy can be quite enjoyable.”  “Wait really?”  “Yeah. I prefer doing it with my hand since you can feel when it makes the sub wet but it’s not totally unusual to use paddles or crops or even floggers down there too. I’m sure some people whip as well.”  You gulped at the thought.  “The biggest area to avoid on a person’s front side is the diaphragm and middle of the chest. There’s a lot of important stuff in there and a lot less tissue than elsewhere.”  “Do people get badly hurt doing impact play?” you glanced over the list of places Roger said to avoid. It made it seem like almost any spanking was running the risk of more than just some bad bruising.   “Sometimes.” Roger said seriously. He paused for a moment, thinking, and then continued, “Things can go wrong. And when you’re playing with intentionally hurting someone, things going wrong can be very serious. I won’t pretend there aren’t stories of people trying impact play and ending up paralysed or worse. But if you’re careful, if you pay attention and only hit certain areas and are mindful of how hard you’re hitting, then you’re going to be fine. And that’s why we come up with safe words and talk through scenes before we do them. So that you can minimize those risks and have a chance to communicate any worries or concerns.”  “But how can safe words help if you say them after you’ve already been hurt too much?”  “Well, for one, even if you’ve been hurt badly, using your safe word can stop things from being made worse. But you don’t have to wait until you’re hurt to use the safe word. Yes, if I spank you four times in a row and the fourth one feels so bad you can’t go on, then you should use your safe word before I give you a fifth. But you could also use it after the third hit when you aren’t sure if you want the fourth. And safe words aren’t just about physical pain. If you start off excited but then feel anxious after two hits you are well within your rights to safe word. You don’t have to wait until the damage is done. And, obviously, it’s not always easy to tell if that one hit more is going to be enough to make you want to stop. You can’t always know if the next hit is going to catch your neck wrong and do serious damage. But if you feel at all worried that it might, speak up. Not just worried either. If you feel distracted or you think I’m not paying enough attention to how I’m spanking you, or if I move to spank and area you don’t want me to touch, tell me. There is no wrong reason to use a safe word, even if we’re only a few minutes into the scene. I’ve said before that I’d rather you tell me to stop than for us to go on and you not feel comfortable, and I mean it.”  “I know, I guess I just never really thought about it being for mental stuff as well as physical.”  “Mmm, I should have checked that.”  “Well, let’s face it, you probably tried and I just didn’t pay attention. But, y’know, you’re very good at reassuring me when I start to get nervous.”  ��I hope that’s a good thing.”  “It definitely is. I think if I didn’t have the reassurance, I’d chicken out of some things.”  “As long as you’re aware of the difference between some healthy nerves and anxiety that could be a sign you should slow down. And that you keep telling me how you’re feeling.”  “Of course I will.”  “Good girl.” 

An understanding seemed to pass between you as you sat in near silence, eyes on the other. Until Roger drew in a long breath and stood up.  “Right well, I think that’s just about everything. Obviously we weren’t able to see the levels of bruising that different implements can cause but it’s kind of dependent on the individual anyway. Everything can influence the severity of bruises and other marks. Tell me what a bruise is.”  “It’s broken blood vessels under the skin which cause discolouration.”  “Bingo. Now, obviously being spanked with a hand will leave less obvious bruises than being hit with a crop will and usually a paddle will bruise less than....i don’t know, a leather belt. But there's lots of factors to consider. The sub’s age, diet, the colour of their skin, their hydration level, how much sun exposure they’ve had recently, stress levels, hormones. And the biggest of all is how much stimulus they receive on that part of the body. The more you hit a spot, the deeper it will bruise. So, don’t expect bruises and marks to appear exactly the same every time you make them. There are some ways to heighten or lessen marks left during BDSM, but I’ll go through those when you’re ready for our practical lessons. And we’ll also go through some ideas for popular scenes and positions before we settle on what our scene will look like.” Roger seemed to hesitate for a few seconds, “Of course, it’s not so late we have to stop. If you did want to start testing out some light impact play, or if you wanted to revisit a previous topic, you’re more than welcome to come back to mine.”  “No,” you said much too fast, the suggestion catching you completely off guard.  “Okay, no problem,” Roger said, his eyes downcast.  “I didn’t mean...just that tonight’s not great timing.” You’d really thought you’d got out of having to talk about it but you could see Roger was going to ask what you were talking about when on a regular tutoring night you’d likely still be in his bed. All the same you couldn’t quite make eye contact as you explained, “My period started last night, that’s all. Makes things a bit awkward.”  “Oh is that all?”  You shrugged, “Yeah.”  “Well there’s no need to feel awkward or embarrassed about that. And there’s no reason to hide it from me. Aside from the fact that I’ve been married and had kids, I’ve also been teaching biology for longer than I care to count, so I’m very familiar with the reproductive processes and the reality of the menstrual cycle.”  “I knew you were going to say something like that.”  “Because it’s true. And besides, periods are important to factor into our lessons because they can change how you’ll respond to various kinks. Fluctuating hormone levels can change how much you enjoy or desire sex, as well as the physical sensation of different forms of touch. A lot of women find breast stimulation uncomfortable in the lead up to their period because their breasts become tender at that stage of their cycle. It can also make vaginal sex undesirable, at least in the first couple of days if not longer, whether because of a physical discomfort or pain, or just because it makes sex messier and more annoying to clean up after. The hormonal shifts in a menstrual cycle can also effect libido too, either stopping you from feeling aroused or causing hyper arousal. And all of that is important to consider, especially when we get to other things like orgasm denial. So, don’t feel you have to hide your periods from me, okay? I want to know if something is going to effect how enjoyable these lessons are for you. And plus, I factored periods into the timeline, remember? If you want to postpone for a week we can.  His little speech did put you at ease a bit, the weight of admitting the truth no longer as heavy now that he knew, but it still wasn’t an especially comfortable conversation, “Well, I should be okay to go in a few days.”  “Would you be up for having sex on one of the last days of your period when your flow is a little lighter? Or would you rather wait until after it was finished?”  You tried not to cringe too much upon hearing Roger talk about your flow, “After I think. I don’t know. How do you feel about it?”  Roger shrugged, “If we were just having sex without the kinky stuff I’d be okay with period sex. It’s a little more effort since we’d need to put towels down and all that but I’m not completely opposed to it if we’re both in the mood. However, I think since we’re playing with BDSM it’s probably a good idea to wait.”  You nodded, glad the topic was almost settled, “Yeah, that makes sense. I think I’d feel too self-conscious to enjoy any period sex but you’re definitely right about the BDSM stuff. Just makes it easier for my first time trying things out if I’m not worrying about, um, bleeding everywhere.”  Roger gave you a reassuring smile which made your heart flutter, grateful he hadn’t made things too difficult or drawn out, “That’s settled then. We can put a pin in all of this for now and come back to it when you’re ready.”  “Thanks. Will Friday suit? I think I should be right by then.”  “Friday sounds great.”  “Really? You don’t have to, like, pick up the kids or anything?”  Roger shook his head, amused, “No. It is technically my weekend with them but they’re both staying at friend’s placed over night so I won’t see them until Saturday. Friday we can start testing some things and if we need to, we can come back next Monday and go through more. And I finish a bit earlier on Fridays so maybe we could start a bit earlier.”  “Yeah that works for me.”  “Great. I guess we should get out of here then.” Roger ushered you from the classroom and walked beside you all the way to the carpark, your footsteps echoing down the corridors. He chatted to you quietly about non-kinky topics, as if you’d merely ended up walking the same direction by accident, just in case anyone was looking.   You were almost sad to reach your car, drawing the conversation to an end, “This is me.”  “One last thing, Ms Y/L/M.”  “Mmm?”  “For homework-”  “Homework?”  “Yes. For homework I want you to watch some porn with impact play in it. You’ll find a few examples linked in a document I’ve dropped in our folder but feel free to find your own too. It can be spanking by hand or flogging or any other form of impact we discussed today, whatever turns you on most. Because I want you horny when I see you on Friday. I want you to spend all week thinking about naughty sluts who get spanks, knowing you’ll soon be one of them. I want you excited to be hit and wet at the thought of me spanking your arse and cunt while I fill your holes with cock. Is that clear?”  Roger had leant closer as he talked and your stomach did a backflip as he stood up. All you could do was nod, completely lost for words as Roger chuckled and walked into the dark towards his own car.   

[gamerwoo]

hellooo rockett-nim!! congratszzzz on de 8k!!!! well damn deserved!!

i was rereading TftP (again, for the nth time nyehe) when i read the part in Hansols' with 'Yeji's pregnancy scare', if its alrightt, can you write a drabble of sorts to that? i just kinda rlly wanna see how jihoon would reactt hihihihi

thankyouu, and happy hitorijanai! (i've been saying that to pipol, genuinely dunno why)

a/n: sooooo a lot of people asked about if like birth control or condoms exist in this universe. i feel like if they can make potions and shit for almost anything, that contraceptives do exist in some form, i’m just not sure how. same goes for pregnancy tests. i don’t think it’s necessarily a stick you pee on, but there’s definitely some way to figure it out, i just haven’t thought of how lmao. i don’t think modern day things would fit with this au, y’know? (also this doesn’t have anything to do w the drabble but i just wanted to say i’d like to be called just rocket please!!)

Warnings: mentions of sex (like, a lot of mentions) but there’s no actual sex that happens 

tftp masterlist

»»————-　　————-««

It was no secret Jihoon and Yeji had been having a lot of sex. Everyone was well aware that Jihoon was going through rut, so of course, Yeji was going to help him. And while maybe some people in the pack weren’t really the most careful when it came to sex, Jihoon and Yeji were one of the couples that nobody thought wanted a family right this second. Hell, even Mingyu and Danbi didn’t plan theirs, but they had little Jiwoo anyway.

But then one evening before Jihoon and Yeji were going to bed, she laid down on his chest like she always did while he gently stroked her soft ears, and she mentioned, “I haven’t had my period for the last week.”

Jihoon stopped. His hands stopped moving, he stopped breathing, and he didn’t even blink as he stared at the ceiling.

Yeji wasn’t one to gossip when it came to her and Jihoon’s relationship. She made sure he was the first to know that her period was late -- very late. She didn’t go telling any of the other mates, she went straight to Jihoon with the information.

But that didn’t mean none of the werewolves couldn’t hear what she was saying.

“Um...” was all he managed to get out for a moment, “w-were you supposed to have gotten it already?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, lifting her head to look down at him, “around Sunday. Last Sunday.”

He had no idea what to say, so he just stared up into her green eyes, searching for some sort of answer that neither of them had. 

“I was gonna ask someone to go with me to the market tomorrow to get a test, but I just wanted to tell you first,” she told him.

“I’ll go,” he offered.

“Can we take one of the girls, too?”

So the next day, after an almost sleepless night on Jihoon’s part, Yeji, Jihoon, Soomin, Wonwoo, and Joshua went to the market. Yeji complained about the audience, but Josh just laughed and told her everyone already knew about the situation.

“Living with people with unnaturally good hearing sucks, doesn’t it?” he teased.

Jihoon hardly got any sleep even though Yeji snored softly on his chest all night. While she wasn’t too nervous either way about having a baby with Jihoon -- she was more nervous about how he was going to react -- Jihoon was terrified. He didn’t think he was ready, he didn’t think they were ready, and he wanted to wait on it.

But if Yeji did end up being pregnant, he knew he was going to let her decide what to do next. Even if he was scared, he wasn’t going to tell her what to do with her own body.

Yeji called on Soomin to accompany her since she seemed to know a little bit about everything. Wonwoo wanted to go if Soomin was going, and Jihoon asked Josh just for some moral support from the person they’d considered their in-house doctor for the longest time. Even if Joshua didn’t know as much as a doctor did, he sort of taught himself a few things.

“Did you guys not use protection?” Wonwoo asked while the three wolves stood back and let the two girls talk at a booth they were buying the test from.

“We did...mostly,” Jihoon mumbled with a shrug. “Look, sometimes we just didn’t. You know how that time of the year gets, okay.”

“Yeah, we get it,” Joshua nodded with a chuckle. “So...what’s the plan then?”

“What plan?”

“If she’s pregnant?”

Yeji and Soomin turned away with two tests placed in a small bag, walking back toward the three boys.

Jihoon let out a nervous sigh as he watched his mate, “I have no idea.”

“Scared?” Wonwoo guessed, but there was no teasing tone in his voice. He was actually concerned for his brother.

Jihoon tried to offer a small smile to Yeji, who looked at him with a mix of nervousness and worry, “Terrified.”

-

Jihoon sat on the floor in the hallway outside the bathroom, while Soomin helped Yeji with the tests. In the living room, the pack sat and waited. They tried to go comfort Jihoon and settle his nerves, but he kept insisting he wanted to be alone. They could hear his nails tap nervously on the floor, though.

“What does that mean?” he finally heard Yeji ask.

There was silence.

Jihoon’s heart dropped.

Downstairs, the pack looked around at each other with wide eyes. They didn’t think Soomin’s silence could be anything good.

After a moment, the door opened, and Soomin slipped out without saying a word to Jihoon. She just glanced down at him with an unreadable expression before going to the den to find the rest of the pack.

Jihoon stood as Yeji stepped into the hall to find her mate. He stared down at her with anxiety written all over his face, his golden eyes searching her face for any sign of what the outcome was.

Finally, Yeji’s face broke into a smile. But not a bright smile that said ‘we’re starting a family’. It was almost a smirk that said ‘you were afraid for nothing’.

Jihoon let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, laughing out of relief as he wrapped his arms around his mate’s waist and hugged her tightly. It wasn’t that he was happy they weren’t having a baby together, he was just relieved it wasn’t happening before they were ready.

Downstairs, still awaiting any sort of verbal confirmation of what happened, Junhui finally asked, “Is the silence good or bad?”

Soomin just shook her head, “I’m not telling. They can tell you.”

Jihoon and Yeji decided to just not tell anyone of the outcome, and let them figure it out when her stomach never got any bigger.

»»————-　　————-««

8k celebration!!!

[crystxlclear]

sudden desire

chapter nine: how to run from the mess you’ve made!

part ten of sudden desire

synopsis: marcus meets the parents.

word count: you’re crying. this is long. this is so damn long. this is 12.2k words and you’re crying.

warnings: mentions of pregnancy, mentions of periods, alcohol consumption, strong language, angst, the briefest and barely noticeable references to sexy times

author’s note: i have nothing to say except jesus christ it’s so long (also i got hit with that text block limit, so couldn’t even add a gif???? don’t think anything got deleted but i can’t be sure! hopefully we’re okay!) also not beta’d because it’s so long and i’m lazy

“My parents are in town and they want to meet you.”

She breaks it to him over coffee in the early morning. It’s become practice for him to wake before her - her apartment or his, any day, any time - and have a mug of coffee waiting for her whenever she drags herself from the bed, seemingly too sprightly for 7:30, to greet him. It’s become their ritual, over the weeks, stealing moments over sunrise and coffee. Quiet mornings where caffeine and the quiet hum of the city lull them away from the precipice of dreamy delirium. Coraline hides herself behind the familiar mug like he hasn’t seen every part of her soul stripped bare. 

Judging by the look on Marcus’ face, it would have seemed as if Coraline had just told him one of them was dying. The colour has drained from his cheeks, pale, ghost-white and wide-eyed. He coughs, trying to play off his shock and utter bewilderment, and hide the way his jaw drops a little at the notion. “Erm... what?” His eyebrows raise in that almost playful, questioning way, like, reclining back on the sofa and trying to seem nonchalant about the entire situation, attempting to pull at some of his usually-cool demeanour to cover his worry. 

He knows Coraline can read him far too well to fall for it.

“I said-” There’s a small smirk that curves the corner of her lips. She can’t help it. “-my parents are in town-” Coraline leans forward and places her half-drunk mug of coffee on the cluttered coffee table. “-and they want to meet you.”

“They want to meet me? Why not Loren? You’ve known her longer.”

“They’ve known Loren for years and she dated my brother. You, on the other hand, they’ve never met.” Coraline chuckles and cocks her head to the side. She raises an eyebrow at him when his expression remains dumbfounded; or shocked or bewildered. Whatever it is, he looks like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck. It’s unusual seeing him like this, without his usual air of confidence and poise. “Besides, you’re my best friend, dumbass.”

“I am?” There’s a swell of pride in his expression, now; it flickers there for a moment, before the uncertainty creeps back in. 

“Of course you are!” She tilts her head. Her hair falls over her shoulder, brushing against her collarbone and the skin of her shoulder where her sleep shirt has slipped down. “You already know that.”

He watches her for a moment. Warm eyes capture her gaze and she can’t tear herself away from him as he searches for something behind her eyes; she’s not sure what he’s looking for, and she’s not sure if she even offers up the answers. “Do they know about-” He motions between the two of them. He can’t find the right words to describe whatever it is between them. He’s not even sure there is a word to describe it. “-the agreement?”

“The baby stuff?” She questions, though she already knows what he means. Sometimes she has to remind herself, out loud, to assure herself that it’s not some kind of strange dream. “No, no. I don’t even know where to start with that.”

“What happens when you do get pregnant?”

“If I get pregnant-” she insists. She’s learnt not to get her hopes up; she’s part of a fickle industry, inevitable disappointment is familiar enough to her, now. “As far as they’re concerned, it was an accident. A very happy, not-entirely-accidental-or-unwelcome accident. That’s all they need to know.”

He exhales sharply and runs his hand over the stubble that covers his jaw. “And if they hate me?”

Coraline has to stifle a laugh against her coffee mug. Her lipstick leaves a half-moon of red against the ceramic. She’s sure she looks ridiculous; half dressed up, makeup done in only half an hour, in the dim morning light of her bedroom, hair still a tangled, pillow-tousled mess and in her pyjamas - or solely Marcus’ shirt and her underwear - from the night before. Still, when she’d entered the kitchen in search of caffeine, he’d looked at her like she was the most beautiful sight he’d ever laid eyes on. Sometimes, he makes her believe that she is. “Are you scared?” She smirks, wiggling her eyebrows. His expression is wavering and it just makes her grin even wider. “Like they could ever hate you.” She thinks that might be the most ridiculous thing he’s ever said. Besides, she’s pretty sure her father would like anyone who made Coraline happy. And, God knows, Marcus makes her the happiest she’s ever been. “You’re pretty damn great, aren’t you?”

He hums out a laugh at her reply. “I try.”

“Look, if they don’t like you- but they will, I guarantee they will- then that’s their loss, and it won’t change my mind about how much I adore you.” She almost cringes at her choice of words; perhaps saying that you adored your best friend - your best friend who you were committed to having a child with, wasn’t the most articulate of choices. Adore was spared for lovers, which they definitely were not. “But, if you really don’t want to meet them, that’s fine. I’m not going to force you. But I just think that- maybe- it would be nice if they knew you before- well, y’know-”

“And you would introduce me as…?”

“Marcus, stop deflecting.” She prods him in the side and his face breaks out into a great beaming smile. “My best friend, hopeful future father of my child, Agent Marcus James Pike.” She clarifies, half-jokingly, with amusement in her voice.

“I’m not sure how well that would go over, Cora.”

She raises her eyebrows quickly then drops them with a resigned sigh. “Best to leave out the baby stuff for now, huh?” 

Her father is her oldest friend. They’ve always been close, a true daddy’s girl since she was two-years-old. He was so damn supportive of her dreams, the one who believed in her all those years ago when it seemed like no one else did. He’s part of the industry; behind the scenes, more into the music that soundtracked her performances than being in front of the camera, and preferring to stick around in not-so-sunny Michigan than move his entire family to California, where the highest demand was. Rather than persuading her against acting, pushing her away from the fickle world that was Hollywood, he wanted her to succeed. He never gave her a leg up or helped, just watched in adoration as she carved her own path.

But this, this was one thing she wasn’t entirely sure he would support. Maybe, if they were lucky, they’d catch him in a good mood. Maybe they’d be able to bring him around to the idea. 

She figured, however, that it was better just to call it all an accident and pretend that a pregnancy wasn’t meant to happen.

“Can you help me with the food? I can’t cook.”

“You can’t cook?” 

Coraline hits him on the arm with the back of her hand, lightly, pouting at him as he chuckles at her half-hearted fake offence. “Shut up, Pike.” Her hand clasps over her heart. “Oh, I’m wounded, I’m wounded.”

He leans forward and drops a quick, fleeting kiss to her cheekbone. His plush lips barely brush gently over the bone yet it still sends coils of searing heat through her chest. A smile blooms across her lips like a flower unfurling its petals. “Sorry, Sunshine.” He grins again as he stands and maneuvers over towards the kitchen. “As much as I would love to watch your attempts at achieving culinary excellence, I’ve got to work all week,” he tells her as he drops his half-empty coffee mug into the sink. He checks the time on his watch - 8:35, just enough time to pull himself together and make it into work - and rolls down his pushed-up sleeves. 

“Take the day off today. Call in sick or something.” She pouts, peeking out over the sofa as he fixes his tie and tugs on his suit jacket. “Help me shop and then prep things and cook and-”

Marcus stops dead as he moves to pull on his suit jacket. “They’re coming today?”

“Did I not mention that?” She squeaks.

“It slipped your mind, Sunshine.”

Coraline sighs and slides back into the thick sofa cushions, letting them swallow her whole. “They’ll be here at six.”

He leans against the wooden kitchen counter, crossing his arms over his chest, and smiles at her with that soft smile that inspires so much comfort within her. “I’ll be here at five.”

“You will?” Her face lights up and she practically leaps from the couch. In Marcus’ eyes, she radiates sunshine. “I’m so, so sorry about this, it was all so last minute because my dad’s been ill, and they were meant to go to Daniel’s instead, but he has to work late and-”

“It’s no problem, Cora.”

She pauses, measuring his expression. “That’s a lie, but I appreciate the support and optimism.”

“Well, there has to be one optimist in this relationship.”

Relationship. Only a friendship.

“Thank you, again,” she exhales tightly, watching as he scoops up his briefcase and keys. After the first month, they’d had the foresight to leave their stuff at each other’s houses; there are three of Marcus’ shirts hung at the edge of her closet and a couple of Coraline’s dresses tucked inside his; spare toothbrushes by the bathroom sink, deodorant on the dresser, shampoo by the shower. There’s no need for a mad, early-morning dash across town, now. Just relaxed mornings with coffee that slowly lure them awake. Marcus is dressed and ready to go, looking as handsome as ever as he checks he’s ready, before he steps out for the day.

“Don’t worry about it,” he insists, flashing her a dazzling, heartstopping smile. He drops a second fleeting and breathless kiss to her cheekbone before sweeping out of the front door.

Thank God for Marcus Pike.

...

He’s far more relaxed than he’d expected when he steps into Coraline’s apartment. His feet are aching and his back is rigid and tight with the weight of the day’s workload, but the comfort of her apartment is indescribable. The air in D.C. had been uncharacteristically hot; the city was thick with the cloying humidity of late-spring, the kind that sticks your clothes to your skin with an uncomfortable insistency. But Coraline’s apartment is a breath of fresh air; the AC is cranked up to ten and he sinks into comfort the moment he steps over the threshold. Perhaps it’s the low hum of music, whispering and slow and crackling gently as the vinyl spins in it’s customary circles, or the homely smell of the citrus and cotton candles she burns. Or, perhaps, it’s just her and the way she hums along to the crooning melody of Jeff Buckley. He wouldn’t mind returning home to this every day. The sight of her, living her life enraptured in bliss, carefree and happy, for the eyes of everyone else.

He knows this record is her favourite - a mismatch of songs that seem to have no reason to be on the same record, but somehow seem so utterly Coraline that he can’t help but think of her any time one graces the radio - but that she only plays it when she’s anxious. It’s one of her tells. And he wonders how long it’s taken for her to relax, how long it’s been since the tense set of her shoulders had finally relaxed and she’d melted into the mindless swaying of her body.

“Welcome home, honey,” her lilting voice calls over the music, in a mock sultry voice. It’s tipped with a carefree giggle and, though he can’t see his face, he knows she’s struggling to smother a wide smile. “Have a good day at work?” She asks without turning to look at him. She’s paying far more attention to what’s in front of her, meticulously chopping vegetables like doing it wrong would spell the end of the world.

“It was fine. Lot of paperwork.” Marcus shrugs off his suit jacket, rolls up his sleeves to his elbows and meanders through towards the kitchen where Coraline is. “What are we making?”

“Erm- well- chicken, I guess?” She can feel the weight of his amused gaze upon her face. “Don’t look at me like that. I bought chicken, I just don’t know what to make with it.”

“One of these days, I’m going to teach you how to cook. Save you from living on takeout and cold food.”

“At least I eat vegetables. Things could be a lot worse.”

He glances over at her, skeptical, as he takes over, surveying the groceries Coraline has lined up along the countertop. She’d bought stuff blindly at the store; stuff she knew Marcus liked, knew her parents liked, knew her nephews would actually eat, and had somehow ended up with two full bags of groceries, half of which she has no idea how to cook. The other half, she has no clue whether Marcus has any use for. Hindsight was a wonderful thing and she’d wished she’d called him at the office to ask what the hell she needed to buy at the store. It’s useful, she assumed, because at least she’s prepared. But there’s definitely such a thing as being over prepared, and it’s almost embarrassing to see the result of her panic buying.

“Cooking’s pretty easy,” he explains, cherry-picking ingredients from the far-too-neatly and meticulously stacked pile and examining them. “Just try not to burn anything.” 

