#on this phone and i died three times and it took me six hours but i did it and i cried about the end poem like i always will

[that-sarcastic-writer]

After Hours

DI!SingleDad!Leon S. Kennedy X F!Teacher!Reader

Summary: You really shouldn't fuck your student's dad. You shouldn't. No matter how hot you think he is. You shouldn't. Right?

Warnings: explicit sexual content, minors dni, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it) p in v, fingering, oral (f receiving), choking, hair pulling, creampie, soft!dom leon, praising, Leon has a mouth on him, the s stands for slut, parent teacher dynamic, foul language

WC: 8.2k I am so sorry

A/N: guess who just watched death island and guess who wants to fuck di Leon. Yes, this whore. The things that man does to me. Man definitely gave me girl dad vibes in di so I wrote it lol enjoy the Leon filth

Note: this story was inspired by @konigbabe own dad!leon x teacher fic. Hers is definitely way better than mine and definitely recommend checking it out! (Sorry for not mentioning before it was extremely late last night🙃)

Universe Masterlist

You've been teaching second graders for a very long time, and you've never been more in awe and intrigued by a child at the same time. When you met this little girl you knew she would grow on you. But you didn't think she would be so complicated too. 

"Mhm, and she said— Izzy?" You were standing in your designated area during recess duty, talking to the other second grade teacher when one of your students, Isabella, was dragged to your side along with an older boy by another teacher. 

The boy had a scraped up arm, and Izzy was holding her hands together in front of herself and staring at the ground as the teacher held her by her shirt. You stared in confusion for a second before you looked at the teacher. 

"Ms. Miller, what's going on? Why are you dragging Izzy and who is this boy?" You asked, head tilted with confusion. 

"Is this Isabella Kennedy? She wouldn't answer when I asked her." The older lady asked, shooting the brunette girl a nasty look. You frowned, but nodded slowly, replying with a short yes. She continued. "She pushed one of my kids and he's bleeding. You need to take her to the Principal's office and call her parents right now." 

Your eyes widened in shock and your mouth fell open, baffled. You blinked a couple times in disbelief as you looked at Izzy. This girl was a sweetheart, quiet, but kind, she would never hurt another student. 

"Izzy, come baby, we're gonna go sit in my classroom while I call your daddy, mkay?" You shot Ms. Miller a glare that made her let go of Izzy, and you quietly extended your hand to the girl. She took it, quietly following you. 

Maybe today was the day you would finally meet Isabella Kennedy's father. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It took five phone calls, three emails, and a good three hours before anyone came for Izzy. It was well past the end of the school day. You had been sitting outside the Principal's office with Izzy for about an hour when a man, tall, close to six feet tall, with a leather jacket and brown hair that fell over his eyes walked down the hall. He had the same intense blue eyes as Izzy. He had a pretty annoyed look on his face too. 

Leon Kennedy.

"Izzy." He called out when he saw her, his low baritone filling the otherwise quiet hall. The little girl lifted her head, blue eyes instantly lighting up at the sight of her dad. 

She instantly got up from her chair and ran to him. He picked her up without hesitation and a frown plastered on his face when she hid her face on his neck with guilt. 

"I'm sorry daddy." 

"Oh, what's wrong? Why are you sorry?" He asked, rubbing her back soothingly, but before she could bust out into tears, you stepped in. 

"Hi. Hey, uhm. I'm Isabella's teacher. Are you Mr. Kennedy?" You felt stupid for asking, he made you feel even more so when he narrowed his eyes at you with this 'seriously?' look in his eyes. 

"Yeah. What's going on? I saw you left me a million voicemails. Is Izzy alright?" He asked, understandably concerned, instinctively checking his daughter for any injuries or marks. 

"Yes she's alright but uhm.. Something happened earlier and I think it'd be good if we spoke in private before you speak with the principal." You bit your lip, watching as his face scrunched up with a mixture of confusion and annoyance. 

"What— y'know what, alright. Just make it quick please." He sighed, saying something to Izzy that you couldn't quite hear before he set her down on her feet. 

"I'm gonna go talk to your daddy for a minute okay? You can go finish that drawing, yeah?" You said to the little girl with a smile. She rubbed her eye but nodded regardless. 

You led Leon to your classroom. You sat on your desk as he sat on the chair you had left for him in case he did show up. He leaned back, arms folded over his chest and legs spread. That man hadn't even said a word yet and you were already sweating. He was full of self assurance and confidence, like he didn't need to say a word for his presence to be the center of attention. And it made you nervous. 

"So uhm, I called you because Isabella got into some trouble today during recess." You started, leaning your elbows on your desk. His face never changed. He had the same stoic expression. 

Seriously?

"Okay." 

"She pushed a fourth grader on the playground, and the kid scraped up his arm." You finished, hoping that would get some kind of reaction. It did. But not the one you were expecting. 

"Oh. Wow, okay." There was a tiny curve on the corner of his lips. You could swear it looked like a smile. "Is she in trouble or something?" 

"Uhm, yes, of course she's in trouble. Our anti-bullying policy is very strict here Mr. Kennedy. She could get suspended for this." 

He rolled his eyes. The motherfucker rolled his eyes. 

"That's not bullying. The kid probably deserved it." He scoffed softly, leaning further back into the chair. He had his eyebrows furrowed, and he was staring you down, pale blue eyes making you want to crawl into your own skin. "Izzy isn't the type to just hurt someone. She's a good kid. Did you even ask why she did it? 

"Well uhm.. Yes, she said the fourth grade boy was bothering her and her friend, he shoved her friend so Izzy, uh, shoved him back, much harder." You cleared your throat, knowing your answer wasn't any better. You didn't want Izzy to get in trouble, but you had to do your job.

"Are you serious?" He had this blank expression on his face, and when you nodded, he gave you a laugh that was this mixture between pride and irritation. "This is ridiculous. A nine year-old boy bullies my seven year-old daughter and her friend, but my daughter is the one that gets in trouble for standing up for herself?" 

You stared at him, lips parted as you tried to come up with an answer. You ran your tongue over your dry lips, no answer actually coming out. He scoffed. 

"Was that all then? This conversation could've been a phone call." He sat up, seemingly getting ready to stand up. You shook your head. 

"No, Mr. Kennedy. There's something else I wanted to discuss with you." 

"It's just Leon, please. I'm not that old." He chuckled, leaning back into the seat. 

Your eyes fell to his chest, slightly exposed by the undone buttons of his shirt. Your words were lost for a second as you imagined what it would be like to see under that shirt, to feel— No. That's inappropriate. Focus. 

"Uhm, I understand you must be busy with your job, Izzy talks about it all the time but I think she would benefit from more involvement from a parent in her academics and activities." You started, leaning forward on your arms. 

"Meaning what? I'm involved plenty." 

"I'm sorry but, I've had your daughter for a semester and a half, and this is the first time I've met you. We've had two parent-teachers conferences so far. I never saw you there. She performed at the winter concert, I don't recall seeing you there either." You explained with a small frown, remembering all the times you had to cheer her up because she was upset about her dad not being there for a school event. "All I'm saying is that if your job doesn't allow it, maybe Izzy's mom can—" 

"No, not an option. It's just me." He cut you off quickly, sitting up quickly as his shoulders tensed. 

You weren't a behavior analyst, but knew that tone. That defensiveness and resentment at the same time, you had seen it time and time again from single parents. It explained a lot. 

"Then she really needs you. You're the only support she has. So be there for your daughter."

"I am. It's just that my job—" 

"With all due respect, your job is not more important than your daughter. Listen, the spring concert is in two weeks. She's performing there with a few other girls. I just ask that you be there for her. Trust me it will do her good. And knowing her dad is there for her will stop her from acting out like this again." 

Leon bit his lip in thought, you could see the gears turning in his head, the way he tapped his index finger on his bicep in thought, but he ultimately sighed. 

"An elementary school concert, is that really necessary? Can't I just take you to dinner instead and we can call it even?" He said it so smoothly you didn't realize his flirtation at first. It took a second for your brain to register he was flirting with you and the tiny smirk on his face made heat rush to your face in an instant. 

"Mr. Kennedy, that is not appropriate." You tried hiding your embarrassment behind a soft laugh, but the way you avoided his eyes said enough. 

"I told you, it's Leon." He corrected you again, grin still on his face, "Alright fine, I'll see what I can do. Can I take Izzy home now?" 

"Yes. I'll email you the RSVP." You finally met his eyes with a small smile of your own as you waved your hand, signaling that he could leave. He nodded, standing up, but before he left you added, "And please look at your emails this time." 

He flashed you a small smile, "Sure Miss." 

~~~~~~~~~~

"Aw Izzy, you look so pretty. Did your daddy help you get ready?" You asked the little girl, her hair neatly pulled back into a bun, glitter scattered on her hair and blue sparkly eyeshadow matched the shades of blue in her outfit. She looked like a princess. 

"Nooo. Daddy doesn't know how to do makeup. Aunt Claire did." She said excitedly and smiled with glee.

Huh, that must be the woman that sometimes picked her up. For the longest time you thought it was her mom. But not after Leon had told you about her mom not being in the picture. Still, you thought maybe you'd get more out of her than her dad. 

"Oh she did a really good job!" You smiled at her as you stood with her, waiting for her turn to perform. "Is your daddy coming?" 

"Yes. He said he would." Good. 

"And your mommy? Is she coming too?" You squinted an eye, knowing you probably shouldn't push your luck, but kids usually never lied, and you wanted to know for sure.

"Oh, I don't have a mommy. Just daddy and Aunt Claire. Oh and Uncle Chris. But he's not around much." She said it so blankly it reminded you of her dad. 

It made your heart sink, to think her mom had abandoned her. Which you had the feeling was the case based on the defensive and almost resentful way Leon spoke about it when you met. But somehow it didn't seem to bother Izzy. 

"Well I'm sure your daddy will love to see you perform tonight. It's almost your turn, go find the other girls, I'll be right here." 

She gave you an eager nod and a smile as she ran to her friends, their names getting introduced by the principal a minute later. You stayed in a corner mostly out of sight, but enough where you could see the stage. At one point, you looked towards the far end of the gym, at the top of the stairs. You saw a familiar leather jacket, the man leaning against the wall with his arms folded over his chest as he watched the stage. You couldn't really see from your distance, but you had a feeling he was smiling. But you were definitely smiling when his eyes found yours. 

"Oh my God you did so good! I can't believe you learned that in a few months!" You said to Izzy, her tiny hand in yours as you walked her through the gym to find Leon.

As you walked out to the hallway, you caught a couple moms whispering not so quietly about the unknown man in a leather jacket that was standing by himself and it almost made you laugh. 

"Hey, is Isabella's dad here? I see she's still attached to your hip." Your friend, Emily walked your way, eyeing the little girl, then you. You raised an eyebrow at her, knowing she just wanted to see who was the mysterious hot single dad she kept hearing about. 

"Mmmm, yeah he's here. He's—" You looked around for a bit, quickly spotting him by himself. You smiled to yourself when your eyes met. "Izzy, your daddy is over there, go. I'll be there in a sec." 

She nodded and ran to her dad. She jumped as soon as she was in front of him and he lifted her in his arms in a heartbeat. You heard her giggles as she wrapped her arms around his neck and he sat her on his hip, hugging her. 

"He's hot. Like really hot." Emily spoke, making you look at her. Your eyes widened and you snorted quietly. "What? He is. He totally gives biker vibes. I wonder if he has a motorcycle. You should ask him to take you on a ride sometime." 

"Emily." You scolded her with a laugh. 

"I'm serious! You should go out with him. Or I will." 

"I'm leaving now, I don't not want to get written up for sexual harassment of a parent. Goodbye Ms. Robinson." You laughed, waving your hand at her dismissively as you walked towards Leon and Izzy. So you could say goodbye to Izzy. Or so you told yourself. 

"Miss! Look what my daddy gave me." Izzy showed you a beautiful white carnation. 

You smiled in awe, both at the flower but also at the sweet gesture. Leon definitely didn't seem the type to give gifts. Maybe you were wrong. 

"Oh wow, that's such a pretty flower! It's almost as pretty as you Izzy. But you're prettier." You giggled with the little girl, who nuzzled further into Leon's chest in a fit of giggles. He thought you weren't looking, but you definitely caught the tiny smile on his face. 

"But you're prettier, Miss! At school we call her Miss Pretty. Cause she's really pretty all the time, right daddy? You were saying that Miss looked really pretty the other day." Izzy lifted her head to look at her dad with her big blue eyes. 

His own eyes grew a bit and a dust of pink covered his otherwise pale face. 

"Isabella." Leon said her name sternly, but the girl just giggled even more. He rolled his eyes and looked at you, a tiny grin on his lips and that same air of confidence that never seemed to falter, even if he was embarrassed. "Okay, say bye to your friends so we can go home. And say bye to Miss Pretty." 

Now it was your turn to be fluttered. 

"Okay. Bye Miss, I'll see you on Monday!" Izzy hugged your waist as soon as Leon put her on her feet. You smiled, crouching down to embrace her properly. 

"I'll see you on Monday Izzy." You smiled, watching as she took off to find her friends. You stood up slowly, eyes meeting with Leon's. "I'm glad you came. She was really happy." 

"Mhmm, I'm glad I came too." His eyes lingered on you. 

God, you were pretty. He took in the way your hair was done differently, maybe for the occasion. Your makeup was different too, nothing too glamorous, but some shimmer on your eyelids and a lipstick that matched. And your dress, it suited you perfectly. But he'd be lying if he said he wouldn't prefer to see it on his floor instead. 

"And thank you for talking your way out of her suspension. She's a good kid, I wouldn't want something like that on her file."

"Of course. I adore Izzy, and I've seen first hand she's a sweet kid. Off the record, I didn't want her to get suspended for standing up for herself. You taught her well." You smiled, trying to ignore the blood rushing to your face. 

"Yeah well, I try."

"But I hope this isn't a one time thing though. It'd be good for Izzy if you came around more often." You bit your lip softly, feeling his deep gaze burn into your skin. He nodded, leaning ever so slightly closer. Nothing any prying eyes would notice, but you definitely did. 

"I'll be around, but in the meantime," He bit his lip, eyes darting around for a second before he leaned down to your ear for a split second, saying, "Dinner is still on the table." 

"Mr—" 

"I swear to God if you call me Mr. Kennedy one more time." 

You leaned back, a smile threatening to pull around your lips. And you nodded, digging into your purse for a second before you pulled out a piece of paper and shoved it into his palm. 

"I'll be seeing you around, Leon." 

He watched you as you walked with a smile on your face. He furrowed his eyebrows curiously but it quickly turned into a grin when he saw what you had written on the post-it note. 

Juat say when. I actually answer my phone. —Miss

"Fuck me." He sighed quietly to himself, shaking his head as he shoved the piece of paper into his pocket and rubbed a hand over his freshly trimmed jaw before calling Izzy. "Izzy, c'mon." 

"You, you evil child are in so much trouble," he chuckled, taking his daughter's hand in his, "You can't be telling daddy's secrets like that, bee. You're gonna get me in trouble." 

"But she's really pretty! And nice. And she makes really good brownies. I like her a lot." She giggled, looking up at Leon with a smile that reminded him that not everything in this world was pain and misery. "You should take her on a date!"

"I asked if she wanted to, actually." 

"Oh my God really? Did she say yes?" 

Leon looked at his little girl with narrowed eyes and smiled, "Since when are you so nosy? Hmph." 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You didn't think Leon would be the chivalrous type to come pick you at your door for your date. But there he was, leaning on his Jeep Wrangler as he waited for you to come down. And when you did, fuck, it made him want to take you right then and there. 

"Woah… You look.." He blew out a small breath and his lips curved up. You nodded, biting your lip softly. 

"Thank you. You look good too." 

"So uh, is Italian alright? I know a really good place downtown." 

The food was great, amazing even, but this, oh this was better than any fancy restaurant. Leon pressed your back against the door, his own body pressing you further into it, preventing from moving. Not that you wanted to. He had one of your wrists pinned above your head as he kissed you, tongue slipping into your mouth to savor the faint wine you had earlier. He used his other hand to hoist you up around his waist, a moan slipping past your throat when his belt brushed against your clothed clit. 

You swore you never had sex on the first date. But for Leon you would be the biggest whore if that’s what he wanted. 

“Mmm Leon,” You panted softly, he hummed as he moved his lips to your neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses. “Izzy. Is she—”

“Not here. She’s at my friend’s for the night.” He answered in between kisses.

“You have a friend that watches your kid while you get laid? Aren’t you lucky?”

“Can we not talk about my babysitting arraignments right now?" He muttered out in between kisses, his breath hot against your skin. 

A soft giggle fell past your lips and you nodded, grabbing the back of his head to kiss his lips again. A satisfied hum rumbled in his throat as he moved his lips with yours, keeping one hand on your ass and the other found the back of your neck as he moved you off the door. He was walking, somewhere, you assumed his bedroom. He parted from your lips to half watch where he was going and you took that opportunity to drag your lips along his jaw. You could tell he hadn't shaved in a few days, but you liked the tingle it gave.  

Leon let out a breathy hum at the feeling of your lips roaming freely along his skin. He bit his lips softly as he fumbled with the doorknob, he eventually got it open. He didn't bother closing it and his feet took him straight to his bed. 

He grabbed the back of your head and pressed another hard kiss to your lips before your back hit his bed. Soft duvets pooled around you as he laid you down, pulling your bottom lip with him as he moved back. 

"Fuck, I knew you'd look so pretty on my bed." He breathed out as he watched you, hair pooling around your head, and makeup already a mess. 

You gave him a shy smile as you sat up on your elbows. His eyes stayed on you as he sunk his weight on one knee, a knee he placed right in between your thighs. And his eyes never left you as he slowly undid the buttons of his navy blue dress shirt. His leather jacket was long gone by the time you had stepped foot inside his apartment.

You watched him with big eyes as he shrugged off the piece of clothing, leaving his muscular chest of full display. And fuck, if he looked huge under layers of clothing, he looked massive now. Your eyes took him all in, an arrangement of scars covered his otherwise pale skin. Scars and all, he was still the most attractive man you had ever met. 

"You look so pretty when you look at me like that." He chuckled softly, his fingers coming up under your chin to make you look up at him, clearly noticing the way you were staring at him, with those eyes and your lips parted.

"You think I'm pretty? Have you seen yourself in the mirror lately?" You responded without thinking, the words coming out with a breath. 

A smile formed on his lips and he shook his head, watching with amusement as your shaky hands touched his belt. You ran your tongue over your lips as you unbuckled his belt with shaky hands. Leon watched you carefully, his breath picking up when your fingers itched closer to his cock as it strained against his boxer briefs. But when you sat up fully, about to move your knees he grabbed your hands, making you stop. Your eyes shot up to his face with alarm, afraid you had made him uncomfortable. 

"Next time baby," He said with restraint. It wasn't that he didn't want to feel your mouth around him. He'd kill for that. But he could be selfish another time. "Lemme take care of you tonight, yeah?" 

You breathed out shakily, the panic leaving you as soon as the words left his mouth, and a pool of arousal replaced your uneasiness. You nodded. 

"Yeah, okay." 

He gave you a smile that made you ache and he gestured to you to lie down. 

"Lay down for me." He coaxed with a voice so smooth it almost made you whine. He eased a hand up your bare thighs as you did as he told you. 

Your back touched his soft covers again as you took in a sharp breath. You closed your eyes in anticipation as you heard him move around for a second. You gasped when you felt him drag you to the end of the bed by your ankle. You lifted your head and fuck, you could've come right there and there at the sight of Leon, on his knees, with his head between your legs. 

"Leon.." You whined almost desperately, the ache between your legs starting to become unbearable. 

A soft smirk tugged at his lips at the whine of his name and he lifted his head to look at you with feign innocence. 

"What's that pretty girl?" He sneaked a hand under your dress, his thumb barely grazing your clit through your panties. You twitched, a sharp gasp leaving your lips. 

"Please." A weak plea was all you could say. 

"What? Want my mouth on you? Want me to finger you open? Make you come all over my tongue?" He spoke with arrogance, with that same arrogance he always fucking wore. And you hated just how much it turned you on. 

"Yes! Yes! Yes, just please, touch me." You were so pathetic but you didn't care. 

"Oh trust me baby, I'm gonna do so much more than just touch you. You think you can handle me?" He tugged down your panties with such ease and so casually you didn't even realize he did, you were more focused on his question. 

"I… Yes I— Of course I can handle you." 

Leon chuckled at how fast you responded to his question and he bit his bottom lip as he scrunched up your dress up to your hips with his free hand, his eyes lingering on your cunt for a second before he met your gaze again. 

"Tap me twice if it's too much, yeah? A sweet elementary teacher like yourself might not be used to.. Well, me." 

You scrunched up your face a bit at his comment, shooting him a glare that made him chuckle. 

"I won't break Leon." 

A malicious smirk fell on his lips, "That's the point." 

He didn't give you time to reply with another witty remark when he decided he was done talking. He sunk his head between your thighs and his tongue dragged along your clit without a warning. You jolted with a shudder, a loud gasp leaving your lips when you felt his mouth on your already sensitive clit. 

"Oh my—" Your mouth fell open, your eyes slightly fluttering as he circled his tongue over your clit. "Oooh fuck." 

Your head fell back against the mattress as he continued to work you with his tongue. He drew circles around your clit before he moved down to your wet entrance then back up to your clit. Over and over until you were writhing on the bed. 

"Shit— Leon—!" The sound that left your mouth was pathetic, a mixture between a cry and a whimper when he slipped two of his long fingers into you. 

He groaned against you, lapping at your pussy as he slid his fingers in and out with ease. And you couldn't help the way you were grinding back against his face. It had been a long fucking time since a guy had even bothered to eat you out, let alone like this. He didn't mind it, but the way you kept sliding up the bed every time he curled up his fingers against that one spot was annoying him. With his free hand he grabbed your hip with a tight grip and slid your body back down, holding you against his face. And he held you there, with his fingers deep inside your pussy, his mouth lapping at your clit and both of your legs thrown over his shoulders. You had nowhere to go and he was more than pleased about that. 

"Fuck fuck— Shit Leon please—" You eyes were rolled into the back of your head, head thrown back as you writhed against his face. "Please— I'm so close please, please don't stop." 

Fuck, you sounded so pretty when you pleaded to him like that. He could feel his cock strain harder against his pants just at the sound. He hummed, closing his lips around your clit and suckled. You didn't mean to, but your hand fell to the back of his hair and you pulled. And my God you pulled hard. 

Leon growled at the feeling of your fingers tangling and tugging at his hair. The vibrations made you whine and you did it again. But this time he pulled back enough to speak. 

"Pull my hair one more time, I swear to God." He grunted the words. But he wasn't angry. God, he wasn't angry in the slightest. But he knew he only had so much self control left in his body.

You didn't reply, you simply loosened your grip on his honey brown strands, but you kept your hand on the back of his head and his lips found your clit again. And you did your best to not latch on to his hair again, but fuck it was so hard when his fingers hit so deep and his tongue felt so good. You were so fucking close, you couldn't help it. 

"Mhmm yeah that's it, I know you wanna come. Yeah, you wanna come don't you sweet girl?" He grunted, spitting on your clit as he scissored you open, the palm of his hand rutting against your clit. "I know you do, c'mon, come for me." 

When you felt his tongue on your clit again you couldn't help it. Your mouth fell wide open as your heels dug into his shoulders. Your eyes were squeezed shut as your mind went blank and you couldn't help yourself, your fingers dug so deep into his hair as you held his face against you he actually grunted in pain. 

But he didn't stop, he lapped at your juices as you convulsed under him, the lewd sound of his palm against your wet cunt shooting straight to his cock. 

He didn't stop sucking at your clit until you were twitching with aftershock and you were weakly pulling his head back by the ends of his hair. Only then his fingers left you and he was pulling back. He watched you through narrowed eyes as you panted, your hands now on your face as you tried to come back down to earth. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he rose his feet. 