“Okay, okay, Gordon Ramsay. What are we eating for dinner?”

...

Coraline has no idea what he’s made. She knows what’s in it, but what they make, what they taste like together, she’s hopelessly clueless. She’d helped out as much as she could, chopping vegetables, tucking away the things he didn’t need, but he moved around the kitchen with practiced ease. He’s always proclaimed he isn’t a cook - at least, he’s never claimed to be a bad one, or, at least, not as terrible as Coraline seems to be - and they always tend to settle on takeout and quick breakfasts, whenever they’re together, but the way he’d navigated things seems second nature to him. Still, whatever he’s made, it smells good - amazing, in fact - as it cooks slowly in the oven beside them.

Coraline sits atop the counter, legs swinging idly in front of her. She sips at her glass of merlot, restraining herself, wishing she could just down the damn thing and pour another, and another, and another. “Hmm, liquid courage,” she hums as she takes a sip of the crimson liquid. It’s more to herself than to Marcus, though he seems to hear and chuckle to himself, rolling his pushed-up shirt sleeves back down over his wrists and retying his tie that had been neatly folded over the back of a barstool since he came in. 

She feels a little guilty for drinking, though she’d just finished her period, their efforts of trying for a baby seemingly unsuccessful. But the cramps in her stomach are still overwhelming and her eyelids still feel endlessly heavy. Wine seems to be the best - and the only - solution to her situation. Wine and ice cream. Lots and lots of ice cream. “Want some?” She offers out the half-empty bottle for him when he notices her watching her, settling his tie against the hollow of his throat, neat and proper. 

“I’m good for now.” He refuses, crossing his arms over his chest. His shirt pulls over his back and shoulders when he moves and the curve of his muscles are visible beneath the white cotton of his shirt. “I’d rather be sober when I meet your parents.” 

He’d laughed earlier, laughed at him being so strung up over meeting them. That it wasn’t as if they were getting married, and they were his soon-to-be-in-laws. They weren’t the bearers of brutal bad news or the rulers of Coraline’s life, either. And he knows her well enough that she’s sure she’ll never forget him because her parents don’t like him. And that, if they don’t like him, it isn’t entirely the end of the world. At least, that’s what he’d told her. But it would be the end of the world, to him; she means the world to him, more than she even realises, and they would be the grandparents of their child, after all. They’d be important to them and to Coraline and, if they were anything like Marcus’ parents, they’d love that baby more than the air that they breathed, more than anything else in the world, and more than they ever thought possible. He’s an only child and the bearer of all that love and adoration they had to offer for so long. And he has no doubt that Coraline’s parents feel the same way about her.

“They’ll love you, Marcus,” she insists. Coraline sets her wineglass down beside her on the countertop and leans forward, hands braced either side of her thighs as she glares at him over the rim of her glasses. She wears them whenever she’s stressed; she rubs her eyes a lot - something about fidgeting and idle hands, an unconscious distraction - and contact lenses don’t tend to fare too well when the days drag on and the night arrives. She’s had sore eyes by 6pm far too many times. “You don’t have to worry about it. Just be the same brilliant man you always are and I’m sure you’ll all be best friends in no time.”

He snorts out a breathy laugh through his nose. “Maybe you’ll be bumped down to second place.”

“Hey!” She jabs a finger in his direction playfully and tilts her head, cocking an eyebrow as he smirks at her. “Don’t even joke about that.”

“No one could ever replace you, Sunshine.” His smirk melts into a fond smile, the kind that practically melts her whenever she sees the way his warm eyes revere her, as if she’s a long-thought-lost painting he’s laying eyes on for the first time. She’s quite fond of the way he makes her feel as if she actually means something in the world.

“They better not.” She fakes a pointed glare in his direction. “Good luck getting rid of me now.” She grins, beaming.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he insists, pushing off the counter opposite her to check the time on the oven. He settles back against the counter again, beside her this time. An embarrassing groan almost slips from her lips, involuntarily and likely painfully loud, when she smells his cologne. It blooms out in front of him when he moves, that gentle and familiar scent that she could recognise a mile away. It’s warm spice mixes with the soft scent of his shampoo and Coraline feels the last trickles of anxiety bleed from her as she takes it in. It relieves the terrible tension that holds stoic and unwavering in her shoulders.

“Used to play this song with my band.” He snaps her from her reverie with another revelation, the warmth of his voice only serving to help the winding down of the tension within her. At least with him here, things feel fine again. She’s sure that things will be fine. But she isn’t entirely sure her parents liked Scott too much - not right for her, too unenthusiastic and seemingly full of himself - but Marcus? Marcus is the opposite. There’s no reason why they won’t like him; he’s sweet and kind and considerate and wonderful, cares about her and everything that she does, cares about her happiness and sits to listen without complaint to all her problems and fears. He asks her how her day has been, unprompted. Her dad has only ever wanted that for her, even if this was only in the form of a friend, not in a lover.

“You did?” She raises an eyebrow. Everybody Wants to Rule the World by Tears for Fears plays quietly over the speakers. She doesn’t know what kind of music she’d expected Marcus to make in college, but somehow this isn’t it. When he’d told her about the short-lived tongue piercing and his self-proclaimed ‘punk’ phase, she’d pictured the Sex Pistols and the Ramones, not this soft pop rock that soundtracked her teenage years. It’s a sight she longs to see. now; she can’t imagine anything but sweet, gentlemanly Marcus and his suits, when the edgiest she’d seen him dress being a leather jacket and jeans on his days off.

Marcus has never been one to shy away from that part of his life - he jokes about it all more than she does, the edgy phase of college rebellion, those first years away from home - but she’s yet to see photographic evidence of such escapades. Every time she asks, pleads, eve, batting her eyelashes and smiling as sweetly as she can muster, his cheeks flush and he ducks his head, and brushes off her request with a joke or a second, more appealing suggestion. He has no reason to be embarrassed, though; he’s seen the worst of her, even her ‘goth’ phase in high school, which was really nothing more than her wearing black lipstick everyday for a couple of months. There’s a playful glint in her eyes as she reminds him of the lack of proof. “I’m still waiting on those videos, y’know.”

“I have to prepare before I show you them.”

“Oh, please. You have nothing to be embarrassed about. You’ve seen that old horror movie I was in,” she reminds him. The horror movie in question, which ended in her soaked in blood and limping around with an axe trailing behind her, was not the cinematic masterpiece the director hoped it would be. It’s a shame, really, because Coraline watches far too many horror films in her spare time, even the cheesy ones that it’s fun to poke fun at. She’d at least like to be in a good one.

She reaches down to pour herself a second, probably unwise and ill-thought-out glass of wine. Some nights, it only takes a couple of glasses before she’s tipsy and talking shit she can’t seem to control. Marcus sideeyes her, cocking an eyebrow in silent question, but he doesn’t seem to stop her. He doesn’t blame her, and he’ll steal away the wine the second he notices the tell-tale blush of intoxication that blooms across her cheeks.

“I’m not worried about being embarrassed,” he remarks, “I’m worried about you having your mind blown. Have to think of a way to lessen the blow.”

“Oh, is that so?” She chuckles, tipping her head back against the kitchen cupboard behind her head. “Well, I look forward to having my mind blown.” Her face lights up in realisation; her head snaps towards Marcus and she grins. “Can you still play?”

“Oh, yeah. Maybe I’ll show you sometime.” He hums. “

“I’m not worried about being embarrassed. I’m worried about you having your mind blown. Have to think of a way to lessen the blow.”

“Is that so?” She chuckles, tipping her head back against the kitchen cupboard behind her head. “Well, I look forward to it.” Her face lights up in realisation; her head snaps towards Marcus and she grins. “Can you still play?”

“Oh, yeah. Maybe I’ll show you sometime.” He hums. 

There’s a moment of pleasant silence when the music fills the sweet air. The song lulls to a close and the next begins, slow and melodic and easy. It’s one of Coraline’s favourites - Songbird by Fleetwood Mac - and her eyes pull closed as she listens to the mellow chorus of the piano. It tangles with the silence, dancing between the quiet, empty moments. “I love this song.” She sighs, eyes slipping closed.

“Dance with me.”

Coraline snorts out a jolt of laughter. “What?”

“Dance with me, Sunshine,” he repeats.

“Why?” She giggles. Her eyes are still closed as she hums along quietly to the lyrics.

“Because-” She feels him push away from the counter and settle in front of her. One hand curves around her knee, his thumb brushing short, small circles to the inside. “-it’ll take your mind off things,” he insists. 

Coraline cracks an eye open. He’s inches from her, brown eyes almost irresistible, so difficult to refuse when he looks at her like this. The candlelight flickers and turns his irises to pools of amber and gold. “I can’t dance.”

“I’ll teach you.” He states simply. 

She searches his expression for an ulterior motive. Not that she expects there to be one; there never is with Marcus. He never expects anything back in return for favours or good deeds, is just content with his acts of kindness as long as they make someone smile. He holds his hand out for her in expectation.

She takes it.

“Fine. But only one song.”

His face lights up. Like sunshine. “That’s all I want.”

His hands are gentle when they curve around her waist. He holds her close so gently, fingers pressing soft into the plush flesh of her hips, feather-light. Her heart almost stops when she feels his breath against her neck and she can’t help the sharp inhale that rips through her chest. She hopes he doesn’t hear, but she doesn’t think she’ll be that lucky. Her arms slip around his neck; she wants to hold him close, impossibly close, until the cold that always seems to plague her and all of her fear floats away, until they simply don’t exist anymore. 

“What do I do?” She whispers.

“You’ve never been slow dancing before?” He raises his eyebrows in surprise. 

“I did at my wedding but-” She chews on her lip as she ducks her head. His hands hold her hips a little tighter. “-I don’t think his heart was really in it.

Marcus watches her until she finally lifts her head again. Deft fingers the brush the brunette stands of her hair back from her forehead, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. The intoxicating scent of his cologne consumes her again; it’s rich and brilliant and she really isn’t sure why today, of all days, it’s inspiring some kind of wonderful delirium inside her. She figures it’s the alcohol, already too much before her parents arrived, just like she’d feared.

“Well, that’s his loss, Sunshine. Everyone should slow dance at least once in their life.”

He starts to sway along to the music, steady, in time to the dreamlike rhythm of Fleetwood Mac. She tries her best to follow his movements but she still feels like, somehow, she’s doing it wrong. She’s never been a good dancer, even despite the ballet lessons her mom had signed her up for when she was young, but it turns out she’s even worse than she’d thought. She’s not sure how she’s possibly able to get something as simple as slow dancing wrong. Her feet just don’t work in time with the rest of her body.

“Like this?” Her voice is small, almost a squeak.

Marcus’ hand slides into the small of her back, gently pushing her hips closer into him. It’s easier like this, with him closer, to keep in time with his movements. “Just like that.” He whispers against her ear. “You’ve got it.”

She can feel her heart beating at a mile a minute. It’s hammering right behind her ribcage and she’s sure that Marcus is close enough to feel its rapid thumping against his own chest. Still, she melts into his embrace and their movements become second nature. It’s lovely and it’s comfortable and, he’s right, it does take her mind off of her anxious jitters. The sporadic flickers of the candlelight illuminate the contours of his face when she finally drags her eyes up from their feet - she’d been watching their measured movements so she doesn’t put a foot wrong - and they highlight the fondness in his expression. 

“What?” She murmurs quietly, through the melodic silence. He doesn’t answer; his gaze maps out every curve of her face.

The intoxicating scent of his cologne consumes her; it’s rich and brilliant and she isn’t sure why today, of all days, it’s inspiring some kind of wonderful delirium inside her. She figures it’s the alcohol, already too much before her parents have even arrived, just like she’d feared. She fights against the fluttering of her own eyelids. 

“I like this dress,” he whispers, running his fingers over the soft silk material of her summer dress. He holds the strap between his thumb and forefinger and smiles. She’s pretty sure that this is his veiled attempt at trying to distract them both away from their fixed stares. “Is it new?” The soft pad of his thumb brushes against her collarbone; she has half the mind to pull away, step back from where he’s pressed flush against her, but every single shred of rational thought leaves her whenever he gets close enough. Coraline has to keep reminding herself that this isn’t how you’re meant to feel about your best friend, and she can usually manage to push those thoughts aside and remind herself how he feels about her; that he sees her as a friend. Nothing more, nothing less.

She can only nod, words catching in her throat. It feels as if every inch of her body is closing in on itself, wrapping itself in thick tension that claws relentlessly from inside her chest. “Bought it last week.” She shakes her head clear the best that she can. Goddamn alcohol. Her throat is screaming out for water. Marcus continues running the thin strap of her dress though his fingers, digits unintentionally brushing against her skin. It’s entirely innocent, and he means nothing by it. She isn’t even sure he realises what he’s doing; his gaze is firmly set on her again, brown eyes almost transfixed by her bottle green stare. 

Coraline swallows through the thick lump that labours her breathing. “I-”

She has to admit that she’s more than a little relieved when there’s an insistent knock on the door. Half an hour earlier than there’s meant to be.

Coraline takes advantage of the distraction and untagles herself from Marcus’ featherlight grip, right as the song ends and bleeds into the next, feeling utterly pathetic for the feeling that has poured over her. “Buckle up!” She tries to sound enthusiastic, clapping her hands together, but it almost certainly falls flat. Marcus watches her as she drifts towards the door, like she’s floating on air, despite the awkward shuffling of her feet against the hardwood floors. She turns to flash him a sunshine smile as she reaches for the doorknob - a smile that calms his endlessly restless soul - before she pulls open her front door with an exaggerated grin to let her parents in.

“Dad!” Her sweet voice rings out in joy at the sight of her father, looking surprisingly healthy now and, finally, back on his feet. She’s been calling him everyday, since he’d first been in hospital, months and months of phone calls just to check that he was still okay. She’s immeasurably relieved to see him okay, and smiling back at her.

“Corrie.” He returns her grin - their resemblance is startling when they smile, Marcus notes - and they’re hugging each other tightly. They haven’t seen each other in six months, her parents too busy to visit her and Daniel in D.C. Marcus knows it’s difficult for Coraline, given how close she is to her dad - and her mom, too - and how long she’d battled with herself all those years ago before she’d even moved to California. “Oh, I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” she insists as he releases her from his embrace, and she moves to greet her mom with an equally bright smile. “I missed you both, so much.”

The whole time Marcus is standing there, unsure what to do with his hands. He feels like a teenager again. With that near-debilitating awkwardness that came with meeting his first girlfriend’s parents all those years ago, it’s not too different, now. Sure, he’s much more confident than he was then and he’d grown into himself, much more practiced in meeting new people, talking to people. Hell, part of his job even included intimidating suspects, on occasion. But he feels as if he’d been reduced to the same love-sick, acne-ridden teen, sure that the girl he’d been dating for a week was the one for him. 

(They’d broken up two weeks later). 

“Marcus-” Her voice calling him - always like a song when she calls his name - lures him back to reality. “-this is my dad, Robert, and my mom, Celine. But- but you already know that.” She tells him so much about her childhood, high school, growing up, everything, that she’s sure it seems like he already knows them. He can tell she’s flustered and hiding it behind a vibrant smile. “-mom, dad, this is Marcus.”

“Marcus!” Robert grins at him and his resemblance to his daughter is even more apparent, beyond their smile; the same eyes, the same little creases at the corners when their faces light up, even down to the way their noses jut out a little at the ends, curving upwards, ever-so-slightly. “Glad to see Corrie hasn’t scared you away, yet.” He jibes lightheartedly. 

“Hey!” Coraline calls out in protest as she hugs her mom, swaying side-to-side a little as they greet each other for the first time in months. 

“My darling,” she coos as she holds Coraline close. “I missed you more than you know.”

“I missed you too, mom.”

Robert reaches out to shake Marcus’ hand, with a glint in his eyes at his playful jab at Coraline, and he gratefully accepts. “Glad you could come tonight, I know it was very last minute.”

“It’s not a problem at all, Sir,” he insists. He turns to Coraline’s mom as she approaches with an outstretched hand. She’s never been one for the ‘one-kiss-on-each-cheek’ kind of greeting with anyone but her kids. “Ma’am.” He nods her head a little in both of their directions. His Texan accent comes out far stronger than usual when he greets them. She wonders if it’s a nervous tick he has; she’s never seen him nervous before, he’s never had a reason to be nervous around her, not really. 

“Call me Robert,” he insists. 

Coraline watches on fondly as the three of them — Marcus, and her mother and father —melt into conversation. It comes so easy to him, conversation. He’s a natural with people. She doesn’t know why either of them were ever worried about their meeting; Marcus is great, as always, but sometimes her parents seem to come on a little too strong after a while (she knows Kimmy had been more than a little intimidated by them when she’d first met them). 

They’re already laughing and joking, her father’s hand on his shoulder fondly, like they’ve known each other for longer than a couple of minutes. Maybe it seems like they have; Cora is always annoyingly aware of how much time she spends talking about each of them, especially Marcus, to the other that it wouldn’t be surprising if they could each fill a book with stories she’s recounted to them with delight and fondness. 

“So, Corrie-“ Her father claps her hands together and it almost startles her. She’s been gazing at the three of them chatting for so long that it almost seems weird. She’s glad that it draws her out of it and back to reality. “-what delights are you serving us tonight?” Amusement glints in his eyes. 

“Oh, I see how it is.” She quirks an eyebrow, tilts her head and grins. Her hair falls over her shoulder, a waterfall of waves that brush soft against the curve of her neck. “Tell me, dad, whenever will the wonders of 2001’s Christmas casserole grace our tables again?”

“She’s feisty tonight.” He chuckles, stepping forward to kiss his daughter on the head.

“Actually-” Coraline glances fondly over at Marcus. He and her mom are half in conversation, half watching Cora and her dad’s playful little jabs towards each other. “-Marcus cooked.”

“Oh, thank God. Celine, we don’t have to order in at the hotel tonight,” he calls back over her shoulder and his wife grins at him in amusement, then over at her daughter with such a palpable fondness that it practically radiates from her.

Coraline pokes her dad sharply in the arm with the tip of her nail. “Hey!” She protests, shuffling off into the kitchen, but she can never bring herself to be mad at him. And she can quip back just as easy. “Don’t be rude, we have guests.” 

Marcus’ heart almost stops when she throws a bright smile over her shoulder, curls bouncing against her shoulders and down her back. It lights up the room in its sunshine glory. Though her smile mirrors that of her mother and father, there’s something about hers that reaches her eyes and is utterly brilliant.

He’s sure that it’s the favourite of all the smiles he’s ever seen.

Coraline reaches up to draw the plates from the cabinets. She knows that they have more than enough time to spare before the food is ready, but if she doesn’t keep her hands busy, she worries that she’ll end up panicking again. She’s only just shaken the worries, she’d hate for them to return and for her thoughts to carry on their racing, at a mile a minute.

“How are you doing, kiddo?” Her father’s voice is low though it’s not like Marcus and her mom are listening; they’re laughing, the corners of his eyes wrinkled in that way that Coraline loves. She wouldn’t mind if either of them heard, though. She has nothing to hide.

“Better.” She sighs, a gentle blissful smile. She tries to stop herself from looking too manic, but she can feel a grin threatening to pull at her cheeks. “Much better, now.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” There’s relief in his eyes. It’s soft and endearing, and it seems as if a weight has been lifted from his shoulders when he sees her smile so dazzling, so genuine. His voice drops a little, almost to a whisper. “Marcus seems nice.” 

“He’s great, isn’t he?” She sighs. “He’s really great.”

...

Daniel, Kimmy and the kids arrive right on time. 

Not that they needed them there. 

Marcus Pike is a natural. If even half of him was even the slightest bit nervous when he’d stepped into her apartment that evening, she can’t tell.  

He’d eased his way into conversation with everyone around him, like he’d known them all for years. He’d answered all their questions without issue, made them laugh with his stories and laughed at their jokes, even those of her father’s that made Daniel and Coraline roll their eyes. 

Cora’s apartment isn’t small, but it’s barely big enough to hold all of them, and chaos reigns as Elliot and Finley race around the apartment, tailed closely by their Grandfather. It’s great to see how close they are, close for two boys who see their grandparents over FaceTime more than they do in person. Celine keeps telling him to slow down as she sits with a sleeping and incredibly content Piper in her arms - he’s just got out of hospital, and his lungs weren’t exactly up to scratch before then - but even she can’t help but smile as the boys giggle gleefully when he grabs them and hauls them into his arms.

They’re all still smiling when they sit down to eat, the boys bouncing in their seats just being around their grandparents for the first time in months. Coraline thinks their delight sets Marcus at ease more than he already is; it dissolves any awkward tension, the kind that comes as custom with any first meeting, that may be lingering in the air, and it’s as if everyone around the table are family or old friends, not unfamiliar with the man sat next to her, and, If it weren’t for the worry stirring in the pit of her stomach, making her feel so sick that she feels like she might just throw up all over the floor of her dining room, she’d be smiling just as wide, too. 

But every time her father sees Marcus smile at her or brush past her with the smallest of whispered and sincere apologies, and a large hand splayed gentle across her small of her back, she knows he’s just itching to ask her for every single little detail about their relationship; if they’re more than friends, if they’re together, if anything ever could come of their friendship beyond that. He means well and he just wants her to be happy. But she’s been warning him off asking with his eyes - even insisted in between one quiet moment when Marcus was using the bathroom that they were just that, very close friends and nothing more - but the notion of their agreement has been hanging heavy within her chest. It’s been weighing her down and anxiety has been churning wild inside her stomach. Even the wine isn’t helping; that age-old idiom of ‘liquid courage’ turning out to be a fallacy. If anything, it was only stirring the worry up into a veritable cyclone of terror.

Attention turns back to Coraline, eventually. They’ve drawn all they can from Marcus - what he does for work, where he lives and where he grew up - and Daniel and Kimmy - how the art gallery is going, how the kids are finding their new school (both far too distracted to answer for themselves), how they’re finding their new home now they have Piper - so that left Coraline and the extremely tender and previously untouched topic of her personal life. She knows there’s certain questions that they won’t ask out loud, at least, not with Marcus and the kids around, but she can feel the terrible urge to spill all her secrets growing stronger with each well-meaning but incredibly loaded question that they ask. She smiles through it, answers casually, but eventually the tether snaps and her words come tumbling out before she has a chance to stop them.

“We’re having a baby,” Coraline blurts out. “Me and Marcus,” she adds, like it isn’t obvious who she means. Her words are quick and jumbled but obvious enough that the room falls into a stunned, stifling silence. Everyone seems to drop their cutlery, a chorus of metal against porcelain, to stare at her. “Well- I mean- not yet, we’re- I’m not pregnant, yet- but, I-” She rambles. She’s well aware that her face is burning the brightest red, raspberry flushed across her cheekbones.

Marcus can tell that she’s been practically bursting at the seams since they’d sat down. She’d been shifting uncomfortably, feet bushing along the old rug beneath their feet, bumping haphazardly into his, and he could hear her hands brushing over the soft material of her dress awkwardly. She’s been smiling the entire time, laughing at every joke and embarrassing story her mom tells, though he can tell that smile was beginning to wear thin after a while. When attention turned to her and away from him and Daniel, Kimmy and the kids. The revelation had finally burst out but - despite the momentary look of relief that had flashed upon her expression - she looks even more tense at the reaction of her parents.

“You’re what?” Her father questions, eyebrows raising, words coming out in some sort of awkward splutter. His green eyes dart between the pair of them, sitting across from him, side-by-side and frozen like deers in headlights, Coraline can’t help but notice the way his smile had dropped, immediately, the moment the words had left her lips. His indecisive scowl was stark, in comparison to how he’d seemed before.

“I just-” Coraline takes in a sharp breath. The force of it almost hurts her lungs. “-we’re having a baby together and I don’t know when but we are and I just want you to love Marcus like I do because he’s my best friend and he actually wanted to do this for me- for us- and how often would you find someone who would agree to this kind of thing-”

“Cora, you’re rambling,” Daniel cuts in, voice soothing and low, willing to help her as she panics and panics and panics.

Marcus’ hand finds her underneath the table. She grasps his tight in both hands, tugging it into her lap and clinging to his digits for dear life. His thumb runs those slow, reassuring circles across her skin - the ones that are so gentle they’re but a tickle against the back of her hand - and she finds herself easing into his touch. “Breathe.” His voice is just as comforting as the circles he brushes into her skin.

Neither of her parents talk, just stare, stunned, and the entire table falls back into that awkward, thickened and suffocating silence. Elliot and Finley blink around at them all, confused and not entirely registering what Coraline had said, now what any of this meant. For two boys usually so rambunctious, loud and exuberant, their silence has come at the most uncomfortable of times. Daniel seems to be searching for the right words to say but nothing seems to come close to being the right thing to say in this situation. 

She’s not sure what anyone can say in this situation.

She should have stuck to the whole ‘accidental pregnancy’ excuse, instead.

“It’s just-” Coraline looks over at Marcus for reassurance, though even his warm eyes don’t seem to offer much in the way of comfort. “I want a baby. I really want a baby. Even before the divorce,” she continues, “I just- I want to be a mom and I want a family of my own, so bad. So, me and Marcus are trying.”

“But you’re not together?” Robert Meyer’s finger draws an invisible string between the pair of them. 

“I- no?” Her voice rises high and she sounds ridiculous. She knows that isn’t what he wants to hear. “He’s my best friend-” She clarifies, “-but we’re not together, not like that.”