He fumbled with his pants as he climbed on the bed and before you even realized it, he grabbed you, hands under your armpits to drag you up the bed. You stammered at the sudden manhandling. 

"Leon—" He didn't even let you finish before he was flipping you on your stomach, his bare back pressing you down on the mattress. 

"What did I say about pulling my hair, hm?" He breathed out into your ear, harshly tugging down his boxer briefs enough to pull out his cock. 

"I— I'm sorry—" You gasped as he not to gently unzipped your dress and pulled it over your head. 

He didn't let you sit up though. With a large hand in between your shoulders, he sat up enough to sit back on his knees, his cock in his hand as he pumped himself a few times. 

"No you're not." He sighed out, eyes closing for a split second as he dragged his cock between your wet folds. He heard you whine against his pillows, but you made no effort to move from where he held you. "Move that pretty little ass of yours up here. Need you to stay down though." 

With a soft whimper, you stuck your ass up in the air, meeting his hips. His eyes fell on your ass, lips slightly parted he slowly sank himself into you. He watched as his cock disappeared inside your tight walls until only a little bit of him was left. But he didn't want to push you too hard, you couldn't fit all of him. 

Leon sat still for what felt like years, but in reality it was merely a minute or so. His eyes were closed as he dragged a hand up and down your back, easing you until he knew he could move. It took you some time to adjust to his size, your eyes were squeezed shut as you fists clenched his sheets. But it wasn't long before you were begging him to fuck you. 

"Leon— Please. Need you to fuck me, please." You muttered into the sheets as you turned your head to the side so that your cheek was pressed into the mattress. 

"Mhmmm, 'course you do." Fuck, he was going to ruin you. 

He dragged his cock out slowly, slow enough for you to feel every inch of him, until you were nothing but pathetic noises. He was almost all the way out when he slammed in again, making your body slide up the mattress. He did the same again, and again, fucking your body into the mattress like no one you had ever been with before. This man was going to be the death of you. Your student's dad. There were so many things wrong with what you were doing, but fuck, you couldn't list a single one of those things that could ever top this. 

You were brought back to this reality by the feeling of his lips dragging up your bare spine. You felt a cold shudder run through your whole body as he leaned over you, his bare back pressed against yours and his hips rutting against your ass, so much so you could feel the rough material of his pants brush against your ass and the sound of his belt rattling with each snap of his hips. But that only made it better. To think he was so eager to fuck you he couldn't be bothered to take his pants off. That idea alone made you see white.

With your mind on a different planet entirely, you didn't realize the grip he had on your hair. Until you felt him pull your head back by your hair. His fingers were tangled to the root as he pressed his lips to your ear. 

"You like how that feels, hm?" You had a feeling his question was rhetorical, that you weren't supposed to enjoy the forcefulness of his actions, because he was clearly punishing you for what you did earlier. But you would be lying if you said it didn't make you even wetter. He definitely felt the way you clenched around him and he laughed. "Oh? So you do huh? Pretty Miss Teacher likes it when I'm rough with her?" 

You were nodding against his grip, as best as you could anyway, a soft cry being a pretty good sign that you did, indeed liked it. You should be ashamed of how much you wanted this man to ruin you, to use you as he pleased. But the way he was buried deep inside your cunt felt way too good to feel any shame. 

"Yes! Yes, please be rough with me." You managed to choke out. You heard the groan that rumbled in his chest at your words. 

Leon was flipping you on your back and slamming back into you before you even had time to protest. You instantly wrapped your legs around his torso as he resumed his pace, only that this time, his hips snapped much harshly with each thrust he gave you. His lips found your neck as one of his hands rested on the column of your neck, he didn't squeeze or touch your throat, he simply held you down as he fucked you into the mattress. 

His fingers twitched, the urge to wrap them around your throat making his cock throb, but he otherwise decided against it, not wanting to push you too hard on your first night together. So to avoid giving in to his urges he itched to move his hand beside your head instead. You felt his hand leave your neck and something deep within your core didn't want him to, so your hand flew to catch his wrist. 

"Choke me." You blurted out, so heated that you didn't even think of how embarrassed you normally would be to ask such a thing. 

Leon lifted his head enough to look at your face, his lips parted as he panted softly, strands of his hair falling over his eyes but he could see you clearly. He heard you loud and clear, too. 

"Shit baby," He groaned out, lips crashing against yours in a messy kiss before he returned his hand to your neck, but this time, he actually wrapped his fingers around your throat. "You're gonna be the fucking death of me. Such a pretty thing, sweet to everyone, with those pretty dresses of yours and that beautiful smile of yours. And you're asking me to choke you. Fuck." 

He squeezed ever so slightly, just enough to make you feel a bit dizzy, but in the best way possible. You were so close, you could feel the burning ache in the pit of your stomach, and with the way his cock hit your most sensitive spot with every thrust, you knew you wouldn't last long. 

"Ah— Shit— Leon—" Your sounds were choked out, barely audible, but he heard the way you were begging, the way you said his name, it drove him fucking insane. "I wanna—" 

"Mhmm, I know baby. You wanna come all over my cock, hm? Yeah you do," He dug his teeth into his already red lip as he sneaked his free hand in between your bodies and began rubbing harsh circles around your clit, making your hips jerk. "Yeah that's it— Fuck, atta girl. Lemme feel you fall apart for me." 

He didn't even have to tell you, you were seeing white the second his thumb touched your clit. You dug your nails into his skin, surely leaving a few marks to find in the morning. But he couldn't care less. He couldn't help but moan at the feeling of your walls squeezing his cock. He held you down to the mattress as he drilled into you, his own release not too far now. 

"Yeah— yeah that's it. Good girl. You're such a good girl." He dragged through pants, his fingers squeezing your throat tightly. "Fuck— Fuck I'm gonna— Shit." 

He was about to pull himself out, so as to not finish inside you, but you held him tight, legs securely wrapped around his torso. He looked you through half lidded eyes as you nodded at him. 

"Please." You couldn't say much, with his hand on your throat and all, but he understood what you meant and the idea of you letting him come inside you made him lose the little control he still had left. 

"Oh fuck— fuck that's a good girl— Ah—" His head fell to your neck as he cradled your head with the hand not your neck and he squeezed his eyes shut as he fell still, holding you down on his cock as he came with a throaty moan. "Mhmmm. Just like that. Take it just like that." 

His hand slowly released your throat, and you gasped softly as your head spun with adrenaline. Your eyes fluttered shut as you held him, arms lazily thrown over his shoulders as your fingers lightly threaded his hair. You felt his breath hot on your neck as he panted. Your own breathing was as hard and fast as his for a minute or so. But he didn't mind holding until you both calmed down. It was a while before you felt him move, probably when he got tired of holding his weight. He left a kiss on your jaw before he moved to lay on his back beside you. 

Leon turned his head to look at you and he couldn't help but smile to himself, face glistening with sweat, makeup absolutely ruined and hair tousled and pooled around your head. And even like that you were still the prettiest thing he had ever laid eyes on. 

"I wasn't too rough on you, was I?" He asked quietly, knowing he sometimes could be a bot too much.

You turned your head to look at him, and you found those pale blue eyes staring at you with concern, you gave him a tired smile. 

"Of course not. I… I liked it. I don't think anyone's ever made me come like that before." You admitted with a dry laugh. His eyebrows shot up a bit with surprise, but that surprise quickly turned into pride. 

"Well, I do like to be the exception." 

"Oh shut up." You playfully smacked his arm and he chuckled. 

You couldn't help but smile, but your expression fell a bit when you thought he probably would want you to go home. That's usually how that was, right? I mean he had a daughter, he probably didn't want his daughter's teacher— who he had just fucked senseless, to stay the night. Right? Probably not. You sighed softly as you moved your hair away from your face and sat up. You missed the confused look Leon gave you. 

"You leaving or something?" He asked with furrowed eyebrows as he sat up, watching the way you were reaching over the edge of the bed to grab your dress from the floor. But you quickly sat back to look at him, also confused. 

"I mean… I'm supposed to, right?" 

Leon scrunched up his face with confusion and slightly tilted his head, "You're supposed to?" 

"Well. Uh… Yeah. I mean, Izzy—" He cut you off right then and there. 

"Hey no, it isn't like that. I don't… I don't do that." You frowned at him, confused by what he meant. He sighed, running a hand through his hair, getting the strands out of his face. "I wasn't going to fuck you then ask you to leave. I'm not like that. It's late, and I drove you. Izzy isn't coming home tonight. You can stay. If you want of course, if not I can drive you home, I just—" 

Now it was your turn to cut him off. He gasped in surprise when you crashed your lips against his. His lips curved up into a smile as he held your face. He kissed you much softly now. 

"I wouldn't mind staying." You finally said, smiling against his lips. 

"I wouldn't mind either." 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

You weren't exactly sure when, but you had fallen asleep, with Leon's arms wrapped around you as he held you to his chest. But rays of sunlight were hitting your face now as they slipped through the open curtains he probably forgot to close the night prior. You scrunched up your nose, squinting your eyes as you pressed your face further into the pillow. But it was too late now, you were awake and there was no way to fall back asleep. As much as you would love to just cuddle up to Leon and sleep some more. Speaking of, as you peeled your eyes open you saw him, still sleeping peacefully next to you. 

He laid on his stomach, the covers pooled around his waist as his face was buried deep into his pillow. His honey brown hair was tousled from sleep and from your doing the night prior, and loose strands hung over the side of his face. God, he looked absolutely gorgeous. You really should've felt guilty for sleeping with one of your classroom parents. But when you woke up to a sight like that? You regretted nothing. 

You debated on staying in bed with him, at least until he woke up and decided to take you home, but you really needed a bathroom. So you carefully maneuvered your way out of his bed, dressed yourself in the first thing you found— his dress shirt from last night and tip toed out of his bedroom. You felt so weird walking around his house without his permission, but he hadn't exactly given you a tour last night. So you ventured until you found a bathroom. By the time you were done Leon still hadn't left his bedroom so you decided to find his kitchen for a glass of water at least. You looked around on your way to the kitchen. He wasn't much of a decorator. It was definitely the apartment of a single man. But as soon as you walked to the kitchen you saw countless drawings and pictures hanging from the fridge. 

Your heart warmed as you walked to see the drawings up close. There were definitely Izzy's. You smiled to yourself at the photo you saw next to one of the drawings, one of Leon, a few years younger, holding a baby in a hospital blanket. All of the other photos you saw were similar. It was only Leon and Isabella in all of them. Not a single one of Izzy's mom. 

Did she never want to be a part of her life? Was she truly never around? 

"You tried to run away last night, and when I wake up you're gone, too? Was I that bad?" You jumped at the sound of Leon's voice in the kitchen. 

You cursed loudly, holding a hand to your rapidly beating heart as you glared at him, making him laugh. 

"Asshole. I wanted to use the bathroom, and you were still asleep." You shrugged your shoulders, eyeing him carefully. Still no shirt, but he was wearing a pair of plaid pajamas pants now. He had his phone in his hand and was scratching the back of his head, attempting to smooth down his bedhead. 

"You look pretty with my shirt. Looks better on you actually." He hummed as he padded through the kitchen to stand in front of you.

He stood in front of you, watching you intently for a few seconds before he leaned in, pressing his lips against yours. 

You giggled against his lips, happily kissing him. You threw your arms over his shoulders and he rested his hands on your hips. 

"Mmm, you hungry?" He asked, brushing his nose against yours and his lips were curled up into a grin. You nodded, biting your bottom lip. "Me too." 

You gasped when he hoisted you up on the kitchen island. You gripped his shoulders as you watched him with wide eyes. But he said nothing as he nudged your legs open with his knee and stood in between them. 

"What? I said I was hungry." He smirked as he captured your lips with his own one more time before he dropped to his knees in front of you. 

Without taking his eyes off from you, he threw one of your ankles over his shoulder and pressed his lips to the inside of your knee. Slowly, his lips itched closer and closer to your already dripping core. You held your breath with anticipation as he nibbled on your inner thigh. His lips were so close to where you needed him the most. His head got lost between your thighs and your hand instinctively fell on the back of his hair. His breath fanned hot against your clit and—

You jumped, your ass nearly slipping right off the counter, but Leon steadied you with a quick sturdy hand on your thigh. He was also startled by the sound of his phone ringing next to you. He closed his eyes, cursing under his breath. 

You took a deep breath, inhaling sharply as you looked beside you at his phone screen. 

"It says Claire." 

Leon shot up to his feet in a split second when you said that and he was answering the call almost frantically. 

"Hey. What's up? Everything alright?" He said into the phone, still standing between your parted legs. You frowned softly with concern, your hand resting on his chest as he listened to the woman on the line. "Shit, really?" 

He said nothing for a few seconds, just humming and nodding to himself before he pinched the bridge of his nose and breathed out an exasperated sigh. 

"No, you're okay, thanks for calling, Claire. Just give her some cereal, play her a Disney movie or something while I get there." He finally spoke, finally looking at you. And his blue eyes looked apologetic. "Yeah, I'll be there in fifteen. Yeah. See you soon." 

Leon placed his phone on the counter beside you and sighed. You looked up at him, eyes big with worry. 

"It's Izzy. I left her at my friend’s and apparently she woke up fuzzy. She's been crying all morning asking for me, so, gotta go pick her up." He explained, the corner of his lip curving up into an apologetic smile. You exhaled softly, the anxiety leaving your chest. 

You gave him a smile and pressed a kiss to his lips, "I get it. Don't worry. I'll get dressed so you can pick her up. I'm sorry I kept you from picking her up last night." 

"Oh, no sweetheart, don't say that. Last night was incredible. She just gets… Clingy I suppose." He sighed as he helped you down from the counter. 

"You're her only parent. It's normal. I should know." You gave him a smile as you started to head to his bedroom to get your clothes, but he grabbed your wrist, tugging you to his chest before you could. 

"Hey, I still owe you breakfast. Can I take you out again sometime?" 

The smile on your face was so wide you probably wouldn't be able to hide it even if you tried. 

"Yeah, I'll be around." 

[stylesharrys]

private show

summary: you miss harry’s concert but half of it isn’t your fault.

warnings: mentions of anxiety and panic attacks, swearing, kissing, teasing, unprotected shower sex, dirty talk, fingering...

word count: 3,938

a/n: i literally wrote this about four years ago, but it’s all been edited and freshened up a little for you guys! i hope you’re staying safe and if there’s any writings in particular you’d like to see, send me a message! anyway, enjoy this smutty piece:)

//

The car broke down. You weren’t sure how it happened, or why, but the engine wouldn’t start and your dad suspected the battery died.

You’re in London with Harry for a few days, Harry performing and you visiting your family in a small town a few hours out of central London. You’d come by late afternoon yesterday and now you’re stuck.

You’re meant to be going back to London in time for Harry’s show, but with no car and none of your family having one to lend, you’re shit out of luck. You didn’t have the money or time to get the battery recharged or get a new one, and in all honesty, you didn’t know what you needed to do for it anyway.

So, with your little suitcase and your purse, you got yourself a train ticket straight to London. You missed the first train, the bus getting you to the station three minutes late. So you had no choice but to wait in the warmth of the sun for seven minutes until the next one came.

You only stayed on that one for three stops, staring at your phone screen when the rail app told you that you’d need to get off. And you did, sat down for twenty minutes while you waited for the next one that took you straight to Greenwich.

By then it was already 7 pm and you knew you’d most likely miss his entire show at this rate. And then the train showed up and you hopped on it, squeezing between the standing people and you shoved your earphones in, playing an old playlist Harry had made you.

And that’s when you get the text.

iMessage from H💞

Hey. You close, I’m on in an hour x

You sigh and rub your forehead, flicking back to the app on your phone and groaning when you realise you’ll be twenty minutes on that train and then need to get another Bank one for six minutes, then a thirty-minute walk, and then the underground.

iMessage to H💞

Just left for the Greenwich line. Car broke and I don't have time or money on me to get it sorted. Taking the train and it’s insane how many connections you have to make. I don’t know what time I’m gonna be there. Does security know I’m coming in backstage? Xx

You lock your phone with a sigh and turn up the volume of the music, closing your eyes for a moment and trying to calm your nerves and anxieties.

Soon enough, you’re getting off at Greenwich and onto the Bank train. Only when you go past Heron Quay do you realise that you’ve missed your stop and, essentially, gotten yourself lost.

Your panic only grows when Harry stops answering your calls and texts and then you realise it was 8:31 and he’s already on stage, performing, without you supporting him on the side stage.

You try to call Jeffrey, but of course, no answer. Matt, no answer. Mitch, no answer. Jasmine, his opener, no answer. It’ll be useless to call your parents, neither of them know the train lines and can’t come and pick you up anyway because they don’t drive.

You struggle to ask people where to go, most people pushing past you in their own hurry to get to their destinations, and you’re shocked to not see any rail workers anywhere on the platforms to offer assistance.

So, you do what you do best. You panic. You slump down on one of the cold, metal benches with your suitcase by your side and purse in your lap. Tears are quick to prickle at your eyes and the air grows colder, bitter.

If you had just got off at your stop, you would’ve been with the others by now, watching your man perform on stage and become one with the crowd. But, here you are, cold, alone, and lost.

Your little denim jacket is doing nothing to conserve heat and your legs bounce as you try to warm yourself up. Your achingly cold fingers struggle to type up a route you could take and before long, thirty minutes have passed and it’s 9 pm.

And then, the worst possible thing happens. Your phone dies.

You panic even harder now, your chest constricting and you struggle to catch a breath. It isn’t until you see an older man slowly walk the yellow safety lines of the station in a high-vis train rail jacket that you calm just a little.

You shoot up from your seat, hands clammy and shaking as you pull your suitcase with you. “Excuse me!” You call out to the older man, the station much quieter now.

He turns to you with raised brows and a friendly smile, and you’re more than relieved that you’ll be getting some help.

“I’m not from around here and I missed my stop and ended up here.” You explain as calmly as you can, taking deep breaths and swallowing back the lump in your throat.

“Okay. Where are you heading?” The older man asks, sliding his silver-rimmed glasses up the smooth slope of his nose.

“I’m trying to get to the O2 Arena.” Your heart’s stammering in your chest and you explain how your phone had died and you have no way of contacting anyone or getting routes.

The man, Barry, assures you it will be fine. He writes down the trains and stops you need to make and where to go from there, then offers you his battery pack to charge your phone for a few minutes.

You check it when you get on the next train, a message from Jasmine on your screen and the time’s now nearing 9:34 pm.

iMessage from Jasmine X

Hey!! Where are you?? Everything okay? Call me!!

You sigh and quickly begin typing, trying to explain what happened and that you’re on your way, but before you can ever send the text, your phone freezes and cuts off dead.

You take another deep breath, trying to keep calm, and shove your phone into your pocket. Your ears focus on the voice through the speaker, listening closely for your stop and staring at the piece of paper in your hand so you know when to get off.

By the time you reach the O2, it’s 10 pm and you're certain the show’s over. You sprint to the doors, unsure where you’re even meant to go. You don’t have a ticket and Harry has your backstage pass.

“Can I help you, miss?”

The security guards eye you cautiously, somewhat alarmed by your frantic state. To them, you look just like every other fangirl they’ve ever met.

“I’m meant to be meeting Harry’s team backstage. Do you know how I get there?”

You’re breathless, body somewhat numb from the sudden drop in temperature and pure anxiety you’ve suffered over the past two hours.

The man squints at you. “Do you have a pass?” Great.

You sigh. “No, his manager, Jeffrey, has my pass. I’m Harry’s girlfriend. Look, you can go and ask on your walkie talkie. I have ID, but I don’t have my pass.” You try to explain.

He shakes his head, tries to hide the amusement on his face. “Nice try, kid. Go home.” He turns his back, wandering away but you shake your head and follow after him.

“No, I’m being serious! Jeffrey has my backstage pass. My phone is dead so I can’t contact them! Please, just radio it through. I promise you! My name is Y/N Y/L/N, please. He’ll tell you!” You beg, tears pooling in your eyes in panic.

This can’t be happening, how has it even come to this? You’ve been through the works already, and now, you look like nothing more than a desperate fangirl.

“Listen, miss. If you don’t leave right now, we will escort you out ourselves or call the police. It’s your choice.” He all but growls his words, an effort to scare you off.

Your shoulders slump and tears spill from your eyes, anxiety consuming you. “This isn’t happening,” you whisper to yourself, breathing unevenly and your knees buckle slightly.

You can’t even go back to the hotel as you don’t know where you’re all staying, seeing as you stayed with your parents last night. You’re done for.

You’re about to turn away, search for someone with a charger maybe, when a ruckus of cheering and talking catches your ears and the doors to the arena open. Hundreds of people flood out of the doors, eager to get themselves home and you wonder how you’re going to get to Harry.

“Oh my God! It’s Y/N!” Is all it takes for everyone to spot you and scream, hurtling toward you and calling your name.

You grab the security guard's arm and frantically beg for his attention. “Now do you believe me!? Please!” You cry out, but he continues to look at you sceptically as the other security members calm down the fans.

You try to talk to the fans, to have them prove that you were Harry’s girlfriend. And even though they agree and show security pictures and proof, they refuse to let you back because you don’t have a pass.

“Here, use my phone to call someone!” An older woman from behind security offers you her phone, her daughter (you presume) staring up at you with big doe eyes.

You smile and take the mobile, punching in Harry’s number that you’ve had memorised for moments like this. You ignore the security guard that continues to ask you to leave and when the ringing stops and a ruckus on the other end is heard, you let out a sigh of relief.

“Hello?” Harry answers, sceptical from the other end.

“Harry! Oh thank God, it’s Y/N.” You sigh out in relief, the fans screaming when they hear you on the phone with him.

“Babe, what the fuck is going on? I’ve been trying to call you! Where are you?” His words are laced together in panic and you can hear him shushing his team.

You sigh. “I’ll explain later but I’m with your fans outside the doors and security won’t let me through to you because Jeffrey still has my pass.” You explain, pinching the bridge of your nose.

Harry tells you to sit tight and that he’ll fix it, tells you he loves you and ends the call. You sigh in relief and quickly delete the number from the call log, handing the phone back to the woman and thanking her profusely.

You feel awful, really. It’s bad enough that you missed Harry’s show, but now you’re holding up all of his fans from going home because security is keeping them away from you and not letting you through the doors.

You speak to a few of his fans while you wait, asking how they found the show and answering some of their questions about Harry when another scream is heard and Jeffrey wanders out toward you with a security guard.

“Y/N!” He calls out, speaking with the other security for a second before showing them your pass and explaining you are who you said you are.

You say goodbye to the fans, dragging your suitcase over to Jeffrey and he pulls you in for a hug, shrugging off his jacket and handing it to you. You thank him and wave goodbye, following him through a hallway and you disappear.

“What the hell happened?” Jeffrey asks in concern, brows furrowed and you sigh while explaining about your car, the trains, and your phone. Jeffrey listens closely and throws his arm over your shoulder as you walk, pulling your suitcase along.

Security leads you through another corridor and another, opening doors and scanning his ID on certain parts to gain access. A few minutes of walking and a burst of soft laughter can be heard, your heart skipping a beat.

Jeffrey's hand rests against your back as he leads you through a room and another curtain, and there Harry stands; pacing back and forth and biting at his nails. The sound of the door opening catches his attention and he spins around to you.

“Honey...” he whispers, pacing toward you and scooping you into his arms. You sigh and wrap your arms around his neck, crying softly into his shoulder. Harry cradles the back of your head, gently cooing you and whispering reassuring words into your ear.

“You’re okay, baby.” He whispers, kissing your temple and you pull away sniffling, wiping your eyes and taking a deep breath. Harry cups your clammy cheeks in his hands and leans down a little. You lift onto your tiptoes and kiss his lips softly, not even a little bothered by the taste of sweat on his lips.

You sigh into the kiss, eyes fluttering closed and a cheeky wolf whistle from behind him catches your attention. You pull away and peer over his shoulder, blushing at the sight of his entire team grinning at you both and Lloyd facing his camera at you.

//

You’re curled into Harry’s side as you wander down the hall to find his room. His arm is around your shoulder, yours behind his waist as he pulls your little suitcase along.

His skin is still sticky with sweat and his clothes stained with a salty scent, but somehow, he still smells like vanilla and his stupid cologne. “I can’t believe you had to do all that,” he murmurs out after having listened to your travels of the day.

You hum back and yawn, pulling away from his side when he reaches into his pocket for his key-card. You both stand outside the room before he unlocks the door and he drags you in behind him.

You flop straight onto the bed, the sheets still a mess and Harry’s suitcase sprawled out over it. He sighs and kicks off his boots, wiggling his toes and standing between your legs.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” he says softly, head tilted as he watches you sit back up and take his hand in yours. “You wanna join?” he wiggles his brows playfully and you let out a tired laugh, nodding your head nonetheless.

“You go ahead, I’m gonna put my phone on charge and clear the bed.” You tell him, earning a little nod and a forehead kiss before he’s taking off to the bathroom, turning on the water.

You stand from the bed with a sigh and plug Harry’s charger into your phone while kicking your own shoes off. Your feet were no doubt blistered and you knew it’d be a pain to walk for the next few days.

Looking back at the bed, you sigh. Harry had always been messy when it came to getting ready for events. But you weren’t sure why, considering he had a stylist so Harry never had to find something to wear for his shows.

Nevertheless, you shake your head and begin to refold his clothing, setting it neatly in his suitcase. You brush the creases out of the sheets and fluff up the pillows before making your way to your bag to pull out your toiletries and one of Harry’s shirts you’ll sleep in.

You take them with you to the bathroom, soft melodies slipping past Harry’s lips as he washes the night away. You smile to yourself, the mirror and windows fogged by the heat of the shower that you’re eager to climb into.

You strip from your outfit and open the shower door, Harry turning to look at you with a little mohawk he’d styled with the shampoo. You snort out a laugh and shake your head, standing in front of him so the water falls down on you.

“Well, hello there,” Harry grins cheekily, eyeing your breasts as your nipples pearl. You blush and lean your head back, soothing the water through your hair but Harry can’t keep his eyes off your chest, not when it’s right there.

“Stop staring.” Your eyes are closed as you massage the shampoo into your scalp, but you already know he’s drooling at the sight of you. He always did have a thing for your chest, even if you argued they’re not your best asset.

Harry whines and nibbles on his plump bottom lip. “But, baby, they’re like begging me to love on them.” He argues, paw-like hands holding your waist as his thumbs gently caress the bottom of your breasts.

You snort out another laugh at his reasoning and wash the shampoo away, slathering on some conditioner and turning you both around so he’s now under the water. You guide him to sit on the little seat beneath the shower and adjust the head so the water can reach him.

Harry’s face is now completely level with your chest as you wash the shampoo from his hair. He whines at you with a little pout and you gently massage his scalp with your fingertips.

“I know this usually makes me really sleepy, but with your tits in my face, it's really fucking turning me on.” He rasps out, voice low and suggestive and you have to fight back a little whine of your own.

“You’re such a boy.” You breathe, slathering his luscious locks in your conditioner and leaning down just enough to kiss his swollen lips.

It was only intended to be a peck, but Harry wraps his arms around your middle and pulls you between his legs, lifting your thighs so you straddle his lap.

Your fingers slide through his curls, breathing heavily and you moan softly against his lips. His hands smooth over the curves of your ass, kneading the flesh with little force and you pull away to catch your breath.

“I’m proud of you.” You whisper against his lips, your core bumping the head of his cock and he strains out a laugh.

“You’re proud of me? Babe, you got lost on your own, almost got kicked out of the arena, and you didn’t have a panic attack once. Shit, I’m the proud one here.” Harry argues with a little smile.

You purse your lips to hide your smile and kiss his lips softly again. He kisses you back for a moment before pulling away and squeezing your ass.

“But seriously, I’ve had a raging boner ever since you sent me that naughty pic last night, and I am dying to get lost in that puss-” You cut him off with a heated kiss, sucking his tongue into your mouth as your own massaged it.

Harry groans and lifts you both, your legs around his waist as his heavy cock bumps your ass. Your back presses against the shower wall, Harry’s lips chasing the water that drips down your neck.

You tug on his hair, eager to feel him inside you and you know he’ll be giving you what you both want in a matter of seconds. He holds you up with one arm and uses his free hand to grip his cock, pumping himself before he swirls his tip around your entrance.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” Harry whines out, teasing himself against you and you huff, tugging on his hair and sucking his bottom lip into your mouth.

“I feel better once you’re in me,” you remind him, a taunting smirk on your lips, but it’s quick to fade when Harry thrusts his hips into yours, his thick cock stretching you out and you shriek in pleasure.

“Shit, H.” You moan, head thrown back as he slides in and out of you at a delicious pace. The running water is long forgotten, the sound of skin slapping and your arousal squelching being the only sounds you can focus on.

Harry pants in your ear, small grunts sounding through the bathroom as you whine and moan for him. He grabs your ass and spreads your cheeks, knuckles white as he grips you harder.

“So good, baby.” He moans into your ear, nibbling on your earlobe and your eyes roll back.

You can feel him deep in your stomach, feel him throb between your walls and you’re certain you’re about to explode any second. You grip his shoulders, circling your hips on his dick the best you can.

Harry rests his forehead against yours, his eyes focusing on the way his glistening cock slips in and out of your swollen pussy with such ease. “Such a good girl for me.” Harry praises, your pussy clenching around his cock and he chokes out a moan.

“Only for you. O-only good for y-you,” he grins against your lips and picks up his pace, hitting your G-spot with every soul-shattering thrust.

Harry feels you begin to spasm, can feel your body losing its strength and he cups your face with his hands, forcing you to look at him -- your noses bumping while he does so.

“Look at me, baby. Wanna watch you as you cum all over my cock.” He gently coaxes, pinching your nipple with his other hand and your eyes almost bulge out of their sockets.

“I’m gonna cum,” you cry out, eyes wide and jaw slack. Harry watches you with hooded eyes, jade clouded with lust and with one final thrust, he pushes you over the edge, watching the way your eyes roll to the back of your head and body falls limp.

The choked cry of his name is all it takes for him to paint your walls with his pleasure, a rugged groan slipping past his lips as he cries out your name, collapsing slightly into you and trapping you completely against the wall.