Marcus has no clue what to say, every word dies heavy on his tongue and nothing seems right. Everything he can think to say would surely only serve to make this a thousand times worse than they already are. The exchange is happening so fast, too, that he wouldn’t even be able to get a word in, otherwise.

“Well, that sounds… lovely,” Celine proclaims and claps her hands together. Coraline is sure that she doesn’t mean to sound insincere, but it still comes out sounding that way. A little sarcastic, almost. If she didn’t know her mother, she would surely be offended, but at least she understands that it was never intended that way. 

But Marcus doesn’t know her well enough to know that.

“And what do you think about this?” Robert’s questioning turns to Daniel. His eyebrows raise and he glowers at him expectantly.

He takes a deep breath, takes in a sharp breath through his nose and leans back in his seat. He manages a smile despite the tension that has settled thick throughout the room. Coraline’s hand tightens around Marcus’ - almost enough to be painful, but he doesn’t care, at this point - when Daniel smiles at his father. “I think it’s a great idea.”

“You do?” 

Marcus hears Coraline sigh at the sound of her father’s incredulity. It’s a resigned sigh, one of those truly gut wrenching and downtrodden sighs that breaks his heart. “I should go,” Marcus leans into her to whisper. “I think I might be making things worse-”

“No, please,” Coraline insists, tugging her hand into her lap so that he can’t leave. He knows, maybe, he should, because her father probably hates him by now. But he’s not sure he could leave her. That, if he were to leave, he’d just end up coming straight back, staying by her side for as long as she needs, until she’s smiling again. 

He loves to see her smile.

“She’s great with kids, why is it an issue?” Daniel questions. 

“And she won’t be doing this alone, I’m in this for the long haul,” Marcus insists. He notices Celine smile at her out of the corner of his eye. Coraline’s hand squeezes his and her breathing levels out, just ever so slightly.

“I have thought about this, dad. I haven’t just rushed into it-”

“We should go.” 

“No, dad, wait, please-“

“I’m not sitting around listening to you try and justify your ridiculous decisions, Cora,” he snaps and she flinches. She’s not sure she’s ever heard him angry before; she’s always been one of those stereotypical ‘daddy’s girls’, could never do anything wrong in her life in his eyes, but now he’s looking at her with so much disappointment and dismay that she just wants to curl up into herself and cry until she’s so exhausted she falls asleep. She hates it, she hates this.

Though she can’t bring herself to regret the decision she’s made with Marcus.

“I could talk to him.” Marcus proposes. It’s quiet in her ear so that only she can here, but no one else is paying attention; Robert is talking to Celine, trying to keep his voice level as she reprimands him for raising his voice in front of ‘a guest’, and Daniel is talking to Kimmy, though he can’t hear what they’re talking about. Coraline leans back into him a little, feeling comfortable with the weight of his shoulder pressed against hers, sturdy and steady and present, but shakes her head in refusal.

He doesn’t want to put his foot in it. He wants them to like him. He wants Coraline to like him.

“I-”

“Dad, come on,” Daniel insists, “Let’s talk about this.”

“Did you know about this? Before tonight?” 

“Robert.”

“Yes, I knew. And I’ll support her. I don’t see what the big deal is-”

“Wow, it’s 8pm already?” He glances up at the clock that ticks monotonous and regular on the wall. He formulates his excuse to leave; Coraline can see it click, it’s obvious in his eyes. “Celine, we have to go,” Robert grumbles as he stands. “Thank you for the meal, Marcus. It was nice to meet you.” Her father may not sound overly sincere - his voice is stiff and his face is unreadable - but at least she knows that he’s polite enough not to take his frustrations out on Marcus. Cora knows, in his eyes, he’s done nothing wrong, and that Coraline is surely the only one he’s mad at because he cares about her and the decisions that she makes that might be terrible for her.

“Boys-” Kimmy turns to her sons. “-why don’t we go and watch some TV, huh?”

They both spring from their seats immediately, charging towards Coraline’s couch, so fast that it’s as if they’re running for their lives. She doesn’t think they were even paying attention to the conversation; when Coraline was younger, she’d never paid much attention to what her parents and family and their friends were saying around the dinner table, more interested in her brothers than their conversations. Finley and Elliot always seemed to be in their own little worlds, too, unless they had questions for someone. In which case, there was no way to get a word in without them shouting their enquiries over you. Thankfully for them all, they’d seemed more interested in whatever they’d been ferociously giggling about than Coraline and Marcus’ agreement, and their grandfather’s sudden and stoic disapproval. They’re probably too young to understand, anyway, beyond the notion of what a baby is. 

“Come on, dad. Don’t be ridiculous,” Daniel speaks up.

“Dad, please.” Coraline stands to face her father but her hands shake and she shuffles uncomfortably. She’s not sure what to say or how to say it, or how the hell to make him stop hating her. 

“I should probably be the one to leave.” Marcus pushes his chair back, gently, in resignation. “You can talk, then-” 

“Oh, don’t leave on my behalf, Marcus.” Robert claps his hand on Marcus’ shoulder like he’s an old friend. “It’s getting late. It’s time for us to leave, anyway.” He turns and smiles at his wife. He holds out his hand to help her up; she takes his hand but drops his hand to cross her arms and quirk an eyebrow at him sceptically. 

“Robert, I think that we should stay and talk about this, rather than running away.” 

He gives a long, sharp exhale of breath. “I can’t. Not tonight. I just- I need to think about this.”

“Dad- I’m sorry.”

“Goodnight, Dan-” He nods at his eldest son. “Goodnight, Coraline, Marcus.”

No Corrie. No nickname. Just Coraline. He hasn’t called her that in a long time. Her full name, when it comes from him, always spells trouble. She’s heard so many jokes about how she can do no wrong in her father’s eyes - it was the same case with her mother and her brothers - but she’d never really believed anyone when they’d said that. Until now. It’s glaringly obvious when he calls out her full name, without the bright smile and sparkle in his eyes. 

Her heart sinks to her stomach and she’s not sure that she’ll ever be able to pick it back up again. 

He’s gone in a hurry. He ruffles his grandson’s hair and bids farewell to Kimmy, all the usual smiles he hadn’t wasted on Coraline and Daniel aimed at them, instead, and heads for his shoes and jacket, and then the door, with such haste it’s as if there’s a fire in the building and he needs to find his way out. The smile he turns to give them all before he opens the front door is barely a whisper of his usual and there’s an ice cold bolt of terrifying lightning that shoots through her, only alleviated by Marcus’ hand on her back. 

“Are you okay?” His lips drop close to her ear. His breath stirs the hair by her neck and cheek, and she can feel the brush of his stubble against her neck and behind her ear. She’s so close that it feels strange when there are so many people around, even if it feels so normal for him to be beside her, like this. She shudders a little at the tickle. She can’t help it. It’s like she’s intoxicated, lost in that haze of worry and fear and the comfort of Marcus as he stands so close behind her.

“I don’t know,” Cora admits. Her voice trembles, even as she tries to keep it steady. Marcus wants to take her into his arms and hold her tight until she’s okay again. He knows he can’t do anything to fix this, but he’d be damned if he didn’t want to at least try. 

“My darling, Coraline.” Her mother’s voice comes soft and soothing and, as she hurries towards her daughter, Coraline has to step away from Marcus. It comes reluctantly, and the cold flash of worry that had spilt over her - like being doused in a bucket of ice - finds its way back to her skin. “He will be okay, I promise you. You will be okay,” she insists. Her delicate hand cups her jaw, thumb brushing over her face reassuringly. “Think this through, talk it over with Marcus, and I will talk to your father tonight. Do not worry, darling, we will sort this out.”

Coraline sniffles, wrinkles her nose and brushes the freshly-fallen tears away from her damp cheeks. She hadn’t even realised she was crying until her mom brushed them away. “Thanks, mom.” She smiles the best she can but it’s weak and pathetic. At least she knows that her mom won’t judge her for her shaky half-smile and watery eyes. She’d been there for all her high school heartbreaks and then her divorce over FaceTime, but she’d also seen her cry over Hot Cheetos and mud on her shirt. Her mom could never make her feel embarrassed for crying over anything.

“Now, come here.” Celine holds her daughter close, brushes her fingers through her hair as it drops over her forehead and kisses her temple, delicate. “You’ll always be my little girl, you know that?” She taps her nose, inspiring a smile. “Think this through, really think all of this through, okay? I will call you tomorrow. Take care of yourself, please.” 

Celine turns to Marcus and smiles a bright smile. “Thank you, Marcus. It was so lovely to meet you.”

“It was lovely to meet you, too, ma’am. It’s nice to finally put a face to the name in Cora’s stories.”

She smiles and squeezes his arm gently. “Please, call me Celine. I’m sorry for tonight, things aren’t usually so tense.”

“Don’t apologise,” he insists. “I’ll look out for her tonight.”

“I know you will.” Her smile is so genuine and sympathetic, thankful and relieved. “Goodnight, my darling.” She hums as she kisses Coraline’s forehead, with the intention of comfort. It seems to work; the rigid set of her shoulders gives way for just a moment, until she watches her leave with about as enthusiastic goodbye as she can muster for her grandkids; even Piper, who’d managed to sleep in her travel seat almost the entire time. Coraline sinks back into him the moment her mom’s figure disappears behind the front door.

She turns to him the moment the door clicks closed. She can’t seem to face looking him in the eyes. Her cheeks feel hot, bright red, and her eyes burn with a thousand unshed tears that she’d stoically been holding in until her mom had taken her in her arms and brushed a hand over her cheek. “I- I- fuck, Marcus- I’m so sorry. This is not how I wanted things to work out-”

“Hey, hey, hey-” She settles into his arms like she belongs there. His arms pull around her tight, keeping her close to his chest. Something about the measured, rhythmic set of his breathing helps to settle her running mind. “-you have nothing to apologise for, Sunshine.” 

She practically crumbles when he holds her. Her hands clutch at him tightly and she tries to stop her shoulders from shuddering. His hand runs up and down her back, fingers brushing delicate against the silk fabric of her dress, soothing the terrible cold that shoots through her at her father’s hostility and the aching weakness that tugs at her chest. He almost kisses the shell of her ear as he whispers his comforting words, but stops himself once he remembers they have an audience. 

Anyone else might misinterpret their actions as more than they are. As more than purely platonic. 

“You’re trembling,” Marcus whispers. He can feel her shoulders shaking against him. It comes and goes, as if she’s trying to hold it in. 

“I am?” She whispers but it’s muffled by his shirt. 

She can only tell that he nods when his chin brushes against the top of head a couple of times. 

“‘m sorry.”

Truth is, she’s freezing cold again. Has been since her father’s disapproval. She hasn’t felt a cold like it since her divorce, the night she and Scott had said their goodbyes for good, and she’d known that it was well and truly over. It had lingered upon her, like a taunting spectre. And it’s a chill that clings to her, holding on for dear life, with the ferocity of a blizzard, and just as unforgiving. His arms hold her close and inspire warmth within her, even for the few moments that he keeps her close. 

...

The night seemed to stretch on for longer than it surely was. Minutes turned into hours, darkness had consumed the streets and everyone had left Coraline’s apartment, save for Marcus and Daniel. 

Celine had texted Daniel to ask if everyone was okay once she and her husband had reached their hotel and delivered the reassuring news that Robert wasn’t really angry, just wasn’t sure where to place his emotions, in response to hearing his daughter was having a child with a man he’d only just met. He didn’t entirely blame him. He’s not sure he would be best pleased, either. Kimmy had left with the boys and Piper a little while later; the kids had somehow worn themselves out watching the TV, so they’d bundled them all down the stairs and into the car as best they could, as they grumbled and groaned out tired protests.

Daniel had stayed behind a little while to make sure that his sister was okay.

Marcus was an only child; he’d always wanted siblings growing up, but his parents never wanted more kids. He’d never felt lonely, when he was a kid - he had great friends, and his mom and dad were his heroes; he owed a lot to them for making him the man he was today - though he’d always wished he had someone to chase around the garden, to complain about the petty things his parents did that no one else would understand. To have someone to look out for, someone to look out for him. He wonders what it would feel like to have someone like that, someone always on his side. He’s always wanted a big family because he never wants his kids to miss out on something that they might want.

He thinks it gives her comfort to know that someone close to her actually supports her, rather than thinking it’s wrong that she’s even considering it. Even as she shuffles, trembling, into her bathroom, to try and wash away the chill, there’s no longer a ten tonne weight on her shoulders, bearing down angry on top of her. 

It won’t help, the hot water. Not in the long run, at least. A temporary solution to a persistent problem. 

She’s not sure she’ll ever be able to shake it.

“You think she’ll be okay?” Daniel questions as he leans back against the sofa, arms crossed tight over his chest, brows furrowed.

Marcus hums. There’s a wistful smile on his face. “I hope so.” He sighs and runs a hand over his jaw, shuffling awkwardly on his feet. “This is my fault.”

“It’s no one’s fault, Marcus. My dad just worries, but he’ll calm down sooner or later.” Daniel tells him. “Did she ever tell you about her first boyfriend?” Marcus vaguely remembers her mentioning him over takeout one night; Kevin or Kyle, some name like that. That they’d dated for barely two months and that he was an asshole, and she’d never really found him attractive. She’d never really given him a reason as to why she’d even dated him in the first place, though. Daniel continues at the sight of Marcus’ acknowledgement. “Our dad hated him. Wouldn’t even let him in the house, said he was trouble and would lead her astray. She was in her rebellious phase so, of course, stubborn as she is, she didn’t listen.”

“Huh, sounds like Cora.” It made a lot of sense. He’s surprised he never even put two and two together when she’d told him the first time.

“He was right though- guy was a total asshole.” He chuckles, short and indistinct. It still doesn’t seem like the time to be laughing, not with the weight of Coraline’s sorrow looming over them. “My dad got over it the next day. But Cora? Found her crying in her bedroom at 3am, worried he’d hate her for the rest of her life. But this- this seems bigger.” It’s like he’s struck down with the realisation. “Maybe she should sleep at ours tonight.” He wonders out loud.

“I’ll stay on the couch tonight, make sure she’s okay,” Marcus insists.

“Are you sure?” Daniel raises his eyebrows, surprised. And it almost surprises Marcus just how ready he is to sleep on the sofa, for Coraline’s sake - albeit, a very plush and snug sofa that he’d napped on before (and, ultimately, faced the butt of Coraline’s ‘old man’ jokes when he woke) - but then, when he really thinks about it, it’s not entirely a shock to anyone that he would be willing to do this. He’s done far more for her in the past. He’s not even sure just how far he’ll go just to make sure that Coraline is okay. Daniel glances back at the sofa he’s leant against and offers Marcus an out. “She can take the guest room at our place, it’s no problem.” 

Marcus shakes his head and smiles. He’s never been so sure of himself. “It’s fine, I’m here for her.”

Daniel tilts his head the same way Coraline does when she’s thinking. The corners of his mouth pick up. “I’m glad she has you.” He sighs and pushes himself up from the sofa. “Thank you for this, Marcus. I’m sorry you got caught up in all of this. We’re not usually so… argumentative.” He huffs out a laugh and holds his hand out for Marcus to shake.

He shakes his head. Families are hard, sometimes. He’s witnessed that himself, first hand. “It’s no problem,” he insists. Marcus reaches for the blanket Coraline keeps folded over the back of the couch, ready to tuck himself under when she’s okay, again. “She needs someone tonight.”

He smiles gratefully. “Well, I best get going. Kim won’t forgive me if she has to do bedtime alone.” He chuckles and reaches out to shake Marcus’ hand again. “Nice to see you again, Marcus. Sorry about all of this.”

He bids Daniel farewell and locks the door. He finishes the last of the washing up, tucking each plate and piece of cutlery away into their designated place, so familiar with Coraline’s kitchen that he doesn’t even need to ask anymore. 

He hears the shower shut off and, a little while later, the shuffling of slippered feet against the tiled floor. Coraline emerges from the bathroom with a towel wrapped tight around her frame, catching the drips of water that cascade down her back and shoulders, far too exhausted to care about him seeing her half-naked, wet-haired and fresh out of the shower. It makes her head spin to realise that he’s already seen more than that, anyway. The blush that creeps up at the thought almost burns her cheeks. She ducks into her bedroom and emerges a few seconds later in her stripey sleep shorts and a well-worn t-shirt with ‘Radiohead’ emblazoned across the chest. “You should get going,” she reminds him. Even her voice is exhausted and he wouldn’t be surprised if the second she tucked herself up in bed, she’d be asleep and dead to the world until morning.. “It’s getting late and I’m sure you have work early tomorrow.”

“I’m staying right here tonight.” He tells her. “If that’s okay?”

“You don’t have to,” she urges. “Not for me. I’m fine.”

“You shouldn’t have to be alone when you’re upset. I’m half of this, too”

There’s a beat of silence. It’s a lot heavier when it isn’t filled with quiet music. “I’m so sorry.” Her voice breaks when she speaks and he can tell that she’s close to tears again.

“Hey, hey-” He takes the few steps closer over to Coraline and takes her face in his hands. He tilts her head back a little, ever so gentle, and smiles at her. “-stop apologising. Not your fault.”

“I- fuck-” She tips her cheek into one of his hands and sinks into his embrace. She closes her eyes and the breath she takes is deep and rattling. “Dinner was great,” she whispers and they’re both grinning at the sudden burst of compliment she utters. 

“My mom’s recipe.”

“Yeah? I’ll have to thank her someday.”

His smile is blissful. “You want to meet her?”

Her head tilts back as she laughs, like it’s the most ridiculous thing in the world. “I need to meet the woman who raised such a wonderful human being. She must be pretty great.” She can’t help the yawn that crawls out of her mouth; she tries to smother it with her hands.

“You need to sleep.”

“Oh, pfft, I’m fine.” She brushes off his concern.

He raises his eyebrows and smirks. “Don’t make me call your mom.”

“Is that a threat?”

“As an FBI agent, I’m required to say no because threatening civilians is frowned upon.”

Coraline scoffs and rolls her eyes, and finally surrenders to Marcus’ suggestion. “Fine.”

Marcus trails her when she wanders into her bedroom. She sets herself down on the edge of her comforter and her shoulders slump again, sinking into herself. He can see that she’s exhausted, tears tearing away at the last saps of her energy, and the shower she’d had does nothing to lessen the puffiness that has settled beneath her eyes. The flush that decorates her cheeks whenever she’s embarrassed paints her eyes, now. 

“I’m sorry again,” she whispers, quiet. 

“Goodnight, Sunshine.” He turns to leave, feet stuttering across the floor and he pauses the moment she calls out for him again. It’s quiet, but in the silence of her apartment, he can’t help but hear her welcoming voice. 

“Marcus-” Her voice is thick in her throat and she struggles to find her words. They seem to die in her throat. “-will you stay?” She manages to ask, finally.

He nods, smooths back her dishevelled hair from her face and leans down to kiss her forehead, a sweet and simple gesture that she appreciates beyond belief. “I am. I’ll be on the couch if you need me.”

“No. Marcus.” She reaches for him. His arms, his wrist, his fingers. She finds purchase at his fingers and entwines the digits together. She’s peering up at him through her lashes, looking at him with expectation. “I mean- will you stay, please? Here- I need you here-” Coraline’s voice is small and quiet, timid and unsure. It’s a request that seems to terrify her, but all she wants is him to be here and to hold her, and to make her feel like things might actually be okay, even if right now she’s struggling to see how anything positive could come out of her dad - the first person to ever make her believe she could do anything she set her heart on - likely hating her, right now.

“Please don’t leave me,” she whispers as she presses her and Marcus’ clasped hands against her cheek. He feels the gentle curve of her nose brush against the inside of his wrist when she nuzzles herself closer into his touch. “Please.”

He moves to unlace their fingers and her hand drops into her lap. She’s about ready to cry, convinced that - after hearing her father’s reaction to their agreement - he’d been scared away, well and truly. She can feel the tears burning behind her eyes, threatening to spill over her lashes and down her face, and she’s sure she’d look utterly pathetic, with hot tears carving a scorching path down her cheeks. But his hand finds her cheek again, soft and tender and without the obstruction of her hand, this time. Brown eyes gaze down at her and warm her soul. His thumb brushes delicate over her cheekbone; she only realises she’s crying, then, when the rough pad of his thumb swipes wet across her skin. 

“I could never leave you.” His voice is low, smooth like honey. He leans down again, to press the most fleeting of kisses to her forehead, before he’s holding her close. Marcus lays her down beside him, chests pressed firm together. He can feel each shaky breath she exhales as her hands bunch into his shirt. She tugs him closer, somehow.

Coraline tilts her head up towards him. “Thank you,” she whispers, unbunching one fist from his shirt to reach up for this cheek, thumb brushing over his cheekbone. They spend a moment gazing at each other; merely a heartbeat that seems to stretch on for a lifetime. But, in reality, it doesn’t last long before she ducks her head again, presses her cheek against the soft cotton of his shirt - surely terribly uncomfortable to sleep in, though, at least he doesn’t have his tie on - and thanks God that he’s here, holding her so close and so gently. She’s not sure she could deal with this alone, without him here to hold her. She feels the lingering couple of kisses that he leaves against the top of her head.

Her breathing evens out and she settles comfortable against him, and her dreams have taken over before she can hear the ‘I love you’ that he can’t contain any longer. He’s never said that out loud, never even admitted to himself that maybe that’s how he feels. And he knows he’s in too deep, deeper than he ever thought he would be again, deeper than he ever thought he’d let himself get again, and he reconciles his feelings as he lets sleep and the gentle tangle of her limbs around his consume him.

[cellophanejpeg]

innamorato

Pairing: Javier Peña x female!reader

Summary: You sense something is off with Javi and try to talk to him about it.

a/n: requested by @abitofmagic​​ with the prompt:  “You’ll feel better if you talk about it. I’m here to listen.” 

Warnings: smoking, hurt/comfort, a bit of angst, fluff

word count: 3.1k

masterlist | part two | part three

...

Something is wrong with Javier Peña. You can’t really tell what, but you know something’s off when he’s not on your bed one morning. It isn’t unusual for you to wake up alone, after all, you both don’t live together, but considering it’s the weekend and you just had a perfect date the night before, it is a bit odd of him to just rush home.

Rubbing the sleep out of eyes, you sit up and stretch, letting out a loud yawn. A chill breeze hits your skin and you shiver, frowning in confusion. When you see the doors to the balcony open and the thin white curtains floating with the wind, you relax, seeing Javi’s silhouette outside. You quickly search for a sweater and a pair of sweatpants to put on, leaving the mess of clothes on the floor to clean later, and head for the balcony.

Javier is shirtless, wearing only the suit pants he wore last night, sitting at the small table you have outside, one leg bent, and leaning his elbow on his knee. A lit cigarette is between his fingers, but he’s not even smoking it; his gaze is set on the view of buildings and houses in front of him. The sky is cloudy and the air is cold and you know he shouldn’t be out in the open.

“You’re gonna catch a cold out here,” You say, hugging yourself as you step outside to join him.

He looks up at you and gives you a grin. Approaching him, you take the cigarette from his hand and take a drag of it yourself before giving it back to him. His skin is cold as you lay a palm flat on his shoulder, pulling him for a side hug. You lean your chin on his shoulder and press a kiss on his cheek.

“You okay?” You ask and he nods.

“Better now.” His voice is different like it’s still laced with sleep. You know something’s not right, but you don’t press it, knowing he’s a man of few words. You let him press his lips to yours in a sweet short kiss.

“Breakfast?” You smile at him and Javi nods, mirroring your smile. “Come inside, then. I’ll even make bacon for you.”

Javi raises his eyebrows in surprise. Ever since you started sleeping together, you’d always told him that you never eat bacon in the mornings because you always get lazy to wash the pan later.

“Will you, now?” He asks, amusement in his tone. You straighten your posture and take his hand, shrugging one shoulder.

“I’m feeling generous today.”

“What did I do to deserve you, huh?” He gives you a full smile and pulls you to another kiss. A longer one this time, his touch lingering on your skin as he cups your cheek gently. “I’ll be in in a minute.”

Nodding, you run your finger through his hair gently. “Don’t take long.”

Javi watches you enter the apartment again. He cares about you a lot and it impresses him that, despite not knowing him for a long period of time, you picked up on his habits and routine quickly. And he’ll be damned, he actually likes that. He actually enjoys the weekend dates, the quiet evenings in your apartment, the unplanned ones in his. He likes you, he really does.

And that’s what scares him.

Javier Peña isn’t a one woman man. He knows that. Ever since Lorraine, he’s convinced himself he’s not worthy of anyone’s love. Until he met you. Until he laid eyes on your figure in a coffee shop, as cliche as it sounds, one morning before he checked in at work. He could tell you were a teacher too, with a pile of papers in front of you as you scribbled fast on each one. You were grading papers in a coffee shop, at 7:30 in the morning. He was amused immediately by you. Couldn’t take his eyes off you.

Javier had to admit he stared at you that day more than he stared at any other woman. He remembers when you checked your wristwatch and quickly downed your cold coffee, gathering the papers from your desk, shoving them in your briefcase to leave the shop hurriedly. On your way out, Javier noticed you left a few papers on the table and left the line to order to scoop them and run after you.

“Oh, thank you!” You had sighed after he called you on the street, holding the papers out to you. “You’re a lifesaver, my kids would be so disappointed!”