“Holy shit,” you breathe out, head falling back against the tiles on the wall and Harry gently eases out of you, slowly kissing every inch of your face before his lips meet yours in a tender encounter.

“I love you so much,” he breathes against your lips, easing your legs back to the ground and keeping his arms around your waist.

“I love you, too. And hey, I might’ve missed your main show but fuck me, this private show was just as good.” You joke, an angelic laugh sounding through Harry’s throat as he kisses you again.

His arms ease to rest on your ass, soothing over the tender skin he had been gripping. “Let me clean you up,” he mumbles, giving your bum a little tap before he pulls you back under the water.

Harry washes both of you, peppering your skin with gentle kisses before you’re both completely clean and drying off, brushing your teeth side by side. Harry throws on a pair of sweats while you steal a pair of his boxers and his shirt.

Sliding into bed, he curles up behind you, spooning your back and kissing your shoulder. “I’m sorry about missing your show and being so stupid that I got on the wrong trains and stuff.” You huff out.

Harry shakes his head and kisses your shoulder again. “Don’t be. None of it is your fault. Jeffrey should’ve given you that backstage pass yesterday. I’m sorry you had to go through all that on your own, but I’m so fucking proud of you, honey.”

You smile to yourself and hold his hand close to your chest, wiggling back so you’re snug against his chest. “I’m so happy I fell in love with you,” you whisper into the darkness, eyes fluttering closed.

Harry smiles into your hair, pulling you impossibly closer to his chest as he kisses the crook of your neck. “I’m happy I fell in love with you, too.”

//

if you enjoyed it, please give it a reblog! your feedback and comments are appreciated more than you’ll ever know — i’d love to hear what you thought <;3

[natailiatulls07]

You're gonna leave me, aren't you?

Max Verstappen x female!reader

Summary - They were bestfriends then lovers but in end they were strangers left with the memories of what was

Warnings - mention of his father, mention of Jules Bianchi’s death, bad google translate, breaking up, sad ending kind of??

-

2015

Max met her in secondary school, his life was crazy. Between juggling school, his fathers harsh parenting and formula three, he met Y/n. They became bestfriends almost immediately.

Y/n was like a breath of fresh air in his chaotic lifestyle. Always patient and understood if he couldn't hang out. It did help that she knew what Max was getting himself into, her father would watch formula one and he was a big fan of the sport.

When Max got signed to Toro Rosso in 2015, Y/n was the first one he told. He remembers the phone call oh so well.

-

After a couple of rings, Max heard her through his phone. She sounded tired but would always have a cheery aura to her even through the phone.

"Max are you alright?" It was then when Max realised that Australia, where he was for the grand prix, was six hours ahead of the Netherlands. This meant that it was currently four am for Y/n.

"Yeah sorry, I just realised what time it is for you..." He tooking a sharp breath, debating whether he should let Y/n sleep and tell her later. "I have news, it's very exciting!"

Max heard her shuffle in bed. "Oh yeah, go on"

"You better be clearing you schedule because I'm going to be in formula one!!" Y/n's audible gasp was heard through the phone. "Formula one zonneschijn!"

Of course since it was the middle of the night, Y/n kept her celebration quiet. So in hushed whispers she replied. “No way! Max that’s amazing”

Max could of sworn he heard her voice break. Was she crying? “I’m so proud of you Maxy!”

-

Max swears that day was the day he fell in love with her. They were only 17 and 16, mere teenagers. But his whole perspective of her changed.

Sadly Y/n couldn’t make his formula debut but he knew that she was watching on from home. She was studying, trying to get through college and through to university.

Of course the two kept close, face times and messages became important to them as Max was travelling his way around the planet.

Soon enough Max caught up the courage to ask her out over summer break. He took her to their favourite restaurant. And whilst on the date, he then asked her to be his girlfriend to which she nodded excitedly with a big smile on her face.

Everyone was happy for the new couple, admittedly upset they didn’t see much of the two together because of their privacy and schedules.

-

2016

It was in 2016 when Max started driving for Redbull racing that he also started to drift from Y/n. He didn’t want to and it wasn’t a choice he made easily.

Of course growing up, Max saw what happens in motorsport. He knew it was dangerous and always life threatening.

Max was in the paddock when he watched Jules Bianchi crash in 2014. He knew how it effected Jules’ close family and friends, Max was friends with Charles who struggled.

He remembers being told that Jules died after Jules was in a coma for nine months.

And Max didn’t want that weight on Y/n if something were to happen. He didn’t want the press to crowd her and he didn’t want to give her that much grief.

So he drifted, as much as he hated it, he drifted away from. This of course drew red flags for Y/n.

Before they would text non stop every day but now Max barely replied. Before they would spend almost all his free time together, binge watching their favourite shows or eating at their favourite restaurant or even just napping together.

But now Max would intentionally fill his time with work, much like his father once did. He remembers looking in the mirror and just seeing his father, that scared him but it didn’t stop him.

-

Y/n had managed to get ahold of Max, she called him asking if he could meet her at their favourite restaurant. Unlike her usual cheery tone, she sounded deflated.

Pulling up to the restaurant, he saw her through the window sat at their table. And as he walked in, he didn’t receive his usual warm hug from her so he just sat down opposite. Looking at her as if he didn’t know what was going on.

“Hey what’s up?” Max asked the girl opposite him. He was scared of her, she wasn’t Y/n.

“Um…how do I say this?” Her soft voice came out still as deflated as before. What Y/n said next hit, the new formula one driver hard. “You’re gonna leave me…aren’t you?”

It was as if everything around Max had stopped. Only then did he realise what he did to her. Max thought that this was the best option, drifting away, but instead what he had done was make her feel unloved and feel like the relationship was one sided. “No. No of course not zonneschijn!”

He was quick to protest but was quick shushed when Y/n started to shake her head. “Max…please don’t, don’t try to tell me different because you are…you’re gonna leave, it’s okay”

Collecting her stuff, Y/n started to leave. Max couldn’t do anything, he knew what he’d done and he knew he could come back from that. “I love you Max…always have and always will” Y/n whispered before turning her back to him and leaving.

Max watched her walk out of the restaurant and walk home, he felt ashamed and regretful that he lost the best thing he’ll ever have. But he promised to keep her in his heart until the day that he would die.

-

2023

It was over seven years since Max last saw her but he never let her out of his heart and mind. He had just won his third world championship and Sky Sports had pulled him over to have a quick interview.

“Hi Max! Well done on your third world championship, how are you feeling?” The sky sport journalist asks whilst Max is handed his mic.

“Yeah I feel so grateful that I am able to achieve this for the third time” Max smiles politely, not the biggest fan of post race/sprint interviews but pr insist.

“Is there anyone who you feel like you owe this to? Any family? I know that your father is very supportive of your career”

“Um yeah…” He takes a pause, and then his mind goes back to his sunshine, Y/n. “I think I’ll have to thank an old friend…she knows who she is, I hope she knows that I appreciate and love her more and more everyday” Looking into the camera, Maxs heart tells him that she is there watching from home supporting him.

He also knew that everyone knew who he was talking about, they always did.

-

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗥𝗘𝗠𝗘𝗗𝗜𝗘𝗦 charles leclerc x wife! reader (fluff) “. . . feeling the pressure from this season's finale, charles turns to you.”

( general master list | more of charles leclerc ) ( requests | taglist )

"I want to hear you play on the violin?" "You want to hear me play my violin?"

"Yes." "But I've been practicing on the piano. Don't you want to hear what artistry I have come fourth with." You giggled, a melody sent from the heavens during this frustrating time.

"Chérie, have mercy on my heart." [darling] To say that Charles was anxious was an understanding. The Abu Dhabi Grand Prix. Where Charles can either lose the race, or become world champion. Very stressful, since the race was in an hour and his wife wasn't there to hug him and brush his curls like he liked.

"Mon Dieu, relax." [my god] You chuckled as you sat the phone on speaker, getting situated at you and Charles' ( mostly charles' ) grand piano. Charles muttered a small prayer as you laughed at him, staring at the keys.

And as you hit the first note, Charles closed his eyes gulping. "Un, deux, trois, quatre. Cinq, six, sept, huit." [one, two, three, four. five, six, seven, eight.] "Neuf, dis-moi, où es-tu ce soir?" [nine, tell me, where are you tonight?] Your voice rang through his head as he relaxed, sinking into his chair, adjusting his headphones.

"Quatre, trois, deux, un. Zéro, puis toi. Tu ne viens jamais plus me voir." [four, three, two one. zero, then you. you never come to see me again.] No wonder you chose this song, the music coming from the piano was minimal ( which was good cause you didn't want to mess up and make Charles fuss over the mistakes, ditch the race to fly over and correct you ).

"Un, duex, trios, sept. Vois-je par la tête? Mes draps sont nus quand t'es pas là." [one, two, three, seven. can I see through my head? my sheets are bare when you're not around.] But he was grateful none the less. He found your voice to be his cure. The world outside his headphones blurring and fading out as he basked to your remedy.

"Quinze, vingt, puis cent. Sans le dire tout haut. T'as quand même retiré tes bras." [without saying it out loud. you still took your arms away.] And when it came time to race, and he had ended the call with you so you can watch the race and he get ready. Your voice was still there, singing for his soul.

"Et moi, je bois. Je dors, je fane. Comme les tulipes du jardin." [and me, I drink I sleep, I fade. like the tulips in the garden.] Your voice was still there when he went to his designated spot the starting line, p2. With Verstappen on pole, he would be stressed or frustrated. But he was odly calm. He already knew the outcome of the race.

"Je veux t'avoir. Tout contre moi. Comme une jolie robe de satin." [i want to have you. all against me. like a pretty satin dress.] A blessing you were. Because for the first time, Charles had won the Driver's Champion chip. And he wouldn't thank anyone else but you for that.

A night full of celebration for Ferrari.

A night for Charles, you, and his unborn son to remember.

"You could be a singer." He teased, greeting you at the door with a smile and a warm hug. No celebration or alcohol anyone offers him can beat the happiness he feels when dancing with you out in the balcony.

[liminalmemories21]

still looking for prompts Lim? How about ‘I missed you’ 👀

Andrew is six weeks old when he goes back to work. It's physically painful to leave the house that morning, and the stream of text messages and pictures that TK sends him throughout the day make it both bearable and unbearable to be at work and not at home with them.

But when he finally gets out of work that evening he finds himself turning left instead of right towards the loft. He isn't really conscious of what he's doing or where he's going until he turns into the entrance the cemetery where his father is buried.

There's a cherry tree that was planted the year after his father died and he's watched it grow year by year as he comes to visit on birthdays and anniversarys. It's taller than he is now, and in a few weeks it will bloom and drop a fragrant blanket across his father's grave. But it's still only barely in bud now, and the ground is chilly and damp when he sits down.

He pulls a few stray bits of mown grass off the grave stone, letting his fingers linger and trace his father's name. He knows his mother comes every week, spends 30 minutes or an hour catching his father up on the family gossip and news about Carlos and his sisters. Ana comes with her sometimes, and Luisa comes every time she's in town. He's never gotten comfortable being here though, always feels awkward talking to his father's grave.

He glances around, but he's the only person here in the almost dusk. "I don't know if Mom told you, but we adopted a baby." He laughs to himself. "Of course Mom told you. Mom has told everyone." He leans in a little like he's whispering a secret. "Mom is cashing in on every baby shower she's ever been to. We aren't going to need to buy Andrew a piece of clothing until he's three."

He leans back, taking a beat. "He's beautiful, Dad. He's beautiful and perfect and I love him so much, more than I ever thought was possible." He brushes a damp leaf off the edge of the grave stone, studying his father's name - Gabriel Xavier Reyes, beloved husband and father. "It took a long time for me to admit to myself that I wanted to be a father, longer to believe that maybe I could be good at it. TK's always believed in me, but it took me longer to get there."

He smiles. "TK is so good with him. I always knew he would be, but he's so much more than I could ever have imagined. Even when he hasn't slept in two days and we don't have any clean clothes left in the house the way he looks at Andrew is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

He wonders if he'd ever have been able to say something like that to his father if he was still alive, if with another decade of time together they'd have found a way to talk to each other like this, or if it's only possible because one of them isn't really here anymore.

"I miss you," he says, and it isn't as hard to say now as it used to be, doesn't feel as bitter, as freighted with lost chances. "I wish you were here to teach me how to make Andrew feel safe after a nightmare, teach me what days I should play hooky from work to take him out for ice cream. I wish you were here so we could talk about how not to have that change, how not to forget those moments."

His phone dings with a message and he glances at it. It's a picture of Andrew, eyes screwed shut in concentration as he drinks his bottle. He only feels a little foolish when he holds it up to show his father. "I need to get home. TK's been alone all day." Pauses and then says without shame, "And I miss Andrew, it's been ten hours and I swear he looks like he's grown." He pushes himself up and stops to brush his hand against the top of the gravestone. "When he's a little older and the weather's warmer I'll bring him to meet you. I think you're going to really like him."

He texts TK just before he gets in the car. / on my way home / . . . / had to stop to talk to someone /

[wandas-luvr]

you know just how to be cruel

pairing: leigh shaw x fem!reader

summary: leigh comes over in the middle of the night to ask you a favor.

warnings: 18+ minors dni! soft(ish)dom!leigh (she is still her regular amount of mean), idk probably mommy kink undertones because that's how i live now, fingering (r receiving), oral (r receiving), praise, criminal amounts of teasing, leigh being a rude, condescending bitch but she makes it up to you, leigh being unrightfully possessive (but it's okay bc it's hot), mediocre aftercare bc leigh

-

you look at the clock on your phone as you hear a loud, repetitive knock at your door. you ignore it, deciding no good could come from suspicious knocking at 3:45 am on a thursday, sighing and turning over, getting sucked back into whatever trashy reality tv show was coming on.

then your phone buzzes. once. twice. three times in the span of a minute. before you even get the chance to pick it up to see who it is, you receive a call. you look at the caller id suspiciously: leigh shaw. you click to answer immediately, having heard the news about her husband just recently, wondering if she was calling after missing your condolences call when you were told.

before you could even get a word out you here her voice on the other end of the line. short and clipped, no room to argue or joke with her.

"i'm outside, let me in, it's cold out."

you get up and walk to the door, eyebrows furrowed, wondering why on earth leigh shaw would show up to your door at this hour, especially after what had happened with matt. upon opening you see leigh, clearly upset, but not appearing to be sad. the only thing you can see in her eyes is anger.

"leigh, what are you..?" you cut yourself off, not wanting to upset her more or make her feel unwelcome, "are you okay?"

she scoffs at you, rolling her eyes and walking straight past you into your home.

"don't do that, you know better."

you sigh, clearly, this would not be a very pleasant night.

"you're right, i'm sorry. i'll ask again, but if you get pissed, remember you're the one who told me to say it. what the fuck are you doing here?"

"better. lose the tone next time though, it's not cute on you. i need you to do me a favor."

you chuckle slightly, trying to lighten the mood or at least diffuse the tension the elephant in the room has been creating since she stepped into your apartment.

"awfully big talk for someone who is very rudely asking me for a favor."

"my husband died a month ago, i don't have to ask your permission to be bitter. and last time i checked, you weren't in charge of me."

you knew exactly what she was talking about. before she had met matt, she asked you to experiment with her, leading you through a series of heartbreaks and letdowns until you couldn't face it anymore and left her. throughout the six months the two of you were "together" she took you on a totally of five dates, showing up late to three of them. you had begun to feel like all she used you for was sex, and you simply couldn't bear it anymore. not when you were aching for her to love you the way she told you she did.

you look away, biting your lip, taking a deep breath to collect yourself. you didn't want to set her off, and she clearly wasn't in the right place to hear that she wasn't in charge of you either.

she walks towards you slowly, lifting your chin to encourage you to look up into her eyes, tucking a stray hair behind your ear.

"you know what i'm here for, baby." she smiled, sickeningly sweet, with a condescending scrunch of her eyebrows and nod of her head. "the question is: are you gonna give it to me? hm?"

you freeze, you feel your chest constricting and can hear yourself swallow thickly, as you consider. ethically, you know it's wrong. you know it will only crush you and give leigh the quick distraction shes looking for, nothing more, but you can't help it. everything about her makes you lightheaded and weak in the knees, and you knew she'd take care of you, she always had been so generous.

"leigh...i don't think-"

"shh, baby, that's why it's perfect. you don't need to think with me, remember?" she looks into your eyes, looking for any signs of true unwillingness, before pressing the softest of kisses just behind your ear. you can feel her smile against your skin as your breath hitches, or course she remembered.

"love..?" she trails off, waiting for some sign of a response from you, settling for a simple look into her eyes. "are you gonna let me fuck you? make you feel good just like i used to?"

you bite your lip, nodding, mumbling a quiet "please.."

you watch the grin spread across her face, she knew she had you the moment you opened the door.

"see! i knew you'd remember how much you missed me!" she pushes you back toward your couch, leading you to sit on the arm as she stands between your legs, wrapping you up in a deep, heated kiss. "hmmm, that's my girl."

you almost retort, going to tell her she has no right to call you that, when, as if she could sense it, she tugged on your hair, clearly a preventative warning to watch your mouth.

as a reward for your obedience, you feel her lips start to move downward, drifting to your cheek, then your jaw, down to your neck, clearly leaving bruises in her wake.

she chuckles against your skin, hot breath tickling your neck, when you instinctively tip your head to give her more room. smiling at the way she'd created a pattern of muscle memory in you that would never fade no matter how many years passed.

you feel her hands untangle from your hair and drop to your thighs, before she pulls back to look at you: flushed and breathless before she'd even started with you. she gently rubs her thumbs in place, causing you to squirm towards her, barely stifling an embarrassing whine. you internally cringe as you can see the gears turning in her head, watching her piece together your reactions, before she gasps softly, clearly having figured you out.

"awww, sweetheart, it's been a while hasn't it? no one's touched you in so long, i bet you're just soaked," her hands drift towards your pajamas shorts, her fingers pulling the flimsy material aside to get a pick at your panties. "oh, honey, look at you. you made such a mess for me! oh, i bet you're just aching, aren't you?"

you nod, canting your hips up as you feel her fingertips barely ghosting along the gusset of your panties. she shoots you a look, cowing you immediately, your pleasure had always been on her terms.

she smiles, before clearly growing impatient herself, pulling your panties to the side and lightly running two fingers between your folds. a shiver wracks your body as she gasps at your wetness, playing with it between her fingers cockily. something about her soft smirk would never fail to make you clench around nothing.

you feel her fingers run up your slit as slow as human possible, until they finally reach your clit, your head tipping back and mouth opening the minute her fingers so much as graze it.

"awww," she exclaims through a chuckle, "god, you really were aching for it. that's it, pretty girl, you just shut your eyes and enjoy it. no thinking, just let it feel good, yeah?"

you nod, moaning softly, as her fingers start to circle your clit, just the way she knew you liked. your nails digging into the arm of the sofa underneath you as leigh played you like a fiddle, muttering dirty phrases under her breath endlessly.

"fuck, you look so good. does that feel nice, baby? oh, i bet it does, sweet girl! yeah, you're welcome, honey, i know this is what you needed."

as you pant and moan underneath her leigh decides she's bored of this, wordlessly bending down to her knees in front of you, fingers drifting downward as well to circle your entrance. laughing when she feels how you try to suck her fingers in as you clench around nothing.

"leigh, please, i need you..." you moan out without thinking, desperate to get her to finally fuck you, "i need you so bad, leigh...please? i'll be good."

"hmm, good girl, begging and i haven't even asked you to yet. just fucking perfect for me." she mutters under her breath as she sinks her fingers into you, blowing softly on your clit to watch your hips jump. "there you go, take it for me, baby. you can do it, come on, be a good girl and just take what i give you."

you moan loudly, grip on the sofa tightening as your nails dig into the fabric. legs subconsciously spreading wider for her of their own accord, every movement of your body fine tuned to her liking.

"that's it, baby, tell me how good it feels. i like to hear that i'm doing a good job." she jokes, winking at you when you fake playfully at her before shutting you up with her mouth on your clit.

your eyes squeeze shut, moaning as she sucks your clit into her mouth, alternating with the pace of her fingers sliding in and out of you expertly. she grins against you, knowing she's winding you up in exactly the right way, touching all the right spots and saying all the right things to make you want her that much more.

she speeds up her pace, apparently intent on having you ruin the upholstery on your couch, smirking when she feels the telltale clench of your walls around her fingers.

"shhh, baby, you have to quiet down, okay? we wouldn't want you to wake up the neighbors, right?" she smiles condescendingly before doubling her efforts, intentionally making you louder for her just to watch you flush at the thought and try to quiet back down before repeating the cycle.

within minutes, she has you cumming on her fingers and her tongue, gripping her hair as she insists on cleaning you up just to hear you whine under her as she teases your sensitive clit.

"leigh, i-"

"shhh, baby, she don't have to talk about it. all we need to know is that it made me feel better, and it definitely made you feel better." she grins, pulling you against her and kissing your head softly, allowing you to lay against her as you catch your breath.

[agirlwithdemonblood]

The Broken Fan - Chapter 1

Pairings: Jensen Ackles & Reader (Read as first person!)

Series Summary: Always a nobody, always invisible, will this convention change things?

Chapter Summary: Growing up was never easy for me, but finally I may have found some light in my very dark world.

Warnings: Mentions of death, parents death, mentions of abuse, homelessness, anxiety, ect

Series Masterlist here! Main masterlist here!

Do you ever feel like if you disappeared today, nobody would notice? The world wouldn't stop, your disappearance wouldn't be plastered on milk cartons or across news channels, nobody would even know or care. That was my life. Nobody knew me, or cared for me. Nobody noticed me, not really. I was a ghost, an invisible presence left alone, all alone.

My parents died when I was a baby, I was too young to remember who they were or what happened really. I know what my Aunt told me, they wanted a night to themselves, so she babysat me. Around 4 in the morning she received a phone call saying that they passed away, asleep in their beds when the fire took their lives.

I don't even remember having parents, I have photographs of us together, but their faces are unknown to me. I didn't know them, I didn't get the chance.

After the fire, I stayed with my Aunt. Things were weird there. She'd look at me with such heartbreak and disgust and I had no idea why. I was just a kid, what did I do?

But I must have done something wrong, because when I turned 6 she told me she couldn't take care of me anymore, and the next morning two kind people packed me in their car and drove me away. I never saw my Aunt again.

My first foster home was alright, I was happy for a little bit. There were a lot of kids in the house, various ages, both sexes. I didn't like the kids too much. They were loud and annoying, and hyper. They always wanted to play stupid games like hide and seek, or tag. I didn't want to play dumb games, I wanted something real. I wanted to connect, to have somebody next to me.

And eventually, I did.

Henry, my foster dad, was always there for me. He actually cared about me, noticed me, heard me. He would spend hours at night reading me fairy tales until I fell asleep, and during the day he'd teach me things like how to ride a bike or read.

I had an actual connection with him, he was the closest thing to a father I ever had, and I loved him more than anybody. I thought I finally had somebody permeant in my life, but I was wrong.

My foster mom Sandy didn't like me. She hated the fact that her husband had his attention on me, and she thought it was strange for a six year old to bond with an older man rather than the children all around me. She said it wasn't healthy.

So he was taken away from me. After many tears shed and heartbreaking hugs, I said goodbye to the only person who's ever seen me for me, and moved to a new foster home.

The new home was horrible. The parents weren't friendly, and I was the only child in their care. I was forced to follow their schedule which consisted of three boring things, every day.

Cleaning, school, homework, food, bed. No reading fairy tales, no riding my bike, no playing with toys.

I hated it there. I felt so alone, so invisible. So I left. I ran away thinking I'd be better off somewhere else. But as a 7 year old girl, I didn't get very far and as soon as I returned, things got bad.

At first, it was the belt. My foster dad would smack my arms hard, than my legs, sometimes my face if I was a bad enough kid. If I cried or continued to disobey, the belt was replaced with his palms. This happened for years, non stop torture.

I didn't stop trying to run away, every few months I'd take off, praying that nobody would find me, they'd leave me alone but everytime I was brought back and beaten worse.

Finally, the parent's gave up on me and I went to another home. But I was so angry, so filled with anxiety and rage that I drove away anybody who could possibly care for me.

By the time I was 18, I had been in 13 Foster homes. My last one wasn't too bad, but I didn't talk, I barely ate, I didn't connect. I didn't want another Henry situation. I didn't want to care about others because I knew they'd leave me.

And I was right.

On my 18th Birthday, my present was a knock at my door from my parents telling me I've aged out and I need to leave. I received a check to get me started, a bag of food, and a cell phone, than I was left alone.

The money wasn't much, definetly not enough to get an apartment so I decided to get a car instead. I ended up using all my money to buy a crappy little Honda Civic and I've called it my home ever since.

Sleeping in my car wasn't half bad, I had my own space, I didn't need to listen to anybody or share it with anybody, it was all mine.

One night I parked beside a motel that had free Wifi, and I was bored so I decided to find something to watch, I never really watched TV or movies, but tonight I wanted to.

The first show I found was something called Supernatural, and for some reason I felt a connection, like something was telling me to watch it.

God, am I happy that I did.

The show felt like home, it gave me something to look forward to, something to provide me comfort on the hardest of days. I felt connected, like I knew the characters and I was living their life.

And one of the characters, Dean.. He awoke something inside of me that I never knew was there. He made me feel like I wasn't crazy, that life was hard but I needed to keep going.

The more I watched, the more I started to feel like I belonged somewhere. The show pulled me out of the darkness slowly, convincing me that life was better if I was here to live it. It gave me hope. It allowed me to breathe again.

Today is my 25th birthday, and I was celebrating like I always did, drinking beer in my car and listening to music while mindlessly scrolling through a page for Supernatural fans.

I froze when I glanced about an article about Supernatural's newest convention, which happened to be a few hours from where I lived. Normally, I wouldn't think twice about going, people like me don't go to shows or events like this, but I needed this. I really needed it.

I checked my bank account and nearly leaped with joy when I realized I had enough for a ticket, living in my car finally payed off.

Without hesitation, I bought a ticket for the convention and for the first time, I felt excited. I felt hope beaming inside of me. I could finally be surrounded with people with similar interests, and feel normal for once. Hopefully.

The next morning, I walked into the office building I worked at, and made my boss Brad a coffee, like he always expected. Knocking on his door, I took a deep breath before entering, walking towards his marble desk and placing the coffee on the table.

He nodded before taking the cup in his hand and sipping it, like he always did. His eyes flickered up towards me when he noticed I haven't left yet.

"Do you need something?" He asked.

I swallowed hard and stepped closer to the desk, "I just wanted to ask you something if you had a moment."

He nodded for me to go on and I shook off the anxiety nearly suffocating me. Confidence, I need to have confidence.

"I was wondering if I could take a week off starting Friday evening, there's somewhere I need to go out of town."

He stared back at me, the silence was suffocating, the tension high. He shook his head and looked back down to the papers scattered across his desk.

"No, sorry that won't work."

It felt like a punch to my gut, I haven't taken one day off, I constantly worked overtime, I did everything and anything for this ass, and I can't take some time off?

I swallowed down the nerves and sat in the chair in front of his desk, noting the way he stared at me confused. "Sir, all due respect I have been working non stop for the past 7 months and I have never asked for a day off, I've never taken a sick day and I always have my work done, all I need is-"

Before I could finish my sentence, his hand was raised, eyes locked on mine. "I said no Y/N, is that all?"

I could feel tears welling in my eyes as I stood from my spot, making my way towards the door. Anger was bubbling through my system and I felt like I couldn't breath.

I turned quickly and sighed, "Actually, there's one more thing."

He scoffed and looked up towards me, awaiting my response. I swallowed hard and frowned, "I am not going to be back tomorrow, I quit."

His mouth dropped open and he stared back in shock, but I didn't stay long to hear whatever response he was going to throw at me. I rushed as fast as I could out of the building back to my car. I slammed the door as the tears rushed down my face.

What did I do? Why did I quit my job for a convention? What the hell was so special about this damn show.

I finally let go of all the feelings I was holding onto, bursting into sobs of pain and frustration. Life was harsh and unforgiving, every moment of hope was washed away.

The only thing I had left was the convention, and even than I was clearly going to be the outcast, the weird girl who looks like she's never showered or slept a day in her life.

Maybe it would be okay. Maybe things would be different here, the fans seem nice enough online, why wouldn't they be in person?

And if Dean Winchester was still inside Jensen, I knew he wouldn't look at me like I was garbage, if he ever even noticed me.

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! Chapter 2 coming soon stay tuned!

Like, comment, and reblog, feedback is my fuel 💕

[jjkeverlast]

true love | N° 1

➵ genre our beloved summer au, exes to lovers, romantic comedy

➵ summary in which you're face to face with your ex again after 5 years, because both of your friends start dating each other.

➵ word count 2.1 k

➵ warnings swearing, taehyung being a literal asshole.

a/n: if anyone wants to be added to further taglists. contact me!

index | next

‘’This will be all, thank you.’’ Your boss raises from his seat, the rest of your colleagues as well. It was your last meeting for the day. You had been bombarded with one meeting after the other, wanting nothing more than to jump into your sweats and cuddle with your cat Samba. Now your thighs were really begging to be set free from your pencil skirt. 

Leading yourself back to your little office, just in time your phone buzzes on your table. You’re surprised to see Yeon-su calling you. Regardless, you still pick up the first thing being heard is a loud shriek coming from her. You pull the phone away from your ear, eyes squinting from discomfort. 

‘’Y/N? Hello?’’ You place the phone back next to your ear, Yeon-su calling your name over six times in the span of not even thirty seconds. 

‘’I– I’m here. What’s got you in a good mood?’’ You ask while grabbing your jacket and bag to finally go home. 

‘’Well… you remember the guy I went on a Tinder date with three weeks ago?’’ You hum in approval, smiling to your colleagues as you walk out of the building. 

‘’We’re dating! Officially!’’ 

‘’No way! Congrats, you deserve it.’’ She goes back to shrieking and you’re eternally grateful that you’re not wearing headphones right now – your ears would probably bleed at this point. 