If Javier thought you were pretty from afar, he was certain you were beautiful from up close. You had smiled at him when he frowned and explained you were a elementary school teacher and you had asked your students to write an essay on mother nature. You were supposed to give them back that day but hadn't finished grading them until that morning.

And that’s how you two met. Javier told you he was also a professor, but a university one, and he knew the feeling. You both parted with smiles on your faces, each thinking about the other the entire day. In the next few days, you both bumped into each other in the coffee shop a few times, exchanging a few polite words. Javier couldn’t stop thinking about you that entire week, messing up lectures and forgetting to grade assignments. Until he finally got the guts to ask you out. One date led to another and a few months later, here he is, staying over your apartment on weekends and having breakfast together.

Javier smiles at the memories and finally stands from his seat, putting out the unsmoked cigarette on the ashtray and entering the apartment again. The warm air welcomes him and he sighs, closing the glass door. The smell of bacon makes his stomach rumble and he pads, barefoot, through your apartment to get to the kitchen.

You’re humming a song that plays on the radio, slowly moving to the beat. Javier’s chest swells at the sight. He could get used to this. You and him, having breakfast, lunch, and dinner together. You and him together. Staying in, in cloudy days, watching bad movies on television as you ate kettle corn. Making love on the couch when you get bored. Having a life together.

He approaches you, as you take the last piece of bacon from the frying pan and turn the heat off. You’re about to move to the fridge to get the eggs when he gently grabs your hips; you freeze your movements, tensing your muscles for a second, and then relax.

“You scared me.” You smile as he brushes your hair away from your neck and buries his face on your skin.

“Sorry, cariño,” He murmurs, placing a kiss below your ear. “Can’t help it, y’know.”

He nibbles at your earlobe and you gasp with the sensation, feeling his hands run through your body.

“Javi…” You sigh, still smiling. “The food’s getting cold…”

“So?” He slips a hand under your sweater. “It can wait.”

You turn your head to meet your lips with his in a passionate kiss. When he pulls away, he looks into your eyes and smiles. “You’re so beautiful, you know that?”

A soft laugh escapes your lips and you shake your head. “Even in my gross sweater and these saggy pants?”

“Especially in these saggy pants.” He bends you over the counter and you let out a laugh.

…

The week is passing by slowly and you hate it. The weather isn’t helping either, fall is just around the corner and the days getting cloudier and cloudier. It’s not that you don’t like days like this, but you’d preferred to stay home under the covers when the sun hides behind the clouds. Which takes your mind back to last weekend, where you were all day under the covers with Javier. You have to admit that lately, he has been more affectionate than ever. It started with extra touches: a hand on your lower back, a brush of fingertips on your cheeks, his hands tangled on your hair. Then, random kisses anywhere, your hair, your forehead, the back of your hand… And then, the compliments. Even if you’re at your worst, he’ll tell you you look pretty. While you like these kind of gestures, the change of behavior surprises you every now and then.

Sighing, you sit on your desk, placing the awful coffee from the teacher’s room machine on the table, and getting ready to grade these quizzes. You’re not worried about it, you know your students are going to ace it. But as soon as you start reading the first test, a knock on your door interrupts you.

Javier is standing at the door with a cup of coffee in his hand.

“Can I come in, professor?” A light teasing tone echoes in the empty classroom. You laugh softly, taking off your glasses.

He almost never stops by your workplace and you almost never stop by his. It’s kind of an unspoken rule the both of you follow, but it’s not a bad thing. Even though you both long for each other during the week, you prefer not to get in the way of his job. And vice versa. But it’s nice to have a surprise every now and then.

“Just teacher here.” You smile, leaning your elbows on the desk.

“Sorry.” He shrugs, letting himself in. “Force of habit. Teacher.”

“What brings you here, professor Peña?”

Javi offers you the cup of coffee. “Just dropping this. For you.”

“Javi!” You sigh, feeling your heart swell with affection as you take the coffee from his hand. “You didn’t have to!”

“I wanted to.” He leans in to press his lips on your hair and place a hand on your shoulder. “You look beautiful today.”

A light pink shade creeps on your cheeks as you look away, taking a sip of your, now new, coffee.

“So, I was thinking,” He starts, looking over at you. “Do you want to come over tonight?”

Frowning slightly, you remember today is a Thursday. “Tonight?”

“Yeah, I know it’s a school night, but I just–” He hesitates, sighing. The next words are whispered in a rush. “I need you.”

Your heart clenches at the sight of him. He has been acting weird lately and it breaks your heart to see him like this, vulnerable, sad, distant. So you agree.

“Okay.” You nod. “How does 9pm sound?”

“How about eight? If– If you’re not busy–”

“I’m not, don’t worry. Eight is perfect.” You smile widely at him.

“Great, great.” He smiles, nodding, and looking away. “I, uh– I’ll leave you to your papers then.”

A laugh escapes your throat and you shake your head. “They’re math quizzes.”

“Right. Just be glad you don’t have a hundred of these to go through.” He starts to walk away from the room.

Smiling you stand from your seat and call for him, your heels clicking on the floor as you approach him. Pressing your lips gently to his, you rest both of your hands on his cheeks. It’s a sweet quick kiss, one that leaves him yearning for more.

“Thanks for the coffee,” You mumble on his skin.

Javi smiles widely, resting his hands on your waist. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“Yeah.” You breathe and, this time, you watch him go.

…

After an entire afternoon thinking about Javier and his smile, you finally stop at Javier’s door. You try not to think about the strange acts of affections he’s been giving you lately, or the weird moods he’s on sometimes, and knock on his door. You hear rustling inside the apartment for a moment and then the door opens.

“Hey,” He breathes, smiling at you and looking at your outfit.

“Hi.” You smile back, suddenly feeling insecure. You chose a simple dress tonight, not too fancy and not too casual.

When he gives you space for you to come inside, you do and put your purse on the small table beside the door as he gives you a kiss on the cheek. Soon, when you walk further into the apartment, you see a table set for you two.

“Oh.” You say, frowning. “I didn’t realize it was a date.”

Javi looks at you, a line between his brows. “What did you think it would be?”

“You know…” You trail off, shrugging one shoulder. He raises his brows and then laughs softly. “I would’ve dressed nicer if I knew.”

“I think you look gorgeous.” He squeezes your hand, brushing his thumb on the back of it. “And I just ordered some pizza.” Javier leads you to the couch in the living room. “I thought we could just… You know, watch some movies.”

Tilting your head at him, you smile, feeling a warm feeling on your chest. He just wants to spend time with you. That’s sweet.

“That’s different.” You sit down on the couch. “And sweet.”

He smiles at you and presses a kiss on your lips. “Just wanted to spend time with you.”

Smiling, you look into his eyes. “How was your day?”

“You know, the usual. Giving lectures to uninterested students, grading awful papers… Yours?”

“It was okay.”

You both talk about your week until the pizza arrives and then you both eat, talking even more. You like this. You could get used to it. Javier is good for you and you like it. It doesn’t scare you or make you want to push him away, in fact, you’ve been waiting to find someone like him.

By the time you finish dinner and sit on the couch to watch a movie, you’re a little buzzed out from the wine.

“You’ve been different lately.” The words come out of your mouth before you can stop them.

“What do you mean?” He takes the remote and starts setting up the movie.

“I don’t know.” You shrug, snuggling closer to him. “Like different in a good way.”

“Well, do you like it?”

Smiling, you nod, giving him a kiss on the cheek. He laughs at your reaction and shakes his head.

“Good.”

…

When Javier wakes up, it’s in a jolt, his heart beats so quick inside his chest he fears he might have a heart attack. Instinctively, his hand flies to the place where you should be on his bed. But it’s empty. Still a bit jumpy from his nightmare, he exhales sharply, jumping out of bed and looking of a pair of boxers to put on.

He finds you in the kitchen, warming some milk on the stove. You’re wearing one of his shirts and a pair of his socks that you stole from the dresser to keep your feet warm. Sighing in relief, he drops his head, closing his eyes and leaning a hand on the doorway to the hallway.

“Javi?” Your soft voice reaches his ears and he looks up to see you with a concerned look in your eyes. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.” He breathes. “Are you?”

“Yeah, I just– I couldn’t sleep so I came to warm up some milk.” You watch as he slowly walks to the couch and sits there, reaching for the pack of cigarettes on the coffee table. Turning off the stove, you leave the milk there as you walk to him. “What happened? Did you have a nightmare?”

You know you’re pushing him, but he looks so distressed and tired that you can’t help it. You care about him too much. Leaning on him, your hand finds the nape of his neck and you tangle your fingers on his hair. Javier looks at you in the dim lights coming from the kitchen and almost breaks. Almost.

“You’ll feel better if you talk about it.” You insist. “I’m here to listen.”

“I’m okay, cariño,” He replies, his voice hoarse and dry. “Don’t worry about me.”

Your eyes don’t leave him as he lights a cigarette and takes a drag from it. In a way, his cold attitude stings you and you can’t help but feel like he’s pushing you away. It’s the first time that it happens and you don’t know what to do with this feeling. He seems to sense your hesitation and puts a hand on your thigh, giving you a smirk.

“Javi, don’t push me away,” You whisper in the dark, your eyes already glossy with tears. “Please.”

Javier’s smirk falls and his face changes. His brows furrow slightly and his mouth opens; he puts out the cigarette and turns to you, placing his hands on your upper arms.

“I’m not,” He says, rubbing your arms. “I’m okay, I promise.”

“No, I know something’s not right,” You argue, trying to hold back tears. “In a moment, you’re treating me like I’ve never been treated before and in the other, you’re just– You don’t– You don’t talk to me!”

He sighs, dropping his hands on his lap, feeling defeated. “I’m sorry, baby, I just–” He closes his eyes. Now it’s the time to be honest, or else, he feels like he’s going to lose you.

“Yeah, I had a nightmare,” He confesses. “I’ve had–” He lets out a shaky breath. “I’ve had them since I came back from Colombia.”

Biting your lip, you take his hand and squeeze to encourage him to keep talking.

“Back then, they were just memories, horrible things that happened there, but now…” He finally looks up at you. “Now, they’re about losing you.”

So, that’s why he wanted you to stay the night. That’s why he wanted to spend time with you on a school night, because he wanted to make sure you were here, with him.

“They’re just dreams, Javi, They’re not real,” You tell him softly. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

Then, you pull him for a hug and he gladly hugs you back. You were right, he does feel better, now that he’s talked about it. Javier feels a relief that he’s never felt before, one that he’s been looking for almost all his life. He breathes, trying not to let the tears fall and when he speaks, the words leave his mouth naturally, like they're meant to be said.

“I think I love you, cariño.”

Before he can process what he just said, you laugh softly on his shoulder and press a kiss on the exposed skin. Your lips leave kisses from his shoulder to his neck, to his jawline, and then finally on his lips.

“I know,” You mumble on his lips, smiling. “Javi, I know.”

“How?” He murmurs back, his lips never leaving yours.

“When you know, you know.” You finally pull away to look into his eyes. “And I feel the same Javi. I love you too.”

Javier’s eyes light up and he half smiles, cupping your cheeks and pressing your foreheads together.

“What did I do to deserve you?”

__

tagging: @bestintheparsec​ @adikaofmandalore​

[meltwonu]

s n a k e     |     e y e s     [chapter 4]

pairing; snakehybrid!woozi x female!reader

this chapter’s notes; 🥰💕 HELLO Y’ALL! Strap in for the longest chapter yet fdjhgkkhsf also just,,, i know hybrid aus are different and in the real life only female mammals go into heat but as u kno this is fiction and a hybrid au so for the sake of that, heat cycles r not gonna follow irl rules if u kno what im sayin!!! Also fingering and a little bit of dirty talk, and jihoon being a cheeky lil shit🥴🤤 again thank u all for taking interest in snake eyes!! 💕💕💕

chapters; 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - x - x - x

You try to avoid Jihoon for a couple days, going to the office building where you sometimes worked to try and buy yourself some time away from the snake hybrid. You can’t tell if he notices your eagerness to be away from home but you apologize to him in your head, leaving cash on the table for food when you leave in the morning for the third day in a row.

And although Jihoon may not mind your absence that much, your co-workers take notice of how often you’d been coming to the office lately.

“Is everything okay at home?”

You spin your chair around to face the cubicle next to yours, meeting the curious eyes of Seungkwan, a junior writer that had worked with you a few times. You worked as a journalist at a magazine company; sometimes taking the part of an editor when nobody was available. Thankfully, your job allowed you to work from home a lot of the time which you preferred, up until a few days ago anyway.

“Huh? Oh yeah, things are okay. Why, what’s up?”

“Nothing just… You almost never come in, like, 3 days in a row? Minghao was starting to get worried too, to be honest.” Minghao was the editor in chief at your magazine company and was actually a good friend of yours. You valued his opinion more than anyone as he was insanely level headed and always lead you in the right direction when you needed a helping hand. He also had a hybrid at home, which you had forgotten about until now.  

“Oh… I mean, my mattress has been kinda… y’know, getting old so…”

“What does that have to do with you coming in 3 days in a row? Really, are you okay? You’re not making much sense...”

“I--I think I need to talk to Minghao.”

Knocking on Minghao’s office door, you try to balance the two cups of coffee in your opposite hand, making sure they don’t spill as you grasp the door knob.

“Come in!”

Pushing the door open, you shoot Minghao a lopsided smile as you hold up the coffees, kicking the door shut behind you.

“Wow, can’t say I’m surprised.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… 3 days in a row? Something’s… off.” You sigh, setting the cups of coffee down on Minghao’s desk before sitting down in one of the seats across from him. “Is it really that obvious?”

“Well.. the last time you came in this often was when you broke up with your ex… What was his name? Soonyoung?” The name strikes a chord inside you, almost dropping the cup in your hand when you bring it to your lips to take a sip. It’s not that the relationship with Soonyoung had gone sour necessarily, in all honesty it was better than the two of you had broken up because both of you were too focused on your jobs to be in a relationship at the time. However, it still had been somewhat hard to get over; you were used to having Soonyoung around in your life and apartment and having Jihoon around was surely filling in that space lately.

“Uh, yeah, that’s him. I mean, I just… I have some questions if it’s okay?”

“Yeah, of course. We’re friends before co-workers. What’s up?”

“You… have a hybrid too, right?”

“I do… wait, you said ‘too’. Did you get a hybrid? Is that why you’ve been so out of whack?”

“Well, I did... His name is Jihoon and he’s a snake hybrid.”

Minghao can see you fidgeting from across the table, his eyes focused on the way you can’t even make eye contact with him. “He’s not… hurting you, is he?”

“What! No! Never, he’s really kind and…” You trail off, a blush creeping onto your face the longer you simmer in your own thoughts.

“Let me guess, you like him like him, don’t you.”

“I’m screwed, aren’t I?”

When you get home from the office, the sun’s already been down for a couple hours.

You’d taken the longer way back, thinking about everything you and Minghao had talked about and making some decisions for yourself before making it home. You even stopped at the cafe, grabbing a small dinner and checking to see if the cute barista Jun was around. Sadly, he was not.

“Jihoon, are you here?”

“In the bedroom!” Trudging over, you see Jihoon exiting from the attached bathroom, wiping his hands on a towel. “You got back just in time. I… um, ran you a bath! It’s still warm so…” He trails off, sitting quietly on the bed as he watches your eyes flit from the bathroom to him.

“How’d you know I’d get back around this time? It’s very sweet of you Jihoon but also… why?” The snake hybrid fidgets, hands curling around the hem of his sleeves. “Um… I dunno, you seemed kinda tense lately. And you always do nice stuff for me so I wanted to do something nice for you.  And you always come back around now, kinda. Guess I was just taking a chance?”

Any coherent thoughts leave your brain at how cute Jihoon is, a serene sigh leaving your lips as you step closer to him sitting on the bed. You run your fingers through his hair as he leans into your touch, wrapping his hands around your waist as he pulls you in closer.

“Hmm…”

“Something the matter?”

“You… don’t smell like you lately.” You break into a bit of a cold sweat, fingers pausing against his scalp. “O-oh.. I thought you said your sense of smell was better with your tongue?”

“Well, yes, but that doesn’t mean my nose doesn’t work. And you smell like… other people. It’s weird. I’m not used to that.”

You blush again, pulling away from Jihoon as his hands fall from your waist.

“I should take that bath you ran for me while it’s still warm then, huh?”

“Mmhmm.”

When you exit from the bathroom, Jihoon’s already under the covers waiting for you.

“Already going to bed?” He nods, a yawn on his lips as he tugs the covers higher up onto his body. “Did you eat already?” Jihoon nods again, patting your side of the bed.

You slide into bed next to him, eyes drawing random shapes onto the ceiling as you lay there wide awake.

“Hey Jihoon?”

“Hmm?”

“Can I ask you something?” The snake hybrid turns to face you, turning onto his side as you do the same. “Sure, shoot.” You feel nervous; thankful that it’s dark so he can’t see the way your skin flushes red. “I… sorry if this is stupid of me to ask but you… don’t go into heat, do you?”

Jihoon’s quiet for a moment, a cold hand wrapping around your wrist as he tugs you closer to him. “I can feel you getting warmer cause you’re probably embarrassed. It’s okay to ask. But can I ask why you’re asking?” Clearing your throat, your eyes adjust to the darkness, staring Jihoon straight in the eyes.

“Oh, I was talking to my f-friend earlier who has a bunny hybrid and… he said that his bunny hybrid goes into heat and I was just wondering? He makes his bunny hybrid take suppressants for his heat and I just… I guess I could’ve looked it up but I figured it’d just be better to ask you since we never really talked about it and it’s been a couple weeks since you’ve started living with me.” Jihoon processes your words, puffing his cheeks up in the darkness as he thinks.

“Technically no. I mean, like I’ve said before I don’t really have many snake-like features anyway so even if we did, I probably wouldn’t. But no… if there’s anything, I’ll probably be, um, a little sensitive to you--your, uh… cycle. Cause… smells and stuff.” This time it’s Jihoon’s turn to blush as he mentally kicks himself for his questionable reply.

“O-oh. I see… I mean, okay. That’s good? I mean, oh my god, about you not having to take suppressants! Not about… the other thing.” You can’t help but think that it’s been weeks since Jihoon started living with you which meant you’d already gone through a cycle and Jihoon hadn’t said a word about it.

“Yeah, I mean, I probably would’ve told you otherwise if it was a problem, I guess. But anyway, do you have any other pillow talk questions?”

“Um…”

“For the record, my dick is normal.”

“Jihoon!!” You can feel yourself start to sweat under the covers, mind conjuring up all sorts of inappropriate scenarios until Jihoon laughs out loud, his cold hand sliding under your neck as he wraps his other hand around your waist, effectively drawing you into him as he holds you tight against his chest.

Eventually all you hear is his steady breath, the quietness letting you know that he’s fallen asleep.

A few days pass since then, and you’re thankful that things go back to what you consider normal as you set up your work space in the living room. You’d texted Minghao a few times earlier, letting him know that things were getting better at home and that maybe he and Chan could come over for lunch sometime the next week. He agrees, telling you he’ll text you his free dates when he has time.

Jihoon was still asleep even though it was already closing in on 1PM in the afternoon. But you had chosen to not wake him up, letting the male sleep in as long as he wanted while you worked on a new draft for an article.

But it’s when you get up to make another cup of coffee after 30 minutes of working that you’re hit with a wave of arousal out of nowhere; body heating up in an instance as you feel wetness pooling between your thighs. Instead of making another cup of coffee, you immediately pick up your phone, swiping until you find your period tracker to check the dates. Fuck, you think, this would fucking happen to me after I fuckin’ asked Jihoon all those stupid questions!

The panic hits you like a ton of bricks when you hear the bedroom door opening. You wonder if there’s time to run out of the door and hide for god knows how long before Jihoon even sees you. But in the time it takes you to figure something out, Jihoon steps into the living room, hair still messy from sleep as he stretches. You watch his movements, hyper aware of the fact he can probably smell you to some degree from where he stands. And it was fine when you didn’t know he was sensitive to your cycle but now you did know which made things a little more complicated.

“Did you already make lunch? I’m starving.” Your throat feels dry, but you try to compose yourself to the best of your ability. You almost wish he hadn’t said anything about being sensitive to your cycle in the first place because the hyperawareness was apparently already eating you alive.

“Oh, um, I can make some now actually! I was just about to! I’ll let you know when it’s ready!”

You all but power walk towards the kitchen, not waiting for his reply as you focus on making something to eat; hoping the smells from the kitchen bury the smell of you ovulating to his sensitive nose.

Jihoon is normal for the rest of the day, albeit you’re on edge. Regretfully, your conversations throughout the day are clipped, mentally apologizing to Jihoon again for your weird behaviour even if he seemed to be taking everything well. Your panties had been annoyingly wet all day, even when you’d gone to change them and it was almost time for bed again which had you panicking yet again.

You take your time to get ready for bed, slightly avoiding Jihoon until you realize there’s no getting out of it. There was a second where you debated asking him to sleep in his old room but it’d been so long since he’d slept there that you felt bad for asking.

When Jihoon calls your name, you exit the bathroom, turning off all the lights before slipping into bed next to him. You feel like a plank of wood next to him, awkwardly stiff as he tries to get you to face him.

“Hey…”

“Yes, Jihoon?”

“I don’t want you to feel awkward even though you’ve kinda been all day… It’s okay, y’know.” You turn away from him, facing the window in your bedroom. You can see the moonlight filtering in through the curtains and it distracts you for a second but you think about how you could cry at how genuinely sweet Jihoon was, even when you were being aloof all day. “Sorry it’s just… You’ve been here for weeks which means you already had… had to deal with me going through it once and you didn’t even say anything? I should’ve asked you sooner cause now I don’t know if you were okay and now that I know you know and you’re sleeping next to me still and I--”

“Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay!”

Jihoon presses into you from behind, the coolness of his body permeating his sleep clothes and cooling down your heated body even just a little bit. “I was okay last time too. Like I said, if there were any problems I would’ve told you right?”

“Yeah, but--”

“No, no buts! It’s fine, really. If I’m being honest… it was kind of nice. You got extra warm during that time. Sorry if that’s kind of weird. Guess you can say I’m an opportunist.” There’s a slight chuckle to his voice as he wraps an arm around your waist. It’s silent for a beat as you slightly relax in his hold.

“Jihoon can I ask you another question?”

“Shoot.”

“Did you… um, were you like this with any of your past owners?” He sighs, nuzzling into your neck as he stares out window with you. “No. Never. Honestly, I’m a little shocked at myself too. But I guess it’s also because I spent most of the time alone when I was being adopted into other homes. You’re the first person who’s adopted me that’s around my age and… genuinely nice. I don’t feel like a show animal here.” The two of you fall into the first comfortable silence all day; Jihoon’s fingertips playing with the material of your sleep shirt.

“Can I try something?” You hum at his question, muttering a small ‘okay’ under your breath.

Jihoon starts slow, cold fingertips lifting your shirt inch by inch underneath the covers until your sleep shorts are exposed to his wandering hand. You can already feel your breath getting caught in your throat as his cold digits skim the waistband of your shorts. “Is this okay?”

“H-huh?”

“I need to know if this is okay, before I continue. I don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage of you because of what I said earlier.” You gulp hearing his words; technically, you’d both benefit from this.

“I… yes, I’m okay with this Jihoon. Please… continue.”

The snake hybrid is silent afterwards, his lips pressed against your clothed shoulder as his hand dips into your sleep shorts. His gentle touch has you moaning softly, eyes fluttering shut as you let him explore.

“You’ve been wet all day, haven’t you?”

“Uh… Uh-huh…”

“It’s cute you were trying to hide it like I didn’t already know.” His words are muffled against your shoulder, lips curling up into a cheeky smile that you can’t see. “I gotta be honest, I kind of regretted telling you at first, y’know? You were more open when you didn’t know. I was sad seeing you all clammed up and trying to hide from me earlier.” Jihoon’s fingertips press into the wet spot on your panties, garbled noises muffled by the pillowcase as you press your face into it slightly.

“I--Isn’t this w-weird?”

“Hmm? What’s weird about it?” Your body's on fire under the bed sheets and Jihoon’s touch and he’d barely even done anything to you yet. “I mean, y-you said you’ve never done this but---mmh, you seem so okay with it, J-Jihoon.”

His fingers play with the hem of your panties for a second before they slide against your skin, dipping deeper and deeper until they meet your wet folds. You moan, already rocking against his hand as you search for more contact. “I’m not completely inexperienced. And let’s be honest, hasn’t there been some tension between us anyway?” You almost grimace, knowing damn well you were suffering from your inappropriate dreams and your long ‘baths’ you would take to relieve yourself hoping he didn’t notice. But you also are surprised to hear that he, too, was feeling something towards you.

“Oh, uh… that’s...”

“Mm, I’m really sorry but your long ‘baths’ weren’t really fooling anyone you know.”

The embarrassment from his comment dies immediately when his fingers slide through your folds, spreading your wetness from your hole to your clit before rolling the nub between his fingertips. You moan Jihoon’s name, begging him to touch you more.

He indulges you, coating his middle finger in your wetness before easing it into your pussy. You immediately clench around the digit once he’s knuckle deep, whining when it’s not enough. Jihoon laughs slightly, pumping the digit in and out as he thumbs your clit.

“You’re so eager considering you were hesitant about this. Wanna talk about it?”

“Ngh, can--can we do that later? I’m so s-sensitive right now, Jihoon, I already feel like cumming… Can you… can you talk to me instead?”

“Aren’t I already doing that?” His cheeky reply has you whining again but he eases another finger into your pussy, scissoring the digits inside of you. “F-fuck, you know… what I mean. Please!”

“Is that what you like? Dirty talk?” He nuzzles into your neck, kissing the exposed skin before his lips travel up; kissing the shell of your ear. You hadn’t noticed at first but his body temperature is akin to yours now, the heat making you sweat a little as he fingers you under the sheets. “You know, sometimes when you sleep you make these cute little noises… They sound like pretty moans sometimes and it makes me wonder what you’re dreaming of when you’re wrapped up in my arms.” The wetness between your thighs is obscenely loud when Jihoon thrusts his fingers harder and faster into your pussy, your moans and whimpers mixing in.

“You smelled so good last time too. Maybe it’s just instinct but I really wanted to taste you. Maybe I could taste how sweet you really were if I had said something sooner? I’d get you to cum on my tongue over and over again and then lick up all that sweetness ‘til you’re begging me to stop.” His dirty words are whispered softly into your ear, small kisses in between as he tastes your warm skin.

For once, you really hoped this wasn’t a dream.

“Mmh, Jihoon, I’m--I’m gonna cum…!”

The snake hybrid doesn’t reply, instead rubbing your clit harder as he continues to thrust his fingers into you. And although you weren’t reciprocating anything, Jihoon felt good too, the warmth from your body making him feel comfortable and at ease.

When you finally cum around his fingers, you whimper his name, toes curling as your legs clamp around the hand between them. You can feel your breathing stop for a second as your orgasm crests and Jihoon can feel your walls throbbing around his fingers, a small groan against your ear as he slows his movements until your orgasm starts to ebb away. You don’t really know how much time has passed but the stickiness between your thighs starts to feel uncomfortable as you shift slightly; Jihoon’s fingers still inside of your pussy.

“Ji--Jihoon…”

“Hm? Oh, right.”

He eases his fingers out of you, a whimper escaping your lips at the sensitivity.

Jihoon brings his fingers up to his face over your shoulder, your wetness coated all over the digits as he brings them to his lips. You turn your head slightly, watching him through sleepy eyes as he laps at them, cleaning each finger meticulously as he moans. You almost hate the way you already crave his touch again just from the sight.

When he deems them clean enough, he smiles, satisfied. There’s a yawn on his lips afterward, his arm easing your shirt back down as he wraps an arm around your waist again. You lay there for a few minutes, feeling the urge to sleep pulling you in. But you try to get up to get cleaned off, finding yourself already locked into Jihoon’s hold as the male has seemingly already fallen asleep within the few minutes since.

You sigh, easing into his hold as you toss the idea of even trying to get cleaned up out the window. You lay there thinking about all the things you and Jihoon would need to talk about in the morning; thousands of different scenarios flitting through your mind of how it could go. You momentarily think of all the questions you want to ask Jihoon as well. But sleep eventually finds you, eyes drooping shut as you finally welcome it.

[seanfalco]

False Positive | Nathan Young x Reader

Word Count: 2.8k a/n: Decided to combine these prompts since I felt like they somewhat went together! Prompt: I have been LIVING for your Nathan Young stories they are seriously so  good you are so talented !! I was wondering if maybe you could do a  prompt for Nathan where the reader has a pregnancy scare/gets pregnant?  Whichever appeals to you more :) thank you again for sharing your work!! + I think a heart to heart about dysfunctional families with Nathan and  your reader character could be really good. For a sentence starter, it  could be something like "It's okay. You're my family now." Requested by: Anonymous Warning: pregnancy scare

——

“Out with it,” Kelly exclaimed and you flinched, nearly dropping the cigarette dangling precariously from your fingers in your surprise.

“What?” you asked, feigning innocence, not quite meeting your friend’s eyes.

“What is goin’ on with you?” she pressed, turning to you and planting her hand on her hip as she flicked the line of ash from her cigarette.  “Even Nathan knows somethin’s off, and he’s usually pretty clueless about this kinda stuff.”

“What?  What did he say?” you asked warily, bringing your own cigarette to your lips with shaking fingers.

“He thinks you’re gunna break up with him,” she admitted.

“Kelly, I think she’s plannin’ on leavin’ me!”  Nathan’s voice had cried over the phone.  “She’s been actin’ different lately, an’ I don’t know what I did!  D’you think you could talk to her?  Figure out what’s goin’ on?  Pleaseeeee?” 

“Wha--no!” you exclaimed, finally turning to Kelly.  “That’s not--”

She met you with a flat stare and a cocked eyebrow.  

Knowing you couldn’t keep dodging her questions, you heaved a heavy sigh, turning back and looking out over the lake, resting your arms on the railing.  “I… I’m late,” you murmured, fidgeting with your cigarette as you bit your lip.  “What if I’m pregnant?”

Kelly sighed, “Shit,” she breathed.  “How late?”

“Week and a half, nearly two,” you answered softly and she nodded.  

“Have you taken a test yet?”

“Not yet,” you groaned, letting your face drop to your arms hanging over the railing.  “I’ve just been kinda hopin’ my period’ll start and this’ll all go away.”  Straightening slightly you turned your face to look at her.  “Have you ever had a scare like this?” 

Kelly nodded, finishing off her cigarette and flicking it away.  “Yeah, once.  Scared the shit outta me,” she replied.  “Obviously I wasn’t pregnant, but…” she sighed trailing off.  “Yeh need t’talk to Nathan about it.  I know you don’t wanna worry him, but he’s already worried and it’s not fair keepin’ him in the dark, y’know?”

“Yeah, I know,” you murmured, sighing, worry churning your gut.  What if you did turn out to be pregnant and Nathan left you?  You knew how he felt about kids and you weren’t exactly keen on them either.  What if this just scared him away?

——

“Hey, wanna shag t’night?” Nathan asked suddenly, waggling his eyebrows enticingly up at you as he lay draped across you, his fingers idly tracing your exposed skin and your stomach twisted.

“Uhm, not tonight Nathan,” you murmured uncomfortably, avoiding his crestfallen expression, still not building the courage to tell him what was going on.

“Aw c’mon,” he pouted, crawling closer, attempting to kiss you.  “Why not?”

Turning your face away, you bit your lip.  “I’m just not… feelin’ it tonight, I’m sorry,” you replied lamely, rolling over reluctantly.  You could feel Nathan’s eyes on you before he huffed a sigh and flopped down behind you.  

“What, yeh mad at me or somethin’?  Is this some sort of punishment?” he asked, shifting behind you on the bed.

“No,” you exclaimed earnestly, hoping he’d believe you as you reached behind you for his arm, drawing it across you and pulling him closer til he was spooning you, his lanky body curled around you protectively.

“I’m just… not feelin’ well, is all,” you lied.  Well, it wasn’t exactly a lie, seeing as your insides were twisting uncomfortably and you felt like you wanted to throw up from anxiety.

Nathan seemed to accept your answer despite his disappointment however, and settled down to sleep, squeezing you subtly as if afraid you were going to disappear and you eventually fell into a fitful sleep as well, plagued by nightmares.

Waking with a start you gave a cry, clutching at your stomach, jolting Nathan awake in the process.  When you found you’d only been dreaming and your belly wasn’t nine months pregnant and that Nathan was still there with you, you finally calmed somewhat, pressing your face into your pillow to stifle your cries.

“[y/n], s’wrong?” Nathan exclaimed, hovering anxiously and you turned to face him, sitting up and drawing your knees into yourself.

“Nathan, I have to tell you something,” you murmured, looking down at your feet and you could feel his frown on you as he watched you.  

“What is it?” he asked, the hesitance in his voice clear.

Taking a deep breath you stole yourself.  “I’m late.  Like by a week and a half… almost two,”  As soon as the words were out of your mouth you forced yourself to look up at your boyfriend’s face, finding him frowning in thought and your stomach twisted tighter.

“Late for what?” Nathan asked, clearly confused and you gaped at him for a moment.  Of course he wouldn’t know what you meant.

“Uh… late, as in, my… period,” you explained awkwardly and his face twisted into a slight grimace.

“Oh.  Are y’sayin’ you’re…?”

“No!” you exclaimed quickly, “I mean, I don’t know,” you continued, squeezing your arms around yourself tighter.  “I haven’t taken a test or anything yet.”

Nathan shook his head in disbelief.  “But I always use a cond—,” he spluttered, cringing at your flat look.

 “Not always,” you countered, though there was no heat behind your words and Nathan glanced away sheepishly.  “When we’re in too big a hurry or…”  

“You know you like it as much as I do when I go bareback,” Nathan argued weakly, “besides, I’ve never cum inside…”

“Yeah, well, it’s not exactly the best birth control method,” you grumbled and shook your head.  “But I’m not blamin’ you.  I just… that’s why I’ve been acting so weird lately.  I’m… I’m scared, Nathan.  I don’t want kids.  I’m not ready for that, and I don’t know if I ever will be,” you admitted, scooting closer, your voice shaking slightly.  “And I’ve been afraid that if I told you… and I turned out t’be… that you wouldn’t wanna stick around.  I know how you feel about babies and…”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Nathan exclaimed quickly, his hands hovering as if he wanted to hold you, but unsure what to do.  “You really think I’d leave because of somethin’ like that?” he asked incredulously.  “I thought you were gunna leave me.”

Pressing your face to his chest you clutched at his shirt.  “But… what if I am pregnant?  What are we gunna do?” you asked, sniffling, and he pulled back to look at you, his brows creased.

“Then, we’ll… we’ll make it work, y’know?” he said, his voice strengthening, though you could still hear the uncertainty behind it.  “I--I’ll support you and the baby, no matter what it takes, yeah?  Or… there’s other options, if yeh want,” he added quickly.  “Either way I ain’t gunna leave like some worthless bum and make you take care of this on your own,” he insisted shakily, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Nathan…” you murmured, taken aback by his insistence.  “But… why?” 

“Because I… I love you, [y/n],” he exclaimed as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, and you couldn’t help the faint smile that pulled at your lips.  It wasn’t often you got to hear him say those words. 

“I love you too, Nathan,” you murmured, snaking your arms around him to squeeze him tighter, relishing the feel of being held and a thought occurred to you that made you chuckle softly.  “Y’know I’m kinda surprised somethin’ like this hasn’t happened sooner,” you commented and Nathan snorted lightly in return.

“Y’have a point,” he agreed.  “We’ve been temptin’ fate for far too long.”

“I know right?” you murmured, pulling back to look him in the eye, finding a hesitant smile echoed on his face.

”Exactly!  It ain’t our fault we can’t keep our hands off each other,” he agreed before his grin faded and he idly twisted a strand of your hair between his finger.  “So, uh, y’think we should get yeh a pregnancy test tomorrow?” Nathan suggested, looking as distinctly uncomfortable with the idea as you were, but you nodded.

“Yeah, we probably should.”

“Right, well… there’s not really anything we can do right now, is there?” he pointed out, “So, let’s try t’get some sleep, huh?”

You let him usher you back down to the mattress, sliding closer to him, fitting yourself to his lean body and he tucked your head under his chin and he held you close.

——

“So, how exactly does this work?” Nathan asked as he peered over your shoulder at the box in your hand.  “I mean, I know y’hafta piss on it… but how d’ya aim?”

An unexpected snort ripped through you and you were strangely glad that even in a situation like this, Nathan could still manage to make you laugh.  

“It says here you should pee in a cup and then dip the end of it in that,” you explained, reading the box as you leaned against the bathroom counter.

“Ohhh,” Nathan exclaimed, “I’ll go get one.”  When he returned from the kitchen he wore a sheepish expression, holding a bowl instead.  “All the cups were dirty,” he explained and you grinned, shaking your head ruefully as you took the bowl from him.

“At least now y’won’t miss,” he teased and you gave him a playful shove. 

“Oh yeah, thanks,” you replied sarcastically, giving him a tremulous smile.

“Well, uh, good luck,” he exclaimed awkwardly, bending slightly to press a quick kiss to your cheek before stepping out of the room to give you some privacy.

Grimacing, you held the bowl under yourself as you hovered over the toilet seat.  I am never using this bowl again, you thought with a twist of your lips, setting it on the counter and unwrapping the pregnancy test.  Skimming the instructions you nodded to yourself before you dipped the end of the test in the bowl and leaving it there.

Getting to your feet you began to pace the tiny room, feeling much too jittery to sit still as you waited for the result.  

“How long is this s’posed to take?” Nathan called through the door and you groaned.

“I dunno, like a couple minutes or something,” you called back, leaning over the test to check.

Nothing, yet.

Another minute ticked by which felt more like an hour.

Still nothing.  Wait, a faint something.

Chewing your lip you watched as the result slowly appeared and a frown creased your brow.

“What does it say?” Nathan called again, his voice more of an impatient whine.

Throwing the door open you peeked your head out and Nathan scrambled to his feet from where he’d been sitting in the hall, his back pressed against the wall, staring up at the ceiling.

“It’s uhm…” you faltered and he slipped past you into the room, snatching the test and squinting at it.

“What’s it mean?” he asked after a moment, glancing up at you.

“I think it’s defective,” you answered, picking up the box and studying the possible outcomes.  “According to this… it says I’m both pregnant and not pregnant,” you muttered.

“What?” Nathan yelped, his thick eyebrows scrunching up.  “Seriously?  What a fuckin’ rip off,” he groaned and you heaved a sigh, perching on the edge of the counter.  “Y’sure you’re not havin’ like some sort of alien baby?” he teased, dodging your swat at his head.

“Well, if so, it’s your alien sperm,” you giggled, flashing him a grin, caught off guard by the one that met you.  “I am gunna need another test though,” you pointed out and Nathan groaned.

“Yeah, yeah, alright,” he muttered, straightening.  “I’ll be right back, you stay here.”

“Thank you,” you murmured wearily and for a moment you thought he was gunna complain.  

“Ahh, don’t mention it,” Nathan replied instead, his voice soft as he stepped between your knees to kiss the top of your head before heading back to the convenience store.  

Once he was gone, you slipped off the sink and ambled out to the couch, collapsing on it and grabbing your phone, finding a text from Kelly. 

“How’d it go?”

Scowling, you typed out a reply.  “Stupid test was a dud, Nathan’s gone out for a second one.”

“That’s bollocks, let me know what happens.”

Throwing your arm over your eyes you lay there for a couple minutes before rolling over and switching on the tv, not wanting to be left alone with your thoughts for too long, your fear creeping in and twisting your insides.

What’s takin’ Nathan so bloody long, you wondered when suddenly your panties felt uncomfortably wet and a burst of hope filled you.  Hurrying to the bathroom you let out an excited squeal just as the front door opened and Nathan stepped inside.

“[y/n]?” he called uncertainly, but you were too busy laughing with relief and fetching a fresh pair of underwear to respond.  “[y/n]?” he repeated, knocking urgently at the bathroom door, his voice shaking slightly.  “You okay?”

Wrenching the door open you practically launched yourself into his arms in your excitement and he stumbled backward, nearly dropping the sack in his hand.

“It started!” you exclaimed, head swimming with a giddy sense of relief.  “I’m not pregnant!” 

“Oh fuck, thank Jesus,” Nathan exclaimed before frowning.  “Aw man, that means I got this second test for nothin’,” he pouted and you laughed.

“We can probably return it.”

“Oh no, d’you know how much of a hard time the wanker at the register gave me?  No fuckin’ way,” he exclaimed, an impish grin stealing suddenly across his face.  “Maybe we could dip it in my piss and see what happens.”

“Oh my God,” you groaned exasperatedly, gasping as he lifted you, awkwardly carrying you over to the bed and tumbling atop it with you still in his arms.

“What else did you get?” you asked, peeking into the Tesco bag, and Nathan reached his arm into its depths and pulled out a chocolate bar and a fifth of vodka.  

“Just in case.  Y’know to celebrate, or commiserate,” he explained and you grinned, opening the bottle of booze and bringing it to your lips before passing it to him.

After he took a long swig he tossed the bottle aside on the bed and pinned your underneath him, grinning down at you.  “So, what d’ya say we do some other celebrating?” he suggested, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt, and from the look on his face you knew exactly what he was implying.

“Oh no,” you exclaimed, pushing yourself half up and pointing your finger in his face sternly.  “That is how we got into this mess in the first place.”

“Aw, c’mon, I don’t even care that you’re on your period.  Besides, doesn’t that just mean you definitely won’t get knocked up?” he asked cluelessly.

“I don’t think it works like that,” you replied with a peal of laughter.  “How about you just hold me?” you asked instead, your tone sobering and Nathan’s cheeky grin slipped.  

Settling himself on the bed he pulled you against him and you tangled your legs with his, relaxing into his embrace, his long fingers gently combing through your hair.  For a long moment you lay in silence before Nathan cleared his throat.

“Can I tell yeh something?” he asked hesitantly and you nodded.

“‘Course.”

He took a deep breath before speaking.  “I uhm… Is it bad that I’m really relieved?” he asked softly.

“No,” you replied, shaking your head.  “How d’you think I feel?” you replied.  “I’m not ready t’be a parent.  I’d be no good at it.  Like, I’d probably fuck the kid up royally.  I mean, let’s face it, I don’t exactly have the best experience when it comes to parental figures.”

“And you think I do?” Nathan scoffed.  “I mean my… the guy who lives with my mum is a fuckin’ jack russell terrier and my dad…” he sighed, trailing off.  “I don’t wanna be like him.  He abandoned Jamie for me and my mum and then he was still a shit dad.”  Nathan’s eyes found yours and the pain and uncertainty that filled them twisted your stomach, and you reached up to place your hand on his cheek comfortingly.

His eyes fluttered shut for a moment at your touch.  “I’m afraid that even if I tried, I’d still end up like him,” he admitted.

“Talk about dysfunctional families,” you huffed, stroking his cheek.

“Yeah,” he said, letting out a shaky laugh.  “But, it’s okay...” he murmured, “because… you’re my family now.”

His words hit you, filling you with overwhelming affection and you smiled, tears pricking your eyes as you pressed your forehead to his, his curls tickling your face.

“I like the sound of that.”

---------------------------

Tag List: @imagine-you-are​​ @magic-multicolored-miracle​​ @etherealsxnder​​ @thehrgreeves​​ @iamsexytrash​​ @gurlimtired​​ @itsmetaphorbriansblog Those Bolded - I can’t tag you for some reason

[river-bottom-nightmare]

Pepperony Valentine’s Day Fic Exchange

to the wonderful @pepperonyspizza ! i’m not used to writing high school aus, but i tried my best. i hope you enjoy!

It was the start of the school year, and Rhodey could honestly say this was the year he would help Tony blow the gym up. 

“You’re the one in JROTC,” Tony waved his hand around, as if gesturing vaguely to the gymnasium proved his point. “You can’t complain.”

“I am complaining,” Rhodey said. “I am complaining so hard. They said just ‘cause I’ve been in JROTC for three years, I can’t be in tech lab this year. Something about ‘conflict of interest,’ whatever that’s supposed to mean.”

“They’re not letting you take it? Like, at all?”

“Nah,” Rhodey sighed. “They don’t have any control over what classes I take. But the instructor’s got a lot of pull, you know? And he could make my life difficult for the rest of my high school career.”

“If you don’t take tech lab with me,” Tony announced, rounding a curve and nearing their lockers, “I will throw a fit. I will turn the slushie machine in the cafeteria into a hose that will not stop. I will break into the principal’s office and play the Siberian national anthem over the intercom. I will-”

“I know,” Rhodey laughed. “Don’t worry, I’m taking the class.”

“Good,” Tony said, and Rhodey leaned against the lockers to watch Tony struggle with opening the locker. To make up for the trouble Rhodey was having, the universe had decided to give Tony a top locker, and Rhodey was enjoying this immensely.

“You need some help over there?” Rhodey asked, amused, watching as the kid genius propelled himself to his tip-toes with all the energy in his body. He still couldn’t see the locker numbers properly.

“If you’d just let me climb on your shoulders,” Tony said between labored breaths, “we wouldn’t be having this problem right now.”

“Oh no, that would take away my entertainment!”

“You’re the best, Rhodes. Quite literally the most helpful friend.”

“Glad to be of service.”

“Um...excuse me?”

Rhodey turned to see a girl standing near Tony’s locker. She was tall, looking almost shy when she tucked her strawberry blonde hair behind her ear, but there was a steel in her voice that Rhodey wasn’t used to hearing come out of the mouth of a high school kid. 

“That’s my locker,” the girl said, pointing to the locker right underneath Tony’s.

“Yeah, well, I’m a little busy right now,” Tony said, tongue peeking out of his mouth. “I gotta get this open before class starts.”

“You’re not the only one with a class to get to,” she said.

“Well, I was here first.”

“Real mature,” she said, then dropped down to her knees and shoved Tony to the side. Ignoring Tony’s protested shout, she opened her locker smoothly, exchanging a couple books, then shut the door with a click, walking off without glancing back once.

After a minute of silence, Tony turned to Rhodey and said, “Did you see that? Did that just happen.”

“She had a point, y’know.”

“I know she had a point, but she shoved me to the side! I almost fell! Did you see me almost fall?” 

“You didn’t, though, did you?” Rhodey said. “So it doesn’t matter.”

“Thanks for your support, Rhodey,” Tony’s tone was mocking. “I guess I’ll just have to go into battle alone?”

“Battle?”

“War.”

“War?”

“With the girl. She dishonoured me, and now I have to figure out how to open this goddamn locker so I can win my honour back over a period of time that consists of me opening this piece of junk with the best lock-opening skills since, uh, who’s that one famous locksmith?”

“There are famous locksmiths?”

Tony waved his hand. “Of course there are famous locksmiths. Otherwise the famous locks would be stuck every time they needed to be fixed.”

“Your logic astounds me.”

“This is war, Rhodey!”

---

It was midway through the school year, and Rhodey was certain that Tony was losing the war.

The girl, Pepper Potts, had proven herself a formidable component, and Tony-wrangling had turned into a much easier pastime with her around. Initially wanting nothing to do with them, Pepper soon learned the lesson that Rhodey had figured out years ago: you don’t catch the attention of Tony Stark and not end up becoming his friend. Or his enemy, but Rhodey wasn’t sure any sixteen year old should have an “enemy,” no matter what Tony said.

Now, along with their locker espionage and warfare, Rhodey got to witness the absolute delight of Tony staring at Pepper’s chest without a hint of shame, but blushing as red as the colour of their school mascot the minute Pepper smiled at him. Rhodey was seriously considering recording all of this for blackmail material.

He was leaning against the wall near Tony and Pepper’s locker, a place he honestly probably spent more time in than his room. “The bell rings in two minutes,” Rhodey said.

“Shit!” Pepper exclaimed, shoving Tony off her books, where he’d been balancing on one foot, attempting to open his locker blindfolded. “I’m going to be late.”

“Looks like someone’s admitting defeat then, right?” Tony crowed, throwing his arms up in victory.

“No, you moron,” Pepper slapped his arm lightly. “I’m not admitting defeat, but I’m about to mess up my perfect attendance record.”

She rushed through getting her belongings together while Tony rolled his eyes. “Right, I forgot you care about this stuff.”

“I do, Tony. I really do.”

“Well what do you want me to do about it?”

“Here’s a thought,” Rhodey spoke up from the corner, exasperation filling his tone. “How about the two of you, wait for it, switch lockers?”

The two of them looked as if they’d never considered the idea before.

Then, Tony said, “You’re a genius, Rhodeybear!”

“I know,” Rhodey said. 

“I’ll give you my combo after school,” Pepper was walking backward, nearing the end of the hallway, “but if I don’t leave now I really will get a tardy. You two need to get to class.”

“I’ve got a free period,” Rhodey said.

“I’m making myself a free period,” Tony said.

---

“There’s no way she’ll say no!” Tony argued, and Rhodey sighed, putting his head in his hands.

“Tony, that is literally the worst line in the history of pickup lines.”

“You’re wrong, it’s beautiful.”

Sometimes, Rhodey really questioned the quality of his taste in best friends. 

“If you’ve been reading the entire situation wrong,” Rhodey said, “Pepper will slap you.”

“Do you think I’ve been reading the situation wrong?”

Honestly? No. Rhodey was pretty sure organizing Tony’s locker for him and giving him a custom planner for his birthday was Pepper’s way of flirting. Tony had, unfortunately, picked up on it, and the last couple of weeks had been full of Tony raving to Rhodey about how incredible Pepper was.

Rhodey could give Tony an itemized list of reasons why Pepper was incredible, none of them including a freeverse poem about the way she looked when she nibbled on a pencil, but he had to admit, Pepper had been good for him. There had generally been less miniature controlled explosions this year, so now, in May, Rhodey was hoping Tony’s frankly awful plan to ask Pepper would be successful so she would stick around for the near future.

“Oh wait hold on, she’s coming,” Tony said, and sauntered up to the locker, aiming for cool as he always did and ending up about two feet too short (as he always did.) “Pep, I got something for ‘ya.”

“Oh really?” she raised her eyebrows.

Rhodey mentally prepared himself.

“Mhmm. I changed the combination to your locker.” Tony handed Pepper a slip of paper. “Here’s the new one.”

And here it comes, he thought.

“Tony,” Pepper said slowly. “This is your phone number.”

Tony raised his eyebrows, smirking. “Why yes. Yes it is. I’m giving you my phone number. Imagine that.”