‘’I actually called for 2 reasons!’’ This makes you stop in your tracks. 

‘’The second one being?’’ 

‘’A double date!’’ You bite back a groan of annoyance, this was the last thing you wanted to attend. A date, with a stranger and a couple who hasn’t even reached the honeymoon phase yet. It sounds very common to hell, huh. 

‘’This is really not a great time, I’m super exhausted by work.’’ 

‘’Oh.’’ Her tone drops over twenty octaves and it makes you feel bad in an instant. You let out a sigh, preparing for the last sentence you’d have yourself say today – actually more in the twenty six years of living. 

‘’Actually…’’ Oh god here it comes, just say it Y/N, ‘’I’d love to.’’ 

‘’Oh! How exciting! We decided on bowling, is two hours from now okay with you?’’ 

‘’Yep, perfect!’’ Fuck this is absolute hell. You pull through with a smile until Yeon-su and you say your goodbyes. Your smile immediately drops as you click the end call button. 

It was chaotic, the whole running home, taking a shower and finding a decent outfit for a double date. You took a mental note to never let Yeon-su’s sad tone get to you again. 

The bowling center which they picked was packed. Mostly by families with children screaming in their ears. It was a chaotic place for a double date but you weren’t the one to judge, so instead you put on your ‘this is hell but smile for the cameras’ smile and walked over to the pair. Yeon-su is quick to catch onto you, waving excitedly. You push past the crowd of parents and finally sit down in front of the couple. When you finally catch a decent glimpse of Yeon-su’s boyfriend, you begin to understand her loud shrieks from earlier because this man is truly attractive. 

‘’Hi, I’m Jimin.’’ He greets politely and you greet back. ‘’My friend is late, but we can just start without him.’’ Jimin reasons and you notice Yeon-su wiggling her eyebrows when Jimin’s friend or more precisely, your date is mentioned. You quickly excuse yourself to use the restroom – for other reasons than what most people do when they say they go to the toilet. 

Shutting the bathroom stall behind you, you don’t waste another minute going on your phone and looking up ‘decent excuses to ditch a date’. 

‘’Why the fuck are these reasons such bullshit?’’ You mutter to yourself, seeing the only reasons being, ‘oh my cat died’ or ‘my grandma fell down the stairs’. This website was indeed shitty. You lock your phone, praying internally that your date is indeed cute. When you walk out, you catch a third person chatting with Jimin and Yeon-su. His back is turned towards your direction, but his outfit screams that he is good looking. 

‘’Hi, I’m Y/N!’’ You greet from behind, the stranger turning and – no. It can’t be. 

‘’Y/N, this is my friend Taehyung.’’ Jimin decides to take the word as Taehyung just stands awkwardly, his smile formed to a thin line. You are dreaming. Y/N, this is just a stupid illusion, your ex is not at all standing in front of you. If you poked his cheek he would probably vanish. So, you did exactly that. Bringing your finger up and poking Taehyung in the cheek, not once nor twice but about enough times for him to grab onto your wrist with an offended reaction. 

‘’Huh. You’re real.’’ If you turned your head you would see two very confused expressions from Yeon-su and Jimin. Because who in their right mind pokes their ex after not seeing them for five years? You, apparently. When you finally realize that this is indeed Kim Taehyung you freeze. He’s actually here, standing in front of you, holding your wrist. 

Jimin coughs, making the both of you turn, ‘’do you two… know each other?’’ You’re about to let your guard down and explain just how well you and Taehyung know each other, but he decides to cut in first. 

‘’We– we do! Y/N and I go waaay back, right?’’ His arm lands around your shoulders, you can’t help but awkwardly chuckle not knowing what to say or do. It helps a bit when Jimin and Yeon-su quickly believe that you and Taehyung were former high school buddies. His arm is still wrapped around you and you want nothing more than to punch him in the nuts. ‘’Actually, Taehyung and I will be right back!’’ Jimin and Yeon-su nod in sync before you drag Taehyung as far away from them. When they’re finally out of sight, you push Taehyung off, slapping him hard on the chest. 

‘’Y/N, I’m real. Stop hitting me.’’ You drop your hand, looking down at your feet, not wanting to be met with the eyes you’d fallen in love with. ‘’Why did you lie?’’ He had no reason to, it’s rude to lie and especially to your friend Yeon-su, whom you actually never mentioned Taehyung to. There are plenty of reasons behind it, some you wouldn’t want to go into detail with. 

‘’You’re gonna have to look at me, if you want an answer.’’ This motherfucker. 

‘’Look at this instead.’’ You shove the middle finger in his face, your eyes still fixated on the dirty carpet. 

Taehyung laughs, ‘’real classic Y/N.’’ You retreat your hand and finally look up, being met with a prominent smirk on Taehyung’s face. ‘’Now answer my question.’’ 

‘’I don’t want to make this hard for Jimin,’’ he looks back before continuing, ‘’it’s been hard for him to date anyone so if he knows that you and I are exes, he would stop seeing Yeon-su. He cares too much about his friends' opinions. So can we please not tell them?’’ 

It clicked for you how happy they were together, Yeon-su’s smile didn’t disappear once you arrived and you don’t want to become a reason for them to split so fast. They deserve to be happy. 

You let out a sigh, ‘’fine, but only because they don’t deserve this.’’ You reason at last, Taehyung just thanks you and you both decide to walk back to the couple. 

After a few rounds of bowling, Yeon-su butts in with a comment, ‘’can’t believe you’ve known each other since high school! That’s a long time.’’ You smile awkwardly, your mind tracing back to the high school days but you stop yourself. Now is not the time to think back to when you and Taehyung just started dating. 

‘’We have! Good times, right Y/N?’’ He hits his thigh against your own, begging for you to respond. You fakely smile, turning to look at Taehyung, slapping your hand against his back. 

‘’Such,’’ another slap is received, ‘’good’’, and another, ‘’times.’’ Taehyung is biting back a groan out of pain and mostly annoyance. Of course you had to be bitter about this, he broke up with you – with no explanation. Yeon-su is too captured by Jimin’s good looks to even notice the tint of annoyance behind your response. Of all the lies Taehyung could pick, he had to choose high school? 

‘’I’m surprised, Taehyung never mentioned you.’’ Jimin cuts in and you immediately feel a sting in your heart over his words. Taehyung and Jimin seemed to be very close, so exes must’ve slipped in a conversation at some point… But apparently not. 

‘’We weren’t that close.’’ You catch a glance at Taehyung’s jaw clenching at your words. You smirk in victory, knowing you hit him right where you wanted to. 

The double date ends on a somewhat positive note. Jimin and Yeon-su won over you and Taehyung – no surprise. You and Taehyung were mostly focused on not trying to break your silly little ‘buddies’ act around the oblivious pair. It created a strained atmosphere between you and you wanted nothing more than to go home and scream in a pillow. 

‘’Well, we’re going this way.’’ You all stop at a stop sign, Yeon-su wrapped under Jimin’s embrace and Taehyung standing awkwardly next to you. 

‘’Okay, have fun.’’ You smile at them before they turn around, leaving you stranded with Kim Taehyung. 

‘’Can’t believe we were once like that.’’ You notice Jimin turning Yeon-su’s head with his arm around her shoulders to peck her lips. 

‘’Too far.’’ You start walking, fuming inside over how chill Taehyung was being over this. You hadn’t seen each other for five years and this man decides to crack a few jokes, how lovely! 

You don’t get too far before Taehyung grabs your wrist. ‘’I was joking.’’ 

‘’I think I missed out on the funny part about it.’’ You swiftly swing your arm, making him retrieve his firm grasp on your wrist. 

‘’You’re so dense.’’ That makes you turn, wanting nothing more than to land a hard slap on Taehyung’s cheek. But you stop yourself. 

‘’Fuck you.’’ 

‘’Done that.’’ 

You roll your eyes grunting, ‘’I’m out, don’t you dare follow me.’’ It’s not a warning, it’s a threat. Taehyung knows. So it’s a surprise for you when you hear footsteps as you’ve walked away from him. 

‘’Taehyung.’’ 

‘’I just don’t want any creeps to hit on you.’’ He sounds… sincere. Funny how he suddenly cares about you. Looking up you see a dark alley, too dark for a woman. 

‘’Fine. You can take me home.’’ He struts up to you, a smile on his face. You’re angrily pouting, not wanting to be bothered and here you are, being walked home by your ex. 

It doesn’t take long for you to arrive in front of your apartment complex. Taehyung still follows you as you begin the stairs to your front door. You’re annoyed, he's doing the complete opposite of what you agreed to. He always had a tendency to be overly kind, not that your puppy love ass minded, but that was back then. 

‘’This is more than okay. Thank you.’’ You hold your hands up, making a stop for Taehyung as if he’s a five year old child. ‘’Sure.’’ He stays put when you turn to unlock your door, Samba walking out to greet you. ‘’Hi pretty.’’ You kneel down, caressing her warm fur before she walks over to Taehyung, mewing and leans her head on his leg. She remembers him. 

‘’Samba, I missed you.’’ He kneels as well, his fingers running through her black fur, her purring in response. You wished deep down you didn’t enjoy the sight of Taehyung caressing the cat you once shared. She must’ve missed him like crazy. ‘’She looks great.’’ Taehyung comments, smiling in your direction. 

‘’Thank you.’’ 

‘’Well, I should get going,’’ Taehyung removes his hands from Samba, squatting back up from his previous position, ‘’good night.’’ With a good night in return, Taehyung disappears from your sight. 

As you enter your apartment, you let out a deep awaited sigh. Samba looks up at you, ‘’I know Samba, I’m just as speechless as you.’’ 

Monday, you’re back on track with work. Spinning around your chair, trying your best not to think back of Taehyung and the way his hair looked so soft and – Y/N, seriously, now is not the time. You finally take notice that you have a meeting in five minutes. You remove yourself from your office chair and walk towards the meeting room. Greeting a few colleagues before you sit down next to Jules. 

‘’I heard we’re having a visitor.’’ Jules whispers and you turn to confusion. Before you can ask further, your boss walks in with– you have got to be kidding me. 

‘’Everyone, I’d love for you to meet Kim Taehyung, this firms new CEO.’’ Well, fuck me I guess?

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© jjkeverlast 2022 [do not copy, translate or repost any of my works]

[sawtastic-sideblog]

I have a request!

Specs x GN!reader. Both are Elise's apprentices. They're in the van, returning from a ghost hunt. There's a kind of romantic/erotic/sexual tension between them. And... if there can be smut in the van, I'd love it!

Have a good day <3

Thanks for the request! Sorry it took so long.

I hate to disappoint you anon, but I don't feel comfortable writing smut. I do hope I did your request justice.

I love bold Specs. Yes, he's an bumbling, awkward fool, but he can be confident sometimes.

Very self conscious about the use of the word "and" in this fic.

Hope y'all enjoy!

"I get to drive Elise's car!" Specs and Tucker yell at the same time. You and Elise laugh as Specs holds out his fist. Tucker holds his out and one, two, three, he holds out scissors.

"Dammit. Best two out of three," Specs says. One, two, three. Specs holds out rock and Tucker holds out paper. "Three of five?"

"Nope, you're driving the van," Tucker says proudly, holding his hand out to Elise. She places the keys in his hand and turns to you.

"Why don't you ride with Steven and give him some company?"

"I was going to offer, if Specs is okay with it okay with it."

Specs looks up from where he was packing the van at the mention of his name.

"What?"

"Would it be okay if I ride in the van with you?"

"Yeah, great, but I pick the music."

"Fine by me. I have headphones," you laugh. Specs nods and goes back to packing the van.

"Is this my exit?" Specs asks as he squints at the sign in the rain. What was supposed to be a smooth ride has turned into a rough one. You two were following Tucker and Elise when you got pulled over for a tail light being out, you couldn't find your chargers to charge your phones, you asked Elise and they were in her car, it started raining so hard you couldn't see, and your phones had died. Not to mention, Specs is doing all the driving because you don't have a license. He's tired and cranky, he's trying not to show it, but you can tell.

"I don't know. I can't read it."

"I'll take it anyway. We can find a motel and stop for the night. Maybe they'll have a charger for one of our phones," Specs says as he takes the exit ramp. You stare out the window, looking for anything to tell you where you are.

"Look, there to the right. There's a motel."

"Thank god," he mutters as he slows the van. He parks and unbuckled himself. "Stay here. No point in you getting wet too. Well, before we go to our room," Specs says. You chuckle. He looks confused for a second, then realizes. "Oh my God! No, not like that. You know what I mean!"

"I know what you mean, Specs. Just go get our room before I piss myself," you say, still laughing. You watch as he awkwardly runs towards the office.

He smiles out the door at you and motions for you to follow him. You grab your bags and keys, lock the van, and run towards the door Specs is standing at.

"You didn't have to get my bag," Specs says, opening the door for you.

"Yeah, well, I did anyway so you wouldn't have to run back in the rain. Did they have a charger?"

"No, we'll have to find one tomorrow. It's another six hour drive."

"Oh fun," you say, putting your bags down on the bed. "Only one?"

"I asked for two, I swear!" Specs panics.

"It's okay, I'll take the couch."

"No, I will."

"No, Specs, you paid for the room, you should have the bed."

"Y/N, take the bed."

"No, you."

"No, yo-"

"We can share," you say out of frustration. "We're both adults. We know boundaries are a thing. We'll be fine."

Specs nods slowly, unblinking as he processes the information. "Okay."

"Okay. I'm going to shower. Unless you wanna share that too?" You joke, raising your eyebrows as you carry your clothes to the doorway. He shakes his head.

"I'm good. Thanks though."

You walk into the bathroom and turn on the water. You undress and just as you're about to step under the water, the door swings open.

"Hey, Y/N, do you want-

"Specs, what the hell?" You shriek, grabbing a towel to cover yourself. "Get out!"

"I was going to ask if you wanted-"

"Out!"

"Pizza," he says as you slam the door behind him.

"Yeah, extra cheese," you say, your face burning in embarrassment. You shower quickly, but stand under the water, thinking about what just happened, until you hear Specs announce the pizza's arrival.

You turn off the water and wrap yourself in a towel. You take your time dressing and decide to let your hair air dry.

"(Y/N), I am so sorry!" Specs exclaims as you step out of the bathroom.

"Don't worry about it," you shrug casually as you grab a slice of pizza. You notice Specs watching you eat. "Take a picture. It'll last longer."

"Sorry, I um, I'm sorry."

You laugh inwardly and turn on the TV. It only picks up the local channels, so you just flip through until you find Wheel of Fortune.

You're not sure how long you dozed off for, when you hear the shower running. You hear quiet mumbling coming from the bathroom.

"Specs?" You call out. You get out of bed and shuffle towards the door. When you hear him quietly singing the Ghostbusters theme tune, you crawl back under the covers and close your eyes. You don't fall asleep, but you think about the case and how the family will recover. You're glad to have been part of the team that helped them.

Your thoughts drift to Specs. How concentrated he gets when he listens to Elise and writes everything down. The scrunch of his nose, the furrow of his brows, the intensity of his gaze on the paper. You wish he'd look at you like that again.

You have had a crush on Specs for as long as you could remember. The awkwardness of his introduction caught your attention. The way he stumbled over his words, said the wrong thing and tried to correct himself, only to make it worse. Elise had wanted you to work with Specs and Tucker for a while, but you had alway worked alone. Until a particularly bad case caused you to call Elise for help.

You saw the big van with "Spectral Sightings" on the side of it and immediately thought 'knock off Scooby-Doo Gang.' You met Tucker first. The behemoth of a man, eating a snickers bar, seemed nice enough under the intimidating exterior, but it was his shorter friend that caught your eye.

He had a small frame, hair that was neat, but still stuck out in random places, and big square glasses. He almost looked like a child wearing his dad's work clothes in the white button up shirt and loose black tie. It was cute. He was cute. He still is cute.

During the session, you watched Specs intently, seeing what this man could do. When he looked up from his notebook, his eyes were fierce and hard. His eyes shifted to you and you immediately lost your breath. Frozen in place, you could only stare back, feeling weak at the knees. It made you feel as if you were the only person in the world. It hasn't happened since, but you think about it all the time.

'That look,' you think, laughing to yourself, 'is my Roman Empire.'

You're pulled from your thoughts as the bed dips behind you. You turn to see Specs taking his glasses off and placing them on the nightstand. His hair is still damp and the strands cling to his forehead. His eyes meet yours.

"You're still awake."

"Not for long. Goodnight, Specs," you say, yawning as you snuggle into your pillow.

"Night, (Y/N)."