Then, enunciating each word as if talking to a toddler, Pepper said, “Tony. I already have your phone number.”

Oh dear God, Rhodey wished he had been recording this. A tremendous oversight on his part, because he was struggling to keep it together.

Tony blinked as if processing, then apparently decided the bluntest approach was the best approach. “Pepper, I’m asking you out.”

Pepper squinted. “Like actually?”

“Yes, Virginia, I’m actually asking you out. That’s what giving people your number means.”

“If I already had your number, though, the action’s redundant.”

“That’s not the poi-Jesus. Pepper. Will you go out with me or not?”

“Yes, Tony. I’ll go out with you,” Pepper said, but before Tony could properly celebrate this moment of elation, she also said, “Now move. You’re in front of my locker.”

Oh yeah, Rhodey could tell Pepper would be staying around for a bit longer. Maybe even more than a bit. And looking at Tony’s surprised blink and offended expression, Rhodey couldn’t find it in himself to be the least bit disappointed.

[bethpeaches123]

Oh, it’s you.

So I had an idea rolling around in my brain for a little while, and then a real-life situation presented itself that was eerily similar to this, and instead of acting on it in real life, I’m acting on it in fanfiction form. Because it’s less risky, ha. Here’s some enemies to friends to luvers. I’ve also posted it on AO3 for your reading pleasure. :) Enjoy! I would love some feedback too!

“Thanks,” said Katniss Everdeen briskly to the Uber driver in the front seat of the red Corolla. He grunted his acknowledgement in response as her hand grasped the door handle and pushed the rear passenger-side door open, swinging her slender legs out onto the sidewalk. She leaned back into the car and grabbed the bottle of wine off the seat, then ducked out and straightened up, slamming the car door closed as it drove off.

Turning to face the towering brick townhouse belonging to her cousin Gale and her childhood best friend Madge, Katniss squared her shoulders and took a deep breath.

“You don’t have to stay all night. Just a couple of hours,” she muttered to herself. “That’s like…four half-hours. Or...six twenty-minute periods…or 12 ten-minute chunks…or…anyway, whatever. Just do it. It’s Madge’s birthday, she wants you to be here, just suck it up.”

The night wind suddenly swelled, a gust whooshing past her, stirring up a pile of dead brown leaves around her feet that had fallen from the maple tree on their tiny front lawn. She realized with a start that she probably looks a little crazy to any onlookers, standing on the sidewalk in front of a picturesque townhouse after dark, staring up at it and muttering irritatedly to herself.

She huffed and rolled her eyes. “You’ve gotta get out more, you’re losing it being alone in that apartment all the time,” she muttered again, before stopping and shaking her head. You’re doing it again; quit talking to yourself already and just go inside, she thought.

She adjusted the crossbody strap of her clutch (the bright gold colour was out of character for her, but it was a gift from her sister and the nicest purse she owned) and curled the loose strands of dark chocolate hair that had slipped free from her side braid behind her ears. Smoothing her forest green shirt dress down over her slim frame, she tweaked the braided brown leather belt around her waist and absently brushed a piece of lint from the right thigh of her black tights, glancing down at her camel-coloured heeled booties.

She wasn’t entirely sure of the dress code of the evening, but at twenty-five, they were still at that age of being grownups, but not totally grownups, if that made sense; they were old enough to legally drink the copious amounts of liquor they downed at one of Gale and Madge’s house parties, but they were still young enough to thankfully not feel the full force of a crippling hangover the next day.

Hopefully this looks okay, she thought. Who are you trying to impress anyway? Stop. Stalling, she grumbled internally.

Irritated was her mood of the night and the night was only just beginning.

Clutching the bottle of wine with the golden bow on the neck, she pulled open the wrought-iron gate and proceeded up the short staircase to the house.

Leaning over and pressing the doorbell off to the right of the heavy black door, she glanced up at the night sky over her left shoulder and her eyes flickered to the wind blowing in the trees again. It was a warm night for the end of October – so warm she’d left her jacket at home and opted for just the long-sleeved dress. It wasn’t like she was walking anywhere. She’d take an Uber home later.

Katniss could hear the sounds of an upbeat indie tune floating through the open living room bay window off to the left. Her eyes flicked back to the front just in time to hear a voice on the other side of the door, where it swung open to reveal the guest of honour for the evening.

“Katniss! Hey! God, I’m so glad you’re here – Gale was wondering when you were going to show. Now maybe he’ll finally shut up,” said Madge, her smile spreading across her face and reaching her arms out to hug her best friend.

“Sorry I’m late,” said Katniss sheepishly, squeezing her back. “Carl the Uber driver wasn’t as prompt as the app said he’d be. He won’t be getting five stars from me tonight.”

Madge’s grin grew. “No matter – you’re here now, that’s what counts,” replied the pretty blonde. Her eyes softened as she looked at her old friend, hesitating. “How are you doing? How’s…everything? After…everything last week?”

“I’m okay. Really. It’s getting better every day.” Katniss said, quietly. She really didn’t want to go into details right here, right now. Or ever. The evening was supposed to be a happy occasion, for Madge. Katniss didn’t want to get into the depressing details of the collapse of her relationship with her long-time boyfriend Darius a few weeks before and the messy division of their things when he moved out of their shared apartment.

“Good, I’m glad to hear that...listen, I know it’s not the time or place, so I won’t pry, but please, let’s go for coffee again this week. You can bitch all you want about how much of a douchebag he is, and I’ll happily reassure you how you’re so much better without him,” said the birthday girl wryly.

“Deal,” replied Katniss, a small smile on her lips. “Here – this is for you,” holding up the bottle of Nova 7 that she knew Madge loved. “I know technically I should’ve gotten you champagne for your champagne birthday, but I thought you’d like this more.”

“Oh my God you’re my favourite person, you know that, right?” squealed Madge. “I mean, besides Gale, but whatever – where did you get this?! I’ve been trying all the liquor stores around town and they said they haven’t gotten a shipment in ages!”

“I had it specially ordered from their website! I’m glad you’re happy – I love you, but I’m never going through that hassle again. Customs are a bitch,” grimaced Katniss. Getting the white wine shipped from Canada seemed a bit much, but 25 was a big birthday and Madge had been Katniss’s best friend ever since they’d been paired together in Mr. Heffernan’s English Lit class in sixth grade. She deserved to be on the receiving end of a splurge.

“Well, you and I are going to drink this together tonight – no one else gets a drop,” beamed Madge. “Come on, I’ll stick it in the back of the fridge so no one can get at it before we do.”

She stepped over the threshold into the front porch and started to toe off her booties when Madge glanced down and stopped her. “No, no, leave them on, they’re part of your whole outfit. You look really good tonight, by the way,” she said, appraisingly. “I mean, not that you don’t usually, but, y’know, dresses are kinda rare for you. I’m babbling. Ignore me. It’s the wine. Come get a glass or three and start drinking with me please,” pleaded Madge as she turned back towards the kitchen down the hall and spotted her new husband. “Gale! Gale, Katniss is here! Get her a glass of Riesling, ASAP!”

“Hey Catnip! Good to see you – finally,” smirked Gale as he strode down the front hall towards them, but Katniss could see gentle concern in his eyes. He didn’t think you’d show, she thought to herself. She mentally huffed at her cousin.

“Obviously I’m here, it’s not like I’d miss my best friend’s birthday,” she said, somewhat shortly.

“Oh – of course not, I know that, I j-just...anyway, I’m glad you’re here. There’s a taco dip with your name on it so I hope you came hungry,” her older cousin stammered, glancing at his wife for reinforcement.

Both he and Madge seemed a little on edge at her presence, like they were afraid anything they’d say would set her off in some way. She knew they were only worried about her since the breakup, but it still irritated her to think that their shared glances probably meant they’d been talking about her before she’d shown up. Katniss hated being the centre of anyone’s attention or gossip.

It’s not gossip; they’re concerned about you because they love you, Prim’s voice popped in her head. Her younger sister was always her voice of reason and regularly called her out when she got in her own head and complained about people being interested in her personal life. With Prim on the other side of the country in medical school at Stanford though, she wasn’t here in person to call her out. But Katniss knew her as well as she knew herself, and knew it was exactly what Prim would say in this situation.

Steeling herself and wiping the scowl off her face, Katniss offered Gale a small, embarrassed smile and said, “I was really hoping you’d make your famous taco dip. I skipped dinner specifically for it.”

A flicker of relief passed over his face and Gale turned and gestured for her to follow him towards the dining room down the hall as Madge returned to the living room filled with guests. “I even covered it in extra shredded old cheddar, your favourite,” he grinned.

“Mmmm, hell yes. Where are the chips? I’m digging in right away,” she said eagerly, following behind him.

As they bypassed the living room and entered the dining room, she glanced back towards the front of the house and scanned the crowd. There was already a decent number of people here, some faces she recognized like old college pals Rue, Thom and Thresh, but others she’d never seen before. Gale’s work friends, probably, she thought absently.

“Is Joanna coming?” Katniss asked, turning her attention back towards the spread of food. “I haven’t talked to her all week. I meant to text her earlier, but I forgot.”

“Yep, she said she’s coming by once she’s finished at the office. Some big case she’s working on or something,” Gale replied. “Let me get you that Riesling, I’ll be right back,” as he turned towards the kitchen, leaving her to focus on the food. Grabbing a plate from the stack off to the left, she started piling taco dip onto it, her mouth watering in anticipation.

“Yeesh, Everdeen – leave some for the rest of us, why don’t you?” drawled a familiar voice.

Oh no. Not him, she groaned inwardly, the flush of annoyance rising up her neck and spreading across her face. She stiffened as she heard him chuckle softly and reluctantly turned to face the speaker.

“Oh, it’s you. Hello Peeta,” she said politely. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Why? Obviously I’d come to celebrate Madge. Besides, would you have stayed home and not graced us with your presence had you’d known?” Peeta smirked.

“Hmm, something like that,” she replied, pursing her lips before continuing reluctantly. “How are you? How are Delly and Connor? He must be, what, three now?” enquiring after his wife and son.

“…Yeah, he’s three now. Three and a half, actually, as he’ll tell you. Time flies when you’re having fun,” Peeta replied grimly, averting his eyes from her face. Confused at his response, Katniss was saved from having to reply by Gale appearing to their sides with her glass of wine.

“One Riesling for the lady. Hey Peeta, what can I get you? Beer? Liquor? Something to wipe that sour expression off your face?” asked Gale, wryly.

“Beer is fine, thanks Gale,” the wavy-haired blond replied. “I have to have something that’ll help wash down this taco dip, if Katniss doesn’t eat it all first.”

Katniss scowled at him. “Chill out, Mellark, there’s plenty there. I barely took any,” she retorted. Grabbing her plate and piling on a handful of nacho chips quickly, she turned and carried the plate and her glass of wine away from the irritating man before he could respond. Fuck, he’s such a dick, she stewed. Why does he have to be related to Madge?

Peeta Mellark and Madge Undersee-Hawthorne were indeed cousins, but he was also a former classmate of theirs from junior high and high school. It wasn’t like he and Katniss were friends though – they couldn’t have been further from that. Complete opposites throughout their early days, Peeta was a popular jock who seemed to get along with everyone. Everyone except quiet, kept-to-herself Katniss.

She had no idea why he never warmed to her – she’d sometimes catch him staring at her across the classroom or in the hallways, but he rarely spoke to her throughout their academic careers. She’d usually shoot him a puzzled look in return, because that’s exactly what he did to her – puzzled her.

Stupid Peeta Mellark. Why did he have to be here? And where was his wife, Delly? Katniss hadn’t laid eyes on the blonde bitch yet, but she was sure she’d know when she entered the room because the temperature would probably drop to below freezing, just like Delly’s chilly demeanour.

Katniss was never friends with Peeta, but she never understood what he saw in Delly. What was the title of that book she’d seen in Barnes & Noble one time? Why Men Marry Bitches? Maybe someone should’ve picked up a copy for Peeta Mellark because he could use some psychoanalysis as to why he married someone so horrible. Though, considering what she’d heard about the elder Mrs. Mellark while in school, maybe someone should pick up a book called Why Men Marry Their Mothers for him instead.

She moved through the crowd towards Rue and Thresh, when a flash of short brown hair caught her eye in the main hallway. “Jo! In here!” she waved to the petite brunette in a black pencil skirt and crisp white collared shirt. Johanna was her and Madge’s former college roommate-turned-other-best-friend who was currently kicking ass working at the hottest law firm in the city. She was fresh out of law school and had to article for a year before she could pass the bar and be a full lawyer, but the partners at her firm were already so impressed by her drive and her no-holds-barred attitude, they’d already offered her a position once she’d passed the bar in a few months’ time.

“Hey Kitty-cat, how goes it?” said Johanna, snaking her arm around Katniss’ shoulders in a side hug. “Ooh, gimmie that, I earned a big drink after the freakin’ day I’ve had,” pulling the glass of wine from her friend’s hand and taking a big gulp, then grimacing. “Ugh, never mind, I forgot you like girly drinks. I need something harder tonight.”

“Wine is sophisticated, thank you very much. Rough day?” Katniss asked sympathetically, taking the glass back and swallowing a mouthful of the cold, sweet liquid.

“Fuck me, it was brutal. This lawsuit is gonna be the death of me and I’m not even a lawyer yet,” Johanna groaned. “If I have to read through one more brief, I’m gonna stab my eyeballs out and shove them down the managing partner’s throat.”

“Graphic, but okay, sure,” winced Katniss. Jo was never one to hold back with her…colourful language. “Here comes Gale – give him your drink order, he’ll get you sorted.”

“Hey Jo, want a whiskey?” asked Gale as he approached, sizing up the brunette’s irritated expression.

“You read my mind, Hawthorne. Make it a triple? Or will we all judge me?” Jo drawled, glancing at her friends.

“Nah, the night is young. We’re celebrating!” Gale grinned. “ice, right?”

“Yep, thanks. So, Kitty, how are you? Finally feeling free of that douche canoe, Darius? Jesus, I’m so glad that’s finally over. You were way too good for him.”

“I can always count on you to not mince words. Jesus,” Katniss shot back. She knew Johanna hadn’t been Darius’s biggest fan, but now that they were broken up, she didn’t hold back on voicing her dislike of him.

“Well, at least you didn’t marry him. Divorces are messy. Though, you would’ve had me as your lawyer and I would’ve milked that fucker for everything he had, so maybe it’s a bit of a loss. I would’ve enjoyed that,” smirked Jo.

“God, you’re unbelievable,” sighed Katniss, but she said it with a small smile. Even though her bark was bad, Jo’s bite wasn’t. Katniss knew it was her friend’s way of showing concern and care for her.

“Whatever, you know you love me. Hey, is that Peeta? I saw his bitchy wife when I came in but didn’t see him,” Johanna said, gazing towards the dining room.

“Ugh, yes. What a tool. I was barely in the room when he started harassing me about taking too much taco dip. I’m pretty sure every one of our friends knows that taco dip was made with me in mind – Gale knows it’s my favourite.” Katniss grumbled.

“Well, maybe he needs a reminder. You can tell him yourself, because he’s headed this way.”

“Ugh, fuck me.” Katniss groaned, her eyes rolling back into her head.

“Sorry Everdeen, I’m a married man,” smirked Peeta, coming up behind her, a bottle of Stella Artois in his grasp.

Katniss flushed at his response, while Johanna smiled blandly at the young man. “I wonder for how much longer,” she muttered under her breath so that only Katniss could hear. Katniss’s brow furrowed at the comment, but brushed it off. Odd.

“Ah, Peeta. Everyone’s favourite prick,” smirked Johanna as she raised her voice, her eyes flicking between Katniss and the tall, brawny blond.

Katniss snorted. “What a lovely description, Jo. Very flattering.”

Peeta shot Katniss an irritated look before turning back to Johanna. “Nice to see you too, Jo. How’s life at your hot shot firm? Madge tells me your bosses love you.”

“Yeah, I think it’s more so that they’re afraid of me. Which I’m fine with. Men need intimidation a lot more than they realize.” Johanna replied, smugly.

“Well, you’ve got that covered then,” Katniss piped up.

“Speaking of intimidating women, Mellark, where’s your wife? Still got your balls in a vise or what?”

“Jo! Jesus.” Katniss blurted, her eyes wide and flickering to Peeta to gage his reaction. She didn’t like Peeta, but she also didn’t like awkward conversations about people’s relationships. Or any kind of conversation about relationships.

Peeta stiffened slightly at Joanna’s remark and drew his mouth in a thin line. “She’s over there talking to some co-worker of Gale’s. She’s fine.”

“Really? That’s not what Madge sa-,”

“Jo, I think Gale is waving at you – he’s got your whiskey,” Katniss interrupted. If there was one thing that could shut Johanna up, it was the promise of liquor.

“Finally, be right back,” Johanna threw over her shoulder as she strode towards Gale in the dining room.

Peeta glanced at Katniss, a slight frown on his face, which she ignored. She was eager to move away from the subject of his wife. “How’s Connor? How old did you say he was again?” she asked, nervously. She realized too late that by drawing Johanna’s attention to Gale and her drink, she was leaving herself alone with the person she despised the most at the party. Great. Just when I thought I’d escaped him, I land myself in another conversation with him. Good one, Everdeen.

“…Um…he’s three and a half…what was Johanna talking about? What did Madge say about Delly?”

Katniss pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and chewed on it, stalling. “Oh, nothing. She just…she said Delly seemed a little off lately, that’s all. I think she was concerned.”

Peeta snorted. “Concerned. Sure she was. You’re a terrible liar, Everdeen,” he said, bitterly.

Katniss glanced at him again, thinking awkwardly about the conversation she’d had with Madge the week before. Madge had made a passing comment to her and Jo about Delly being bitchier than usual and said Peeta seemed withdrawn and moody. It wasn’t really Delly she was concerned about; it was her cousin. Peeta wasn’t a bitter person. But ever since he and Delly married a few months before Connor’s birth, almost four years ago, they’d all seen a shift in him. He was friendly to everyone (except Katniss, of course) but there was an edge to him that hadn’t been there before. It seemed to be getting more and more pronounced as time went on.

Why do you care if he’s out of sorts? She didn’t, really. She was just curious. Even though he wasn’t nice to her, he was generally nice to everyone else, so to see him so bitter confused Katniss. Not that she cared, though. Because she didn’t. Really.

“Yeah, well, ask her yourself then. Excuse me, I need a refill.” Katniss said shortly, turning and leaving him alone for the second time that night.

_________________________________

The night wore on, with Katniss managing to avoid Peeta for the most part, sticking to chatting with Johanna or Madge or one of their other college friends. When she noticed Madge’s wine glass empty at the same time as hers as they were both pleasantly buzzed, she said, smiling, “what do you think, Mrs. Hawthorne? Time to crack open the Nova?”

“Excellent idea, Ms. Everdeen. Would you do the honours?” beamed Madge, her eyes a little glassy by now. The two of them made their way to the kitchen, where a few other people were already gathered, chatting. Katniss pulled open the refrigerator door and poked her head in, searching for the bottle of imported wine, but didn’t see it.

“Where’d you put it, Madge? Did you forget to put it in?” she asked.

“No, it’s in there, I swear – you know I love it super cold.” Madge replied breezily.

“What are you looking for?” asked another voice.

“A bottle of wine I brought for Madge– ” started Katniss, turning around and stopping, her eyes on Peeta Mellark.

And the bottle of Nova 7.

The empty bottle of Nova 7.

“…what the fuck. Are you KIDDING me right now? Did you open and DRINK that?!” Katniss screeched. “Are you actually kidding me?? Fuck you, Mellark!! Do you know what I went through to get that for her?!” She could feel hot tears forming in her eyes, catching her off guard.

Peeta had started to smirk, but when he saw her face, he faltered and his mouth dropped open slightly. “I didn’t–I thought–Gale said there was white wine in–we didn’t–” he stammered, his eyes darting to his wife’s, then back to Katniss's. Katniss hadn’t noticed Delly off to the side, her hand clutching an almost empty wine glass.

“What’s the big deal, it’s just a bottle of wine, there’s plenty here,” said the blonde woman testily as she rolled her eyes. “Personally, I never saw the appeal of Canadian wines. There are so many better brands from Australia or Spain. Canada’s not even that foreign; they’re like, right next door.”

Madge groaned and launched into Delly and Peeta, shouting about the importance of the special birthday gift to the oblivious couple. Katniss tuned her out as she could feel the heat rising in her neck up through her face. She was already having a shitty day moping over Darius and didn’t even want to come to the party in the first place; she definitely didn’t want to have to deal with stupid Peeta Mellark and his stupid bitch wife; and the only thing she’d been looking forward to was sharing the bottle with her best friend.

And the two of them had ruined it.

She had to get out of there before the tears spilled over and she embarrassed herself in front of them. She turned on her heel and stormed out of the room without a backwards glance.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

[illfoandillfie]

Curtains Part 6

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Roger F!Reader

Summery: Exams, a car show, and an entirely too long wait.

Warnings: Smut (18+), nothing overly kinky, a little bit of a dom/sub dynamic, dom!rog, some light degradation, a little breast/nipple play,fingering, honestly quite tame considering the shit these two normally get up to lmao

Words: 7129 

A/N:  Oh my god its finally here. The last chapter. I am so sorry it's taken so long but it's been super busy around home and whenever I did get a chance to write I got very worried I was going to balls it up and ruin the whole story lmao. Anyway, I've really loved writing this series and these characters and I hope you enjoy the last part!

Also the British International Motor Show was a real thing that really was held at the Olympia. And Roger did eventually own a Ferrari and a Mercedes, although as far as I know not a Rolls Royce (that was Freddie’s).

Taglist:  @laedymoon  @dtfrogertaylor   @ezmina98  @vee-ndetta @atomic-watermelon @kellypenac @labessieisallama @deakyclicks @jennyggggrrr @drowseoftaylor  @hannafuckingsucks  @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming @queenmylovely @supersonicfreddie

@bohemiansweede @rogershoe  @lnnuend0  @funitrog  @moonlit-wilde​

The exams hit you hard. Most nights were spent at the library, staying as late as possible before you dragged yourself home and collapsed on your bed, the morning alarm always coming too soon to start the whole thing over again. The biggest downside of the routine was how little you’d been able to see Roger since it started. When you had managed to catch him he looked as tired and stressed as you felt, neither of you capable of talking for too long before one of you yawned or remembered you were meant to be revising. It filled what little space in your brain that wasn’t already full of anxiety about exams with anxiety about your relationship. You still weren’t entirely sure how solid things with Roger were. They were certainly at a better, more normal, place after your two dates and a not-quite-a-date at the markets. Freddie had spent the entire first half hour you were there eyeing you suspiciously, as if you were going to bolt suddenly or tell him off. He stopped eventually though and you’d had a lovely day, helping to sell a few items when you weren’t wandering around with Roger looking at other stalls. But everything still felt so new and uncertain, especially after the rocky start you’d had, which left you not entirely positive you were officially a couple, and now you couldn’t help worry that the forced distance would make Roger lose interest in you or set you back a few steps after all the progress you’d managed. It didn’t help that you were on edge from not getting laid recently. The last time had been an age ago, in the backseat of Roger’s car. You would have slept with him again at the markets, or more likely after you’d gone home, except your period had started the day before and you couldn’t bring yourself to suggest having sex like that. So, since then you’d been on forced celibacy with only the end of exams to look forward to. Sure, you could have masturbated but between the hours spent sitting the exams and the hours spent cramming for them, you never seemed to find time for it. It all added up to a rather unpleasant desire crushed beneath a lack of sleep and a constant voice in the back of your head telling you that you were fucking something up. Unhelpful for cultivating a good mood or an opportunity to convince Roger to come over for a quickie. In fact, you barely saw him until the day after his final exam.

Feeling slightly better rested since you were free from needing to regurgitate months of class notes, you walked up next door’s driveway and knocked on Roger’s door. “Y/N, what a pleasant surprise, come on in,” Freddie said as he opened the door, “all done then? Exams I mean,” “Yes, thank god. You?” “Yeah, I finished earlier in the week. Never been more relieved in my life, although the day Rog finished was a close second,” he led you through the cluttered living room, your eyes slipping from the old, worn couch to the record player by the phone, into the kitchen where Roger stood, a bowl of cereal in his hands, eyes out of focus as he stared off into space, “Rog, wake up darling, the girl you’ve been whining about is here to see you.” Roger blinked, tired eyes falling to you and pulling a smile onto his face, “Y/N,” “Hey Rog,” He hastily put down the bowl and pulled you into a hug. You sighed into him, mind already more at ease than it had been when you arrived. “How were your exams?” He asked when he finally let you go. “Oh y’know, okay I guess. Probably failed one of them but I’m beyond caring right now, you?” “Yeah, yeah, all good I think. I’m just glad to be able to sleep normally again. Kept having this dream about turning up to an exam naked and then realising it was the wrong subject anyway.” “Jesus, Rog, if you’re going to sit here dissecting your dreams again I’m going to have to leave.” “You call yourself my friend,” “And aren’t you lucky for it. Just remember to wash out your bowl this time,” Freddie grabbed the cup of tea he’d been making and exited with a wave that you returned.  “Was that because of me? Does he still not like me?” “He likes you fine, I promise,” Roger grabbed your hand and led you out to the living room, “I’ve just been driving him nuts these last few days.” He dropped onto the couch with a creak and pulled you down onto his lap. “Nuts how?” “Oh y’know, exam stuff mostly. Weird little rituals I started doing to make sure I passed, like, um, I had to wear a particular pair of shoes to every exam, my sparkly silver ones, otherwise I was convinced I would fail. Nearly had a breakdown when I couldn’t find them one morning. Stuff like that.” “Would the other stuff be related to his girl you’ve been whining about comment?” “Maybe,” Roger looked away, as if slightly embarrassed to admit it, “I might have kept bugging him with questions about whether he’d seen you around. He went right off at me the other night, told me to pull my head in and just go see you but it was one in the morning so,” he shrugged as he trailed off, still focused on the other side of the room. “You really thought about me that much?” “Yeah, course,” he finally looked at your properly, “I missed… hanging out with you,” “Me too,” you smiled shyly, trying to work out if hanging out was a good sign or not. You decided to continue with the plan that had brought you to his door that morning, just in case, “But, if you’re up for it, I have an idea of something we could do tomorrow.” “Oh yeah? Does it involve making out a lot?” “I guess it could,” “Consider me there,” You laughed as he took hold of your chin and pulled you into a kiss. Maybe it was a good sign after all.

If Roger hadn’t broken off the kiss to yawn three different times, apologising after each one, you would have been hard pressed not to end up in his bed. He wasn’t quite as worked up as you were, admitting he’d developed the habit of wanking on the morning of every exam he had, but he was still eager for more than just making out, encouraging you to roll your hips and grind against him. But he was clearly too exhausted. “Where’re you going?” he asked as you wriggled off his lap and stood up. “You’re dead on your feet Rog, you should go catch up on some sleep,” “I’m not, come on come ba-“ he was cut off by another yawn. “See?” “Okay, fine. Maybe you have a point. But you don’t have to leave, you could come nap with me and then when I wake up in a couple of hours we can continue this, but tucked up in bed.” You laughed, “Nice try, Rog, but I’m gonna go home, let you rest properly. We’ll have all of tomorrow though. I’ll come by at tenish okay?” “Tenish it is. Can you give me a hint about what you have planned?” “No but I promise you’ll enjoy it.” “That could be anything,” he said as he walked you to the door, tilting his head and resting it against the frame. “Exactly. Don’t want to spoil it. I’ll see you tomorrow,” you made to leave but Roger caught your hand and pulled you back against him, leaving you slightly breathless, lips tingling with the kiss. “One for the road,” he shrugged, trying not to grin too much. “Go get some rest Rog,” you laughed, “Oh! And wear comfortable walking shoes tomorrow,” “Walking? That doesn’t sound like making out.”

You only had to knock once the next morning before Roger was opening the door, looking excited and better rested, though there were still heavy bags under his eyes. You’d seen the same bags on your own face but, thankfully, makeup covered a multitude of sins. “So, will you finally tell me where we’re going?” “No but if you don’t mind driving, I’ll instruct you where to go,” “You’re kidding me! You aren’t going to tell me anything but you want me to drive?” he narrowed his eyes and stared at you but you just smiled sweetly back until he relented, “good thing I like you so much or I woulda told you to shove it up your arse.” “You’re the best Rog,” you giggled, swooping in to kiss his cheek, “promise it’ll be worth it.” “Yeah yeah, get in the bloody car,” he shook his head but you caught him smiling to himself as he got into the drivers seat. “Your gonna need go left out of the driveway,” “I am, am I?” he said before following your instruction and turning left. You directed him there with only one minor detour when Roger managed to get stuck in the wrong lane and missed his turn. A few streets away from your destination he saw a sign directing passers-by to visit the British International Motor Show, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, but he said nothing, just let you tell him where to go. You could tell he was getting more excited with each street you directed him down, trying not to get his hopes up as you seemed to creep closer to the show. The dam burst when you told him to pull up in the carpark of the Olympia. “No fucking way,” he said softly, trying to concentrate on not hitting any other cars as he pulled into a spot, even as his eyes darted around the crowd of people entering the venue, “You got us tickets to the motor show?” “Mmhmm,” you nodded, digging around in your bag for your pre-purchased tickets, “you mentioned on our last date that you were a bit of a rev head so I thought you might like it.” The way he looked at you made your whole body feel like it was infested with a swarm of butterflies. It was a look of barely contained glee and adoration that had you beaming right back at him. Once he was out of the car he hurried round to your side, pulling you into a hug and spinning you around in a circle as he squeezed you tight. “Christ, Y/N,” “I guess that means you like it?” you laughed as he put you back on solid ground. “Like it? This is the sweetest thing a girl as ever done for me. Might actually be the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. As if I needed more reasons to fall for you.” Your breath caught in your throat and the swarm under your skin went haywire but Roger barely seemed to realise what he said, too excited and impatient to see the show. He grabbed your hand and pulled you towards the entrance.

Most of the day was spent wandering around the show, Roger almost bouncing from one car to the next. There were all sorts to see, some brand new and unveiled that morning, some the kind your parents had driven around in as teenagers. There were more economic models, aimed at families or young adults looking for their first car and some were high end, luxury models with sleek designs and shiny finishes. Those were the sort that caught Roger’s eye most, never mind the outrageous prices you couldn’t even dream of affording. It was while standing in front of one of them, a gorgeous black Rolls-Royce from the mid-60s, that you nudged Roger with your elbow. “Y’know how when I first saw your Morris I said it wasn’t the type of car I imagined you in?” “Yeah,” “This is the sort of car I was picturing.” “Really? I’ve always loved a Rolls. Them and Ferraris. As a kid I used to have pictures of them ripped out of magazines and stuck up on my bedroom walls. Well, them and about a hundred other cars,” he chuckled at the memory and then fell silent for a bit, lost in thought, absentmindedly squeezing your hand. You were about to ask what he was thinking when he spoke again. “One day I’m going to own one.” “Are you now?” “Yup. One day Queen’s gonna hit it real fucking big. I’m not just saying that either, I mean it. We’ve really fucking got something the four of us, and one day we’ll have the number one song in the country and sell so many albums I’ll be able to buy one of each, a Rolls and a Ferrari. Maybe a Mercedes too. And I’ll take you out in them, wherever you want to go. We could drive down the coast, spend the weekend in our beach house. Or maybe out to the countryside, nice and peaceful and quiet. And if we stay at home I’ll take you out shopping. We’ll go to all the high-end stores and buy everything we want. Shoes and jewels and fur coats and everything." You leaned your head on his shoulder as he spoke, “That sounds wonderful,” “You haven’t heard the best part though,” “Oh?” He dropped his head down, lowering his voice so only you could hear him, “Haven’t even mentioned how I’ll fuck you in the change rooms of all those fancy shops. A hand over your mouth to keep you quiet because we both know how loud you get.” It was a mark of how long it had been that you began panting just from feeling his breath against your ear, “Looks like this car has enough room in the backseat. Just in case the shops are closed.” He stood up straight again, laughing, “Maybe we’ll sneak in there later. Shame I’m not rich already, could’ve just paid off the security so he’d give us a few moments alone with the car.” You knew he was joking about sneaking into the car but it didn’t help you calm down at all. Roger must have sensed your need, had probably been able to feel it seeping out of your skin, because he spent the rest of the day teasing you with small touches and whispered comments. He may have given up the teasing and just fucked you except that the number of people and the amount of security hired kept you from finding anywhere even remotely appropriate. The bathrooms were too crowded, extra portaloos hired and placed around the side of the building to accommodate everyone, and the back of the building faced the carpark and had a constant stream of people passing by or standing around directing traffic and loiterers. You considered suggesting the backseat of his car again but your head and thighs ached at the thought. After a final quick look around inside you decided to call it a day and head home where there was plenty of space and a big comfortable bed waiting.

By the time you arrived home it was early evening, your feet sore despite wearing your most comfortable pair of shoes. Roger’s stomach grumbled as he walked you to your front door, a loud reminder that neither of you had eaten more than a few snacks vendors had been selling at the show. “I had so much fun today,” he said, valiantly ignoring his stomach, “like an unbelievable amount of fun.” “Me too. Didn’t realise a car show could be quite that good,” you teased, “You wanna come in? Keep the fun going? We could get dinner, watch some TV,” “You’ve spent all day with me, sure you aren’t sick of me yet?” “Course not. Come on you sound like your starving and I’ve got a coupon for pizza stuck to my fridge,” “Well who am I to say no to that?” he said as he followed you inside, “where’s the coupon, I’ll call the order in.” “You don’t have to do that,” “No, no, let me. Least I can do to thank you for today. Any preferences?” “Uh, pepperoni if you don’t mind,” you called from the kitchen, returning with the coupon and handing it to Roger. “I definitely don’t mind, pepperoni is obviously the best,” Roger laughed and picked up the phone, as you quickly ducked into your room and made sure it was tidy. He followed you when he was done, peering into the living room and the kitchen as he searched for you. “Don’t have to clean up on my account,” You jumped a little at the sound of his voice behind you. “I’ve been in your room before, you’re much neater than me.” “Surprised you noticed the room enough to make that judgement,” “True, was always much more interested in you and how little you were wearing,” “Exactly,” you said, trying not to let on how fast your heart was racing at just the mention of the previous nights you’d spent together. “But I’m very messy,” Roger shot you a grin as he walked over to your desk, fingers brushing lightly over a few of the knickknacks you kept there before he moved to your modest bookshelf. You weren’t quite sure what to do with yourself as you watched him investigate your belongings, perching on the end of your bed, hoping he liked what he found. For the most part he just brushed his fingers lightly over your belongings, smiling softly and occasionally pausing to make a comment. He picked up the candle from your desk to smell it, complementing the scent as he put it back in its place. A few of the books on your shelf were pulled off and held up as he asked your opinions of them. He found a pair of your sunglasses and pushed them into his own face, checking himself out in your mirror before taking them off again, and then turned his attention to your record collection, spending much longer examining it than anything else. When he was done shuffling through the stack, making impressed hums when he found ones he particularly liked, he turned back to you. “Well I’m sorry to say but you have fantastic taste in music and I really have no other choice but to steal half of them,” “Is that so?” you asked, releasing a relieved breath, “Doesn’t seem fair,” “Well,” he walked the few steps towards where you still sat, leaning down until his lips were mere centimetres from yours, “it’s either that or you keep them and I fall madly in love with you.” The butterfly feeling returned, “Oh?” It was all you could manage to say. A loud knock from the front of the house interrupted you. “That’ll be the pizza,” you said quietly, torn between answering the door and closing the space between you. The decision was made when Roger’s stomach growled again. He dropped a quick kiss to your lips and then stood up with a small sigh.

If it had been up to you the night would have been spent snuggled up on the couch, eating pizza, drinking wine, and goofing around, until you retired to the bedroom and let the street hear you screaming Roger’s name. And you were pretty sure Roger’s mind was running along the same tracks. The only obstruction to your plan was the lack of sleep you’d both been suffering from, causing both of you to nod off before you could move from the couch. You woke in the morning, the TV no longer playing the comedy it had been left on but a test pattern card with odd organ music behind it. You blinked the sleep from your eyes as you tried to remember why you were on the couch and not in your bed, the night coming back to you as you sat up and realised you’d been curled up with your head on Roger’s thigh. He woke with a start when you stood up to stretch and turn off the TV. “Y/N?” he voice was still thick with sleep, eyes bleary and hair all over the place as he lifted his head from what must have been an uncomfortable position. “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you. We fell asleep on the couch.” “Oh, right,” “You can go back to sleep if you want,” “Nah, ‘m up now. Bathroom?” “Just through that doorway over there.” Roger nodded his thanks as he yawned and, rubbing his eyes, headed off. You grabbed the last of the, now cold, pizza and the wine glasses and followed him towards the kitchen, dropping the leftovers on the bench before turning to stick the kettle on. When he returned to the kitchen he looked marginally more alert, hair not quite the bird’s nest it had been when he woke. He dropped a kiss to your temple. “D’you want breakfast?” you asked, peering into the fridge, “I can do eggs on toast.” “Only if it’s no trouble,” “Not at all,” you grabbed the carton of eggs and the butter before you closed the fridge, “if you make the tea.” “I can do tea. Make a pretty good cuppa if I do say so myself.” “So you’re a tea connoisseur now?” “Never said that, where do your mugs live?” “Cupboard on the left,” “Ah ha,” there was a tinkling as he pulled out two, “All I’m saying is I’m good at making tea.” “Rog it’s adding boiling water to bagged leaves, not sure you can be bad at it,” “Well tell that to John. He’s a fantastic bassist but Jesus every cuppa he’s ever made me has tasted like shit.” You laughed, glancing away from the stovetop to watch Roger move about your kitchen like he belonged there. True, that might have been to do with how similar your kitchen was to his, most of the student accommodation in the area having the same basic layout, but it was nice all the same. “How do you take it?” “Uh,” your first thought was something entirely too inappropriate for so early in the morning, “dash of milk, two sugars,” “Coming right up.”

“So,” you said, dragging the word out as you brought your plates down to the table, Roger already there with the mugs of tea. “So, what?” Roger imitated your lengthened word, an amused lilt to his voice. “Dunno, you got any plans for today?” “Meeting the boys a bit later, band stuff. Might try and squeeze in a nap at some point. No offence but your couch isn’t overly comfortable to sleep on, although the cute girl using me as a pillow did help,” You giggled as he nudged your foot with his, it really was unfair how attractive he looked even when ruffled from a night on the couch. “What about you? Any plans?” “Oh, uhhh,” you didn’t have anything specific but couldn’t very well tell Roger you’d kept the day open in case he’d wanted to stay in bed with you for the better part of it, “Think my friends said something about going out for coffee, so I’ll see if they’re still keen for it.” “Oh yeah? Do these friends know about me?” “They know I’ve kind of had a thing going on and they know I was avoiding a particular guy for a while, but I haven’t, like, actually told them about you yet. Wanted to wait until I knew we were going to be okay, y’know?” “Yeah, I get that.” There was a moment of almost silence, the only sounds those of your knives and forks scraping across your plates. Your brain was suddenly much louder than it had been a second before, full of thoughts about whether or not you should tell your friends about Roger when you saw them, nerves about theoretically introducing them to him and then, oh god, introducing him to your family, having to meet his, all the stuff that a proper relationship would mean, all the stuff you’d been trying to run from when you’d cancelled that date. But there wasn’t really any way to go back now without everyone getting even more hurt than last time, he’d twice now said he was falling for you and, though you hadn’t vocalised it, you thought maybe you were falling for him too. But of all the thoughts jumbled in your head, the loudest by far was the realisation you’d be going another day without getting laid. It was torture. You’d got so close last night and god you wanted it so much. You had a brief vision of sweeping everything off the table, plates and cutlery hitting the floor, and Roger instantly pushing down your pants and lifting you onto the clear surface, his fingers slipping into your underwear and - Roger broke the silence and pulled you from the fantasy, “If you wanted you could come over tonight. I’ll make you dinner,” You shook your head to clear it, “really? “Yeah, really. I’ll even let you rummage through all my junk like I went through yours,” “Sounds fun, I’ll be there,” “Cool, uh, I think I should get home around three-thirty, so any time after that.”

Roger helped you tidy up the dishes before he left, another lingering kiss your souvenir, in addition to the desperate need to get off. You attempted to kill some time doing just that, but nothing seemed to be enough. It wasn’t Roger. You wanted Roger. And as lovely and terrifying a sentiment as that was, it did mean you had to go to meet your friends completely worked up and wet. When you told Roger later, sleepily blurting it out while curled up in his arms that night, he chuckled and, though it was dark, you could tell he was grinning. The same grin he’d been wearing when you knocked on his door that afternoon. “Is Freddie here?” you asked as he led you towards the couch. “No, just us. I’ve kicked the others out for the night. Freddie’ll end up staying with Bri or John, they were still arguing about it when I left them.” “Arguing?” you fell into the seat beside Roger, toeing off your shoes and curling your legs up under you, angling your body to face where he was leaning against the arm of the couch, one leg bent in front of him, one touching the floor. “Something about John’s girlfriend, I think, or maybe it was Brian’s roommate? I don’t know, I didn’t hang around to listen, they’ll sort it out,” he waved his hand dismissively, “But that means more food for us.” “So what are you making me then?” “Well, actually,” he glanced away, hand slipping into his shirt to rub his shoulder, “was thinking I’d order some takeout. There’s really nothing to cook with in the fridge and I’m a terrible chef anyway. I could offer you toast but the chance of it being edible is about fifty fifty. But there’s the chippy a few streets away or, um, an alright curry place, whichever you prefer.” “Fish and chips sounds good. I’ve eaten nothing but cake and coffee today so anything savoury would be brilliant really.” “So your friends were free then? How’d it go?” “Yeah, really fun. You might have been mentioned once or twice,” “Only once or twice?” “Once or twice is practically unstoppable gushing for me. They’re both insisting on meeting you, by the way, so that’s something to look forward to I guess,” you scrunched your nose up in discomfort. “I’d love to meet them,” he said, taking your hand leaning towards you, “And you’ve got nothing to worry about, they’ll love me. I’m very loveable.” You let yourself relax as you laughed, Roger joining in as he pushed a strand of hair behind your ear, fingers trailing down your jaw, kissing you softly.  

It should have come as no surprise that you’d end up making out within minutes of arriving. The weeks since you’d last slept together plus the unfulfilled tension from the previous night all boiled down to a neediness you couldn’t remember feeling with anyone else, the soft kiss fast becoming firmer as you found yourself underneath Roger, fingertips digging into his back. He was grinding against you rhythmically, your skirt pushed further up your thighs, trying to pull you tighter against him, breathing getting more ragged with each passing moment. It felt good but there were too many clothes in your way, you needed more. A whine fell from your lips unexpectedly. “Someone’s a bit desperate,” Roger said, tone vaguely mocking, giving you just a hint of the teasing control he usually showed you, “should we move this to my room?” “God yes,” He grinned and planted another kiss against your lips before he pushed himself to his feet, pulling you up by your hand, not letting go until you were standing in the doorway of his room. It was similar to your own room in that it faced the back yard, a big glass door leading outside. The biggest difference was the curtain, open to let the sun in but no doubt it actually existed. Roger dropped your hand to cross the room and you turned your attention to the rest of it, tempted to rummage through his belongings the way he’d examined yours. If you hadn’t been so worked up you would have but instead you stepped into the room and glanced around, killing time until Roger was back against you. It wasn’t neat but it wasn’t as messy as you’d been led to believe it would be and you wondered how long he’d spent tidying it. The bookshelf wasn’t full and yet not all the books were lined up, some of them stacked in uneven piles, some leaning against others, no discernible order to them, though you could spot a few titles you recognised from your own collection. His desk held a stack of textbooks and a few loose pages of handwritten notes, and you could easily imagine him hunched over as he studied, scribbling down things he recognised as important even if his tired eyes and brain couldn’t fully comprehend them. Your gaze had just fallen on the neatest part of the room, his collection of records all meticulously lined up and just begging to be rifled through, when a noise drew your attention. Roger checked the back door was locked and drew the curtain over it, blocking out the view of the back garden and the natural afternoon light. Your stomach did a flip. “We, uh, we’ve never had so much privacy,” you tried to make it sound like a joke, though you weren’t sure you succeeded, suddenly feeling too nervous to speak properly. “Yeah, s’pose that’s true,” he gave a small half shrug and took the few steps towards you, stopping just in front of you, “but that’s okay. We’ll make it work,” and then his lips were on yours, the rough neediness almost forgotten as he held your face, reassuringly rubbing his thumb over your jaw. It helped you relax again, stoking your desire though you couldn’t help thinking things would be vastly different with an empty house and closed curtains. Your fingers fell to his belt, blindly struggling to unbuckle it, but Roger grabbed your wrist. “Hey, there’s no rush, okay?” “I know but it’s been so long,” it wasn’t a lie, it had been far too long, but that wasn’t the only reason you wanted to speed things up. You didn’t mention that you were nervous about your dynamic changing with the privacy, worried it wouldn’t be as good if you weren’t being controlled or degraded or performing for someone. “So you won’t mind waiting a little longer then,” You whined as his lips brushed over your neck, his hands still holding your wrists, “Please, I need you,” “Patience, love. First time I’ve had my slut all to myself, can’t blame me for wanting to take my time.” Your breath hitched at the name and the casual way it was said, not expecting to hear it when you were so closed off from the world and he was being so deliberately, infuriatingly, slow. It made your head spin. He let your wrists go, moving his hands to your shirt and pulling it up over your head, fingers trailing softly down your sides to toy with the waistband of your skirt. “Good girl for wearing this, you’re learning.” The praise made you shiver but it was nothing compared to his touch. Every light brush of his fingers made you want him more, had you almost vibrating with need, but he refused to speed up or even touch you where you most wanted him. And you melted into it, hovering on the edge of begging, surprised at how easily he could play you but not really surprised at all. Yes, it was just you and Roger with no one to see or overhear, none of that tension you loved so much that came with the possibility of being walked in on or caught out. But you didn’t miss it.

Your hands once again slipped to his belt and this time he let you undo it, taking the chance to tug his own shirt off  as he kicked the discarded pants across the floor, before he slipped your skirt down your legs, kneeling as he did so, leaving a single big bruise on the inside of your thigh. He leaned back to admire the mark and you stepped out of the material pooled around your feet. For a fraction of a second you thought he was finally going to give you something real, his breath ghosting over the front of your underwear as he leaned towards you, still looking up at you, blue eyes glinting. “Hop on the bed, love,” He chuckled as he pushed himself to his feet, listening to you whine and curse even as you did exactly what he told you to. You didn’t stop complaining until his weight was over yours again, your legs trying to wrap around him and pull him against your throbbing cunt. He just held your legs down and laughed softly, “You’re still just a desperate slut aren’t you. Little bit pathetic how much you want me after a couple of weeks without. But no, you don’t get my cock that quickly. I told you I want to take my time.” “You want me too,” you whined, sounding nowhere near as convincing as you’d hoped, “I can feel how hard you are.” “Yes, I want you. Of course I do, love, been thinking about it since you came over the other morning.” Roger resumed the grinding he’d started out on the couch, dragging his cock along your folds, still too many layers between for you to be satisfied. It was torture, but no matter what you tried he wouldn’t give you more, “But there’s this little thing called delayed gratification, you might have heard of it.” “You’re such an arsehole,” you half whined, half laughed as he chuckled into your neck, doing his best to leave you with another mark. “Well, yeah. That’s not news. Maybe I’ll let you have my fingers though, since you have waited such a long time,” “Please, I need something, anything,” “Add ‘begs easily’ to the list of things I love about you,” he left a kiss against your neck and then shuffled backwards. He paused, glancing down to your underpants and then back to your chest. “What?” “You’re still wearing a bra. Can’t have that.” “Oh,” you giggled, “easily fixed,” you sat up and quickly unhooked the clasp behind your back, shrugging it from your shoulders and adding it to the clothing that littered the once clean floor. “Thank god for easy fixes,” Roger said softly, pushing his fingertips against your shoulder until you leaned back far enough for him to drag his tongue over one nipple. “Hey, you said fingers,” you whined. “You said anything,” he grinned back at you, “but I guess fingers could work too.” You hissed when he pinched your other nipple and pulled on it, gently biting on the first, “Rog, please,” He ignored you in favour of dipping his lips to the inside of one breast, sucking at the skin until another purple bruise formed.

Roger shuffled back further and you squirmed at the thought of finally, finally getting what you needed. Just the motion of him hooking his fingers into your underpants to pull them down had your stomach tightening with anticipation. As soon as they were free of your legs he held them up, “soaked,” was all he said before they too were discarded and he was settling into place between your legs. You could feel his warm breath against your pussy as he dragged a single finger between your folds, a whine escaping you as your frustration grew. And then the finger was slipping inside you, so easily it made Roger whine himself. “God you really are soaked. I was just teasing before but Jesus,” “M-more,” was all you could think to say, stuttering it out as you bucked your hips. “Patience, love,” he reminded you but added a second finger, pumping them into you slowly, still not enough. Your back arched as you tried to readjust your position so he’d hit the spots you knew he could but he just placed his other hand on your thigh, stroking you softly until you relaxed again. “Tell me what you want, love,” “More, please,” “More of the same? Just my fingers?” “N-no no,” “Then tell me,” “Your cock, please, want you to fuck me now,” the sentence devolved into a whine as he pulled his fingers from you, pausing to push off his underwear, and crawled back up the bed, hovering over you. Once again you tried to wrap your legs around him, arms around his neck to pull him closer, but this time he didn’t stop you. Instead Roger lined himself up and sunk into you, as easily as his fingers had, his hands slipping up to your sides. He dropped his mouth to your neck and then your jaw and then your lips as he slid his arms under your back to hold you tight. “My good, patient, girl. Fuck your cunt feels so good.” he said softly, quickly finding your lips again as he fucked you steadily. You whimpered at the praise, finally getting what you’d so badly wanted as you clawed at Roger’s back, making sure he wouldn’t pull away too far. Though he’d started off intentionally slowly, deliberately working you up before he’d even finished undressing you, now that he was finally inside you, finally where you both wanted him to be, he’d lost all of his methodical pace. His hands were on your back and then one was on your arse and then your breasts, unsure where he wanted to touch you most. He was kissing you passionately one moment and the next he was whispering filth into your ear, praise and degrading names alike, thoughts broken up by small hickeys sucked into your skin. The second it occurred to him that something might drive you wild he was doing it.