The smell of coffee pulls you from your sleep. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the sunlight. Your eyes immediately find Specs at the table, headphones on, hands pressing them against his head as if he's trying to hear it better. His eyes scanning the laptop screen.

You stretch as you walk over to the table. You find a breakfast burrito and a cup of coffee in front of the chair beside Specs.

"Morning," he says as he takes off his headphones.

"Morning. You got breakfast?"

"Yeah, there's a gas station right down the road. I walked over this morning. The guys there told me about a good breakfast place. So, I walked over and got stuff. It's really good. They didn't have any chargers for my phone, so I got one for yours. It's charging now."

"Thanks, Specs. You're so thoughtful," you smile at him and he smiles back, his eyes not leaving yours until you look away.

A couple of hours later, the two of you are on the road again. Specs is quietly singing along to the radio as you edit some footage for the next episode of Spectral Sightings.

"Hey, (Y/N)."

"Hi, Specs."

"I wanted to talk about last night."

"What about it?" You ask looking up from the laptop.

"I'm sorry I walked in on you. I wasn't thinking. Well, actually I was thinking you were behind the curtain and I could just stick my head in, but then my mind went blank. I'm sorry I made you uncomfortable."

"I wasn't uncomfortable. You just startled me. I'm sorry I made you uncomfortable and scarred you for life."

"I wasn't uncomfortable either. Just startled, I guess. But, I'm also not scarred. You have a beautiful body. You should feel ashamed of it."

"Thanks," you say as your cheeks heat up. He just complimented your body and didn't stutter doing it. He's either evolving ot he likes you. You can't decide.

He gives you a smile as he stares into your eyes. You don't look away, getting lost in his green eyes. You feel yourself wanting to lean closer, but the seatbelt prevents it.

A horn from behind you brings you both back to reality. Specs jumps and looks forward to see the light has turned green.

You continue to stare at Specs. You admire his jawline, the bit of scruff on said jawline, the way his eyes flit about, taking in his surroundings on the road.

"Hey, Specs."

"Hi, (Y/N)."

"You're pretty," you say before you can stop yourself. His eyes widen and he glances your direction. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that. But you are. Pretty, I mean. A very handsome man. Oh, Jesus, what am I even saying?"

Specs' looks of surprise fades to one of amusement. He chuckles quietly before saying, "I think you're pretty, too, (Y/N). So very, incredibly pretty. Drop dead gorgeous."

You don't know what to say. You mutter a quick 'thanks' and go back to your editing.

About an hour later you two decide to stop for lunch. You spot a park with a walking trail across the road from the diner you're at.

"Let's go for a walk after lunch. We're going to be stuck in the van for a while, plus, it's a beautiful day," you say, looking out the window.

"That's a good idea."

After lunch, you two make your way across the stret. You follow the trail into the woods, taking in the beauty of the trees, flowers, clouds, bird songs, and everything else. You walk side by side, talking about the latest case. About how you're both glad to have helped the family. Suddenly Specs stops.

"You okay?" You ask. He doesn't answer, pointing towards something and holding a finger to his lips. You turn and see five deer standing still. You cover your mouth to stifle your gasp of amazement.

"Give me your phone," Specs whispers. You do and he starts taking pictures. Birds fly out of the trees above and the deer run into the trees.

"How beautiful," you say, looking over to Specs, who is looking at you.

"I agree. Beautiful."

"Deer are so majestic."

Specs nods and steps closer, holding your phone out. You take it and start looking at the pictures. You notice that Specs is closer. You look up as he is reaching out to you. His fingers brush against your hair, lightly trailing to the place right above your ear. He pulls his hand back with a leaf between his fingers. His eyes find yours and only then do you realize how close he actually is. Only inches between the two of you.

"You, uh, had a leaf in your hair."

"I can see that," you say, eyes not leaving his. His eyes flit down to your lips for a second before looking back to your eyes. Something splatters on Specs' shoulder. You both look to it.

"Oh, shit."

"Yeah, that's what it is," you giggle.

"I'm going back to the van to change. You can take your time."

"I'll come back with you. Elise wants us back as soon as possible. She's been texting me. Tucker too."

"Okay. All over my Star Wars shirt. I got this at a Con. I met Mark Hamill. He signed my original edition poster."

"I once ran into Carrie Fisher and Debbie Renyolds when I was a kid. As a fan of Star Wars and musicals. I was in heaven."

"What musical was Carrie Fisher in?"

"I don't know if she ever was in one, but Debbie Renyolds was in Singin' in the Rain. I loved that movie growing up."

"Oh, of course, I knew that."

"It should only take us about two and a half more hours to get home," you say, looking at the GPS. Specs unlocks the van and you hop in.

"I only have the button up and I don't want to wear that. I'm going to go find a shirt. Want a souvenir?"

"Yeah, sure, get me something cool," you say, not looking up from the laptop you just opened. You edit as you wait on Specs to come back. When he does, he crawls into the back of the van. In the reflection on the screen you can see him shed his shirt, careful to avoid the bird poop. He throws on a white shirt that has a cartoon cow and pig holding up boxing glove covered hands. Hooves? Either way their front appendages have boxing gloves on the end of them. He gets in the front seat and hands you the same shirt, but in black.

"I think it's the big game for the local high school," he says.

"I love it. I'm going to change into mine," you say as you place the laptop in your seat and you crawl into the back. You pull your shirt over your head. From the cover of your eye, you notice Specs staring at you in the mirror. He's been bold today, so you decide you should be too. You smile cheekily as yu walk up behind his seat, making sure you hide you body behind it. You lean down and get close to his ear. You whisper, "Like what you see, Specs?"

He doesn't say anything. You make eye contact in the mirror. His eyes hold a mixture of fear, embarrassment, and what looks to be amusement.

"Do you?"

Specs nods and you smile. You lean forward and kiss his cheek before throwing the shirt over your head, grabbing the laptop, and ploping down into your seat.

"What the hell, (Y/N)?"

"What? I saw you looking at me and asked if you liked the view. You did, didn't you?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, cool, drive. Elise wants us home."

Silently, Specs starts the van and pullsput of his parking space.

"I just need you and Tuck to do your talking bit and this episode should be ready to go up," you say about half and hour away from home.

"Thanks. We can probably do that tonight."

"Cool."

"Or tomorrow. I'm tired."

"Fair enough. Ugh, I just realized that I have to get a ride back home tonight. Eh, I'll just ask Elsie to crash on her couch," you say, closing the laptop.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Do you like me?"

"I mean, yeah. We're frien-"

"No, (Y/N). That's not what I mean. Do you like me as more than a friend? Romantically?" He asks, looking at you while at a red light. You nod and he smile softly. "Good. I like you too."

"I'm sorry I teased you."

"Don't be. It was kinda hot. Oh, also, you snore."

"I do not."

"I shared a bed with you last night. You're clingy, you talk, and you snore."

"I do not talk. Or snore. And what the hell do you mean by clingy?"

"You cuddle is what I mean. But, yes, you do talk. If I remember right you said 'just look at me, Specs' and I would love to know the meaning behind that."

"No."

"I'll find out."

"No, you won't."

"I'll ask the further."

"What the spirits will tell you what I mean?"

"They may."

"I hate you."

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do."

Specs laughs as he pulls up at Elise's house. You crawl into the back to help pass the equipment out. A hand grabs your wrist and you're being pulled into a body. You're nose to nose with Specs.

"Since we like each other, can I kiss you?" Specs asks as he runs a hand through your hair. You nod and he crashes his lips into yours.

Inside the house, Tucker sees the van.

"Elise, they're back."

"Oh, thank goodness."

The two head outside and Tucker opens the back door to find two of his best friends making out.

"What the hell?" He asks. The pair jump apart.

"Oh, hey, guys," you say as your cheeks flame.

"Hi," Specs says proudly as his cheeks also go red.

"It's about time," Elise says, grabbing a bag. Tucker shakes his head as he grabs equipment cases and following Elsie to the garage.

"Wanna share my bed tonight?" Specs asks.

"That sounds like a good idea."

[carpehistoryandthepens]

Legacy (what is a legacy?) Part 7

It’s planting seeds in a garden you never get to see I wrote some notes at the beginning of a song someone will sing for me

Hamilton, the world was wide enough. LMM.

one, two, three, four, Five, six

Summary: Mike is 13. Born May 2009. Sid didn’t know he had a son. All Mike had was hope and a prayer for his and his half-sister’s safety.

(Sid is a dad of a teen he didn’t know about AU) Sidgeno.

Warnings: (for the total story) post-child abuse (all off-screen but it affects things and is spoken about often), learning how to parent, panic attacks, anxiety, based on last season, OCs?, realization about sexuality. Post breakups. Desperate lack of in-depth research for CPS in both PA/CA, melodrama?, kidfic, angst, slowburn, playing fast and loose with the law for drama/storytelling purposes.

-

Zhenya watched Nikita sleep for a long while after Zhenya finished reading his bedtime story to him. His little bobcat, Zhenya thought fondly, was such a good sleeper. 

Zhenya was reluctant to leave. Today was difficult and scary, and sometimes, a man just needed to ensure his child was safe from the world. 

Before moving to Pittsburgh full-time just last month, Nikita was six and had protested he was 'getting too old for bedtime stories.' But now, with the move and the new school, Nikita had asked for them again. Zhenya would never say no to his son. Not for this. 

Zhenya had taken every opportunity to read to him since Nikita wanted to listen, keenly aware of how much of Nikita's life he would miss. Anna hadn't protested when he kept up the habit after the move – even though she would be out of Nikita's life more often than Zhneya was now. If reading to Nikita gave him more time to ensure that Nikita was safe, then that was an added bonus. 

It probably helped that Nikita loved Facetimeing Anna when he felt like it and would do so ad nauseam if left alone with a phone that could Facetime. He never called Zhenya like that.

(He and Anna had asked once a few summers ago, and both were worried that Nikita was afraid of Zhenya since he was always gone. Instead, what had happened was something so much better. Anna had said within Nikita's earshot that she preferred to Facetime. Nikita took that seriously, so he always called her because Mama liked it. They both died of the cuteness, to be honest. Very little was done in the Malkin-Kastrovia household that day.) 

Zhenya looked down at the soccer book in his hands. A flash of guilt and pain ran through him; he hoped he was a good father, but this new interest - a sport they all liked to watch. Not one Zhenya had ever played. He didn't know, not really, now to support his son with his new interests. 

The one sports-related thing Zhenya insisted on to Anna was that Nikita knew how to skate. Now that Nikita has learned how to skate, Zhenya had to confront the fact he really wanted his son to follow in his footsteps. 

Nikita might not. 

Zhenya carefully closed the book and put it on Nikita's beside shelf. If hockey was Nikita's passion, so be it. If it wasn't, Zhenya would do his best to support his son – even if he didn't know how. 

On a Zoom call, Anna talked to an agent in the dining room. Zhenya could hear her talking. So he had a few more moments before leaving his son's room. She was working on getting a job here in the States, probably modeling in the short term, but she was also trying to find or start something in broadcasting, her real passion. 

Zhenya felt guilty about having her leave what she loved to do just to be with him in America. However, the last time he had expressed that feeling, Anna had smacked his shoulder and told him off for a good half an hour, saying it was her choice in the end and if they were going to work together, they would have to realize that a lot of the options taken were taken together even if it was an individual decision. 

As confusing as that statement was, Zhenya understood. He had made choices independently but made them with her and their family in mind. 

Nikita sighed in his sleep. 

Zhenya put the book away and made sure to tuck Nikita in with his current favorite stuffed animal. Some of the stress over the last few weeks was still on Nikita's face when he was awake, but now he was calm and unbothered. 

Zhenya hoped that the move would stop stressing his son out soon. 

There was a buzz from his phone in his pocket, an incoming phone call. Zhenya's ringer had been off since Nikita was trying to sleep. But Zhenya stood and checked it, ensuring the light wasn't bothering Nikita's sleep. 

It was Sid. 

It was late enough that the younger kids would mostly be in bed, but on a typical game day, they would not be done with the game or at least off the ice. Not an average time for them to call each other. 

But then again, today wasn't a typical day. 

Today, Sid was a father. And Sid wasn't going to know how to do that. 

When Zhenya stepped out of Nikita's room and shut the door behind him, he answered the phone in Russian. "Sid, Late to be calling. Everything okay?" 

"Yeah," Sid's exhausted voice answered in English. They had long gone past greetings in their phone conversations during the season. They saw each other far too often to bother. "So far, everything is fine." 

Sometimes, Sid spoke in English and Zhenya in Russian. Both were too tired to translate and respond but fine to understand. 

Zhenya tutted. "Not if you call. What's up?" 

There was a long pause. "Geno… I'm like a father to them, right?" 

"Yes, Sid, you father now," Zhenya said in English. He frowned at the possibility that Sid might not be this kid's dad. It was clear with how much they looked alike that Sid was one-half of this kid's genetic makeup.

"Everyone told me that I would be a good one." Sid took a deep breath, "But I'm terrified I won't be." 

Zhenya nearly laughed. Sid would be an excellent father when he got a handle on things. "Are kids fed?" 

"Yes?" Sid said, unsure. 

"Are they asleep?" Zhenya asked. "Are then unharmed since they came into your care?" 

"Yes?" Sid said, even more unsure. 

"Then they are fine for tonight, Sid." 

There was a long pause. Then Sid laughed at himself a little. "I guess I'm panicking, eh?"

"Yes, Sid. New father panic. I got mine during finals. Get yours the first night. Now it's over, and can move on now." Zhenya said. "Tell me what happened."

"Oh well," Sid hummed over the phone. "When we left the rink, after the DNA test, we went home. OR well, my house. My home – I don't know if Mike or Marisol would consider it home. Yet. Or at all. But –"

"Sidney," Zhenya said, interrupting him. It wasn't often that Sid rambled, but he did it to teammates when he was nervous. Zhenya had to cut him off. "What happened after home?" 

Sid was quiet for a long moment. "… They were quiet. I think they were overwhelmed. But, to be honest, Geno, so I am." 

Zhenya nodded, even though Sid wouldn't see him. "Parenthood is sometimes." 

"I don't know what to do next, and Mike, my probable son, keeps looking at me like he wants me to know what to do." Sid took a deep, ragged breath. "I want to know too." 

Sid is captain, Zhenya realized. Sid was used to being in control and being able to help rookies with their problems. And right now, he wasn't used to not knowing what to do. 

The thing is, Sid was good with kids, and even though this whole situation wasn't an event he planned on happening, he would be good with them again. 

Once he stopped panicking, Zhenya thought ruefully. 

"I mean, I'm proud that Mike could make it this far. But they need so much." Sid said. Over the speakers on the phone, Sid's pacing was loud; he was a pacer when he was worried. "Helena came over after they crashed." 

"Oh?" 

"Yeah. She's pretty pleased with the house and how the kids were comfortable enough to fall asleep. But she's concerned about our schedule still." 

Zhenya hummed. "I'll ask Anna for the nanny's numbers. She would know." 

Sid's grateful huff of laughter wasn't faked in any way. "It's a good thing my agent is flying out. He won't believe me without seeing them. Him. Michael." He broke off and sighed. "It's all rather hard to believe, but Geno. He's mine. I know it." 

Zhenya agreed. There was no way Michael wasn't Sid's son. He's got the same brave will of steel and brown eyes as Sid.

"Apparently, I need to think about schools." 

"Yes. Yes. Kids always need schools." Zhenya agreed, wandering down to the bedroom he now called his own rather than theirs. Anna had chosen one closer to Nikita's bedroom than another of the guest's rooms near the master bedroom.

"Helena suggested I might want to homeschool them with a tutor rather than send them to school for now," Sid said. "But I don't know." 

"Sid! You don't make decisions all in one night. Some things take time." Zhenya admonished. Sid liked to know everything upfront, but this situation differed from what anyone could figure out in a night. 

That got Sid to laugh, self-deprecatingly. "Oh, you know I'm bad at patience." He said, tone fond rather than worried. "I'll trust you on this. You're the father here." 

"Yes. Yes. seven years pro to you one day." Zhenya said. "I have experience." 

Zhenya got Sid talking a little longer