It didn’t take long for you to cum, so much pent-up desire coursing through your bloodstream that you fell over the edge easily when he hitched your leg higher on his hip. It changed the angle he was hitting you just enough to have him rub against your wall, a jolt running through you and stealing your breath. “So pretty when you cum, can you show me again?” You nodded, unsure you’d be able to form words if you tried. Small aftershocks were still making you whimper into Roger’s shoulder and yet you could feel the same tingly warmth building again already. “Oh,” the sharp sound escaped you when Roger’s thumb brushed over your clit, his breath hitching as you clenched around him, “Rog, god, ke- keep doing that,” He brushed your clit again and smiled as your head fell back, a low moan tumbling from you when he began rubbing it properly. All you could hear was rough uneven breaths, not sure they were yours or Roger’s, the sound dulled under your heart beating in your ears. And then suddenly you were there again, moans getting louder as you crept closer to the edge and fell over it. Roger’s eyes were squeezed shut as he thrust into you a few more times, extending the ecstasy you felt until he hit his own climax, coating your walls and gasping in your ear.

For a while neither of you moved, just lay there trying to clear your foggy minds. When he realised he was still laying on you, Roger carefully extracted himself and rolled onto his back, an arm stretched out, inviting you to cuddle up close. You did, humming lightly when he gently rubbed your arm. “So, was that good? Even with the closed curtains?” “Mmhmm, might go so far as to say unbelievably good.” “Any other adjectives you wanna throw out there? Mind-blowing maybe? Or Incredible? The best you’ve ever had?” When the giggles subsided, Roger continuing a little more seriously, “I really liked it too, y’know, having my girlfriend to myself and all.” You’d been expecting to feel anxious when the G word eventually got used. After all, it represented so much of what had made you nervous enough to run away, what still made you nervous about dating and what it might eventually lead to. But there wasn’t really any anxiety or worry when you actually heard it, maybe a small pang in your stomach but you barely noticed it. Instead you could have sworn your heart skipped a beat, “Girlfriend?” “Yeah,” you could hear the smile in his voice, “that okay?” You quickly flipped onto your front, bringing you face to face with Roger, “More than okay. Say it again?” “My girlfriend,” he grinned as he spoke and you felt an equally large smile stretch your own cheeks in response. “My boyfriend,” “Yeah, like the sound of that,” You kissed him hard, not quite believing how far you’d come since he’d first caught you masturbating or how much you liked being with him, dating him. “Y’know, I think we could fit in another round before we need to worry about dinner,” he traced his finger along your shoulder as if he were playing connect the dots with the hickeys he’d left you, “Two maybe. You always cum fast when I use you rough.”

[delimeful]

First time they saw Patton cuddling with Virgil? (Like y’know the energy thing maybe?) Or Virgil protecting the three of them from some other alien?

Okay, now that Making Adjustments is out in full, I’m posting all the asks that inspired me for certain parts or even just to continue writing! Thank you to everyone who sent in ideas/what they wanted to see/theories, I really appreciate it! All asks under the cut!

@ironwoman359 said: I’d be really interested to read about what the first week or two aboard the ship with all four of them was like. I’m sure it was a big adjustment for all of them, and it’d be really cool to see!

@skeletonsloverockcandy said: WINBAR prompt - Virgil’s first night on the ship, is not with Patton, and gets a nightmare. Logan finds him and Virgil has to explain his nightmare/dreams

@the-princey-pie said: Logan mentioned that Virgil would probbaly have trouble fitting through the space ship doors. Now I really want to see Vorgil stepping into their spaceship the first time/navigating it for the first few weeks.

@indigomasquerade97 said: WIBAR prompt. Virgil is Stitch from Lilo and Stitch. You know the scene I’m talking about! ;) Roman is still freaked out with the idea of having a human on board, and one night (maybe on patrol, since he is still jittery from loosing Patton and doesn’t want to loose him - or Logan - again) and he gets freaked out by the nocturnal human suddenly being in the room? IDK

Anonymous said: So. I was wondering for the WIBAR prompts, what was Virgil’s first night on the ship like? How did Roman and Logan act towards him? And is he worried that his relationship with Patton is going to change now that he’s back with his family? Sorry if this is a lot…

Anonymous said: WIBAR prompt idea: Food! Since food is often culturally connected for humans, would it be the same for our alien friends? And if they have any, from Virgil’s pov., strange food items etc. Would be interesting to see considering they are all from such different species. :D

@justanotherpurplebutterfly said: WIBAR: did Patton tell his crewmates how to interpret Virgil’s body language? Did they figure it out for themselves? Did they struggle to remember when they saw him smile or stretch (and make himself big) or something?

Anonymous said: I would love to see some V POV or adjustment period/cultural differences! (particularly L/R’s reactions to V smiling, differences in diet/hunting styles, what V considers a threat vs. what LMP consider threats… anything that highlights the deathworlder in Virg! (Space Australia is like my fav thing that came out of tumblr)) also maybe some more of L/R’s thoughts on Patton befriending a space boogieman?? I really really love this au! :)

Anonymous said: OoOOooh okay how about,, Virgil’s POV as they head back to Roman and Logan’s ship and get on, (and maybe if he doesn’t know the species Logan and Roman are he could ask? That seems the easiest way for us to learn more about the boys without it being too awkwardly shoved in) and V’s probably awkward because he doesn’t know Lo and Ro and Ro’s openly hostile and he wasn’t expecting to go along with them and idk you decide. Also :DD wibar’s not done yet!! Tysm; I’m really enjoying it!

@bishopriecke said: Okay, so I’ve got a couple prompts so I’ll send them separately in case that’s how you’d wanted them? The story is absolutely adorable and it made me think of the sleeping habits back on the ship. There’s space for Virgil, but will Pat gravitate to sleeping with him, since it was such a comfort and Virgil only gets sleepy if he snags energy during cuddles? If he’s tired/virgil’s stressing over something will he wander over to where Virgil is chilling and settle in his lap? How’s Ro&Lo react?

@bumblebeekitten said: Do any of the others attempt to learn Virgil’s language? Or maybe Virgil quietly tries to dispel some of the more hurtful rumors about ‘deathworlder humans’?

Anonymous said: What would wibar Roman and Logan do if they couldn’t find Patton? Would they assume Virgil had done something?

Anonymous said: While waiting for more WIBAR, I keep re-reading everything (Act 1, Intermission, all the world building asks). Right now, I just want to plead with Patton to go find Virgil as he needs comfort, to calmly tell Logan that I don’t blame him, and to hiss at Roman that, while he has had bad experiences and that is valid, he needs to be nicer. Granted, a reaction like that from a human fan-nut probably wouldn’t help Virgil’s case… but he needs a hug so much right now!

Anonymous said: i’m thinking there’s lots of potential for hurt/comfort with this chapter. Virgil’s obviously panicking so i reckon he’s gonna have to try and convince himself that he can trust Patton if not the others. i feel like virgil still wont trust the others but they’ll get to see that he’s not always this big, strong deathworlder and he gets scared just like them. he’s been traumatised and he cares for Patt a lot and theyll try to understand eachother better and hopefully become friends/gain some trust

Anonymous said: that is very much wishful think and a need for my boys to be happy though haha. soz, that probably wasnt very helpful for writing but thats just something i’d like to see happen but i KNOW that whatever you end up writing is gonna be fabulous (ran out of room on my last ask and couldnt even sign it, whoops)

@justanotherpurplebutterfly said: I’m mainly really curious how Roman will react. If he has even have as big of an imagination as buobba Roman then he will probably interpret Virgil’s outburst as a violent attack and try to frame him as a danger they shouldn’t keep on the ship. However if he was able to detect Virgil’s fear then this might be the first step of them growing closer. Idk which I like better, because on one hand I want them to to get along and witness wacky human things in an amicable atmosphere, but on the other hand, misunderstandings are soooo good!!!! Most of all I want Virgil to get a hug though. Poor boy deserves one. I don’t care with who it is, although I suspect it will be Patton because no way the other ones trust Virgil enough and vice versa.

@yalltookmyurlideas said: Haha wibar fears? There are,,, so many. My main fear is that Roman will misinterpret Virgil’s panic to mean he’s hiding something and not see it for the panic and fear it is.

Anonymous said: I was thinking about for WIBAR, are we going to find out more about Virgils life on Earth? Is there angst there or is it irrelevant? Also would Logan and Roman go after Virgil themselves so as not to worry Pat or would they realise this was a situation they couldn’t solve? OR does Roman think V is attacking them and goes to hurt him? Sorry long ask but I’m excited for the chapter 😅😅🥰🥰

Anonymous said: Ayyy super late gang, barely got a hour of sleep bc anxiety/nightmares so yeehaw. I guess for WIBAR, the most essential thing to consider is how you want Making Adjustments to sorta add onto its characters & how they interact. Idk that ofc, but I think the situation is going to resolve into a ‘im only human’ (the irony) kinda situation and the crew (maybe minus patton??) only /starting/ to grasp the human is a bunch of damaged goods who is lowkey more scared of them than they are of he (½)

Anonymous said: (2/2) how i see the situation going down? Depends who finds him. If it’s Pat, he could sing him clam like in the cell. If its Roman or Logan, odds are Virgil’s gonna b scared & his response will be to Fight or Freeze, as he already did the Flight option. Virgil reacting like a cornered animal would be terrifying Ro and Lo. (Also Ro and Lo going to wake up Pat for Human Help has the same vibes of a child waking up their parents to tell them they puked lmao)

@killerfangirl3 said: After where you left last chapter, I am 100% terrified Roman will find Virgil before Patton and cause real danger to everyone. After all Virgil is flooded with adrenaline right now and he barely knows how his strength affects the metal? of the ship as it is. The sudden increase in strength if he was attempting to defend himself could cause him to put a hole in the ship.

@hotchocolatehugs said: Oh! Also, would Virgil calm down if Patton found him, or would it just make him worse/more crazed? I dunno about his state of mind, but if I were in his position I would probably be acting aggressively to anyone who came in. Do aliens have hot chocolate or tea, or some equivalent drink? Because I think Virge needs a calming drink. (sorry if this is too much!)

Anonymous said: I saw your latest post and all I could think about is Virgil stuck on the appliance, really high up and close to the ceiling unseen while he sees Roman and Logan below. Maybe a bit of a language barrier while they say some words that Virgil may not no yet and jumping to conclusions and filling in the blanks in the sentences

Anonymous said: I’m afraid that In WIBAR, Roman may keep Pat from going to find and comfort Virgil and just…leave him up there

@katelynn-a-fan said: Mission impossible theme while looking for Virgil. Too short can’t see Virgil on top appliance. Mission impossible theme continues and fades into the distance. (That’s all I got)

Anonymous said: WIBAR suggestions/predictions/fears: I worry about Roman or Logan finding Virgil before Patton - Roman because I don’t think he will be understanding about how afraid Virgil is; Logan because I think that would scare Virgil more. He might break out of his flight stage into fight, and that could make them fear him more. But, while worry about this scenario, maybe it would be for the best. Maybe one or both need to find him at a low to see that he isn’t a monster, just scared.

@enby-phoenix said:

OK so wibar thoughts! I’m a little concerned that Roman will think that Virgil was genuinely trying to attack him with that chair and also probably trying to hurt Logan, and he’s gonna get upsetti. I also think that the way they figure out what’s made Virgil go all fight or flight will probably involve Logan doing the memory share thing, but it’ll take them a bit to get close enough without Virgil threatening to bite Logan’s hands off.

Also PLEASE let my boy eat a full meal and get some proper sleep!

I would also love to see Virgil curled around Patton protectively but everyone knows that it’s Patton who’s making Virgil feel safe.

Another prediction is that Logan, realizing that SOMETHING bad just happened, and knowing that all his information on humans seems to be incorrect or at least not apply to this one, will go to Patton for advice on what to do regarding Virgil’s sudden change of behavior, and how to calm him down again. Cause Patton is the resident expert on Virgil.

I also imagine that Logan might keep his note taking to himself again for a bit, until Virgil believes that he’s not the bad kind of scientist.

I love that Virgil climbed on top of the tallest thing he could find, and I imagine that if it’s above everyone else’s usual eyelines, they each walk past him multiple times while they’re worriedly searching the ship for him.

I’m mostly imagining Virgil clinging to Patton like a lifeline and the other two aliens worrying for their tiny friend but Patton knows that Virgil is just scared and sings him the “calm down baby it’s okay I’m here” hatchling soothing song until Virgil calms down a little, and then still staying with him while explanations are had. They do not come out of the small space on top of the tallest appliance and Roman doesn’t like that but he’ll deal.

Now that I’m thinking about it more, one of the best ways for Logan to gain (at least a little bit of) Virgil’s trust would be for Virgil to see his honest reaction to what the other scientists did to him. Cause based on what I know of Logan, he would be horrified. And that might help Virgil to realize that Logan ISN’T LIKE those other scientists.

Anonymous said: *gets out the defibrillator to help kickstart the creative juices* At this point Virgil is running on fumes and when the trio find him Patton tries to comfort him. But he’s too stressed and feels betrayed and there’s just too much inner turmoil for him to hold back so he finally breaks down in front of them. Perhaps it’s not Patton that manages to calm him down, but Roman who finally recognizes him as a traumatized person rather than “just an evil human” :D

@enby-phoenix said: tbh Virgil probably hisses at either Logan or Roman at some point and it makes them nervous and confused.

Anonymous said: Roman forcing Virgil down from his hiding spot. 'Blade’ to his neck and tying him to a chair. Virgil thinking that he shouldn’t have run and that they are going to be even angrier at him now, ergo more painful experiments. Begging to be put under for the cutting away and to please don’t get mad at Patton (just in case Patton was trying to be a good friend).

Anonymous said: Suggestion for WIBAR - Roman goes looking for Virgil, all ready for a confrontation. But, when he finds him, Virgil unknowingly makes some sort of gesture that means fear/terror to Roman’s people and he stops and evaluates the situation with clearer eyes. This gives Patton/Logan/both a chance to get there.

Anonymous said: Can we get somr wibar fluff/angst?

Anonymous said: I’m just waiting for WIBAR Virgil to just pass out and the panic of everyone that sees him. Or Roman threatening him or Logan goes to touch him and BAM he’s on the floor!

Anonymous said: Stuff for WIBAR: 1: who’s gonna find Virgil? 2: what’re they gonna do with him? 3: how’s he gonna react? – Options: Patton: tries to comfort him Virgil: can’t decide whether to trust or not, maybe leading to emotional outburst and sad PatPat – Logan: scared cuz danger goblin had an outburst at him. Wondering what he did wrong & how to best proceed Virgil: 'he’s gonna do tests on me’ fight or flight – Roman: 'so, if you hurt my friends imma hurt you’ Virgil: fight or flight – ½

Anonymous said: 2/2 Of course those aren’t the only options, but it was fun for me, and I hope it got creative juices flowing for you as well. I love all your writing, and I want you to know that you can take as long as you need to be proud of your work. It’s okay. And take care of yourself too! You can’t make as good of work when you aren’t feeling as good as usual

[writethehousedown]

Bottled Up Feelings, Chapter One (Cheryl/Blu) - Zyan

a/n: hi! it’s me, I’m back, after having failed at doing ficmas due to some shenanigans with my wifi, I’m determined to finish the Be Mine Week - this is a threat.

So this whole fic was inspired by a prompt I saw in @dailyau: "You’re a genie and you said I could wish for anything. I, of course, wished for infinite wishes. Oh, wait, does that mean we’re stuck together forever?“ with a thing or two changed. Also - I didn’t know wether to leave Sum Ting’s name like that or not, so I just used her real name, but she is a cisgirl in the fic. Hope that kind of makes sense.

Thanks to Frey and Grapefruit for beta-ing, and to Winter for brainstorming with me. Love y'all. Hit me up at @chachkisalpaca if ya want!

Chapter One: Crisis Chocolates.

One of Cheryl’s biggest prides was her dance studio. She’d worked her whole life to be where she was, and nothing made her happier than seeing her students become skilled dancers.

She especially had a soft spot for the little ones; she taught ballet classes on the kids, Wednesdays and Fridays and it was the highlight of her week. They were always full of imagination and stories to tell, brightening up her days by giving her a good laugh.

Another class had gone by, and Cheryl was trying to get the kids to behave while they waited in the main hall for their parents to pick them up. They were all around her, telling her about their holidays and what they’d done. She listened to every single one of them with a smile and replied as enthusiastically as she could.

She loved her children, and her children loved her back.

“Miss Cheryl! Miss Cheryl!” One of the kids called, tugging on her skirt. Cheryl turned to see Lily, secretly one of her favourite students.

“Yes, love?”

“Mommy told me to tell you she can’t pick me up, so my auntie will come instead.” Lily stretched her arm looking for something in her backpack and pulled out a note. “Here.”

Cheryl read the note trying to not roll her eyes. She knew Lily’s aunt, but they weren’t on the best of terms. She nodded with a forced smile and soon Lily was back to chatting with her friends.

She took a deep breath and swore she wouldn’t let Vivienne’s presence affect her. She’d just come, pick her niece up, and then she’d be gone. It wasn’t that big of a deal, right?

Cheryl tried not to worry about it, until the kids started leaving, one by one, and at some point Lily was the only left and Vivienne was nowhere to be found.

She sat next to Lily on the floor by the entrance and let the little girl ramble about her dolls and how she’d performed an important surgery on one of them, and now missed playing with her, but she obviously had to rest to get better. Cheryl listened to all of her occurrences with a big smile, forgetting, for a moment, that it was closing time and Vivienne still hadn’t arrived.

Finally, she appeared bursting through the door and trying to catch her breath, looking as if she’d ran all the way from her office to the studio.

“I’m sorry I’m late!” She breathed out, leaning on the nearest wall to catch her breath.

Lily stood up with a jump and Cheryl followed her, adjusting her bag and searching for her keys in her pocket.

“I’m so sorry, Lily love, but I had a very important meeting. You think you can forgive me if I let you eat candy before dinner?” She offered and Lily nodded, beaming, and then Vivienne’s attention fell on Cheryl. “Thank you for staying with her, I promise it won’t happen again.”

“Don’t worry, I love this small bean, so it really wasn’t any problem.” She winked at Lily and they followed her out of the studio. “I will have to talk with your mom when she picks you up on Friday, though, if you’re planning to be Fairy number one at the Valentine’s Day Show.”

Cheryl turned to see them once the doors were locked and saw Vivienne pursing her lips, shoulders tense and her grip on Lily’s shoulders a bit too tight.

“Yeah, actually, since Lily’s mama’s got a raise in her job I’m gonna be picking her up from now on. I thought my sister had already told you…?” Cheryl blinked many times before she acknowledged what Vivienne had just said.

“Oh.” Was all that came out of her mouth. She chewed on the inside of her cheek until she rearranged the thoughts running in her mind. “That’s perfectly fine, so I’ll just talk with you on Friday about the cost of Lily’s costume and you can tell Emma. All right?” Vivienne nodded, her grip on Lily loosening.

“All right,” Vivienne repeated, taking Lily’s hand, clearly wanting to escape from the conversation, but she turned around one last time, much for Cheryl’s annoyance. “By the way, I’m sorry I never texted you back. I’m… Still thinking about it. See you on Friday.” She and Lily waved at her, leaving Cheryl frozen in her spot with a blind anger taking over her, as she saw the pair walk down the street.

*

Cheryl didn’t usually drink in the middle of the week when she had to get up the next morning for work. But this was a special occasion - she tried to convince herself as she poured glass after glass, until the wine bottle was half empty.

Why had she been stupid enough to think it’d be a good idea to mess with one of her students’ emotionally unavailable relative? And the worst part was that she never even planned it, never intended to actually make a move on Lily’s hot aunt — it just happened that they frequented the same bar and drunk Cheryl wasn’t the same as sober Cheryl.

It just happened, and six months after spending their first night together, Cheryl very much regretted it.

She sighed as she ate what she liked to call her “crisis chocolates” saved up for moments like these. Tomorrow she’d for sure regret it, but right now there wasn’t anything else that could cheer her up.

Well, except the marathon of El Bahiano, her favourite soap opera. It was from Argentina and the dubbing was awful - much like the acting - but it was Cheryl’s biggest guilty pleasure. Besides, it had drama and lesbians, so what else could she ask for?

Cheryl was finishing another glass of wine when the soap opera took yet another turn, and before she noticed one of her favourite characters was throwing herself off the cliff. Familiar “To Be Continued” credit rolled around and a voice told the viewers to tune in next week for the big finale. Cheryl spit out her drink.

“What? How dare they end the marathon there?! I need to know what happened with Lorena!” She exclaimed offended, trying to blindly reach for the remote with her free hand, as she kept cursing the TV. Then, she heard a loud crash and the place got significantly darker.

Cheryl froze, slowly turning to where there once was a lamp lightning up the living room. She left the wine glass on the table and cursed herself, stumbling to look for the broomstick.

Definitely it had been a bad idea to drink a whole bottle alone — it had been a bad idea to drink, period.

With an annoyed groan, she made the mental note to swing by Vinegar and Bo’s shop tomorrow to buy a new lamp.

*

“Hey girls, is anyone here?” Cheryl exclaimed as she wandered around the antique shop.

Antique Shock was owned by two of Cheryl’s best friends, Vera - commonly referred to as Vinegar - and her girlfriend Bo. They’ve had it since they graduated from college, both girls thinking it was a great use for their history diploma — besides, they loved vintage things, so why not?

Cheryl hung out at the shop all the time when she was just beginning with her dance studio and she was still learning how to cope with the attention span of her five year old students. Nowadays she barely went to visit them every other week, but they were still pretty close.

“I thought I could smell bad spray tan,” said Vinegar from the counter. Cheryl smiled as she approached her, blowing air kisses at her. “How are you, baby? It’s been a minute since I’ve seen you around.”

“Oh, please, I was here before Christmas, don’t be so dramatic.” She looked around, trying to find something resembling a lamp. “So, yesterday I may or may not have gone into a drunk rampage ‘cause—”

“Oh, please tell me it didn’t have to do with Vivienne or El Bahiano,” Vinegar cut her off and Cheryl rolled her eyes.

“Y’know, I hate when you think all of my drunk rampages are either because of Vivienne or El Bahiano,” she began, Vinegar cocked a sceptical brow. “This time, it was both.” Vinegar let out a loud laugh and Cheryl folded her arms offended.

“What happened and what did you break this time?” She inquired with an amused smile and Cheryl rolled her eyes.

In all the years Vinegar had known Cheryl, she came to know that drinking when she was pissed was a tendency of hers, getting clumsier with each drink. Vinegar could say without an ounce of doubt that during Cheryl’s early years as a dance teacher she’d helped pay their bills with the amount of things she’d broken in her flat as a result of this.

“Lorena throws herself off a cliff! And they dared to end the marathon right there! I might just sue them, honestly,” she said with a tone so exasperated you’d think she was talking about real life events. Vinegar laughed again. “Ugh, I’m not in the mood for talking about Vivienne right now, like, I even ate all of my crisis chocolates, so figure out yourself if what she did pissed me off. I can tell you I need a new lamp, though.”

Vinegar pursed her lips and disappeared behind a door for a moment, coming back with a dusty box.

“We got these around Christmas, I think. We planned on fixing some of them, but we totally forgot since we have our hands full with this wardrobe we bought a few days ago,” she commented while opening it, pulling some lamps out.

The majority were tiny and had cracks here and there, some lacked a shade or a spotlight; overall pretty minor stuff. Cheryl peeked inside the box to see if there were any left, and she found one pretty weird looking.

“What about this one, V? How much?” She asked taking out the lamp. The base resembled the figure of a woman with her arms up, the paint was blue and the shade was a bit worn-off, but other than that, it looked fine.

“Huh, weird, I don’t remember this one,” Vinegar commented, lips slightly pursed. “Fiveteen pounds.”

“Deal.”

*

Cheryl sighed in relief when she got home, wanting more than ever to take a warm bath, eat dinner, and go to sleep.

She put some leftovers from her lunch in the microwave and sunk into the couch, looking over her unopened texts. Most of them were from the parents of her students, a couple from her friends, and one from her sister, asking if she was coming home for the weekend. A tiny part of her was disappointed there wasn’t a text from Vivienne — just a tiny bit.

A weird noise came from somewhere in the apartment, taking over her attention. Cheryl cocked a brow, looking around. She saw the box where the lamp she’d just bought was and remembered she had to clean it, the weird noise suddenly forgotten.

Cheryl took it out and wiped the dust off with an old cloth, the lamp quickly getting a shiny blue tone. She smiled, pleased with how it looked and turned around to check on her dinner.

Suddenly, there was a cloud of white smoke and she started coughing desperately, not being able to breathe. She turned back around and instead of the lamp she saw a woman sitting calmly on the table. Cheryl nearly had a heart attack.

“Shit, I forgot this was part of the deal,” the stranger said, waving a hand, trying to dissipate the smoke.

Once it cleared out, Cheryl was able to see her. The woman was short, with long orange hair pulled up in a ponytail, milky white skin and the weirdest clothes she’d seen in a while.

She turned around, almost as if she was looking for something, and locked eyes with Cheryl. Her eyes were as blue as the ocean.

“Who are you?” Cheryl managed to ask. The stranger hopped off the table and gave Cheryl a smile.

“My name’s Blu without an E, and I’m the genie of the lamp. I’m here to grant you three wishes.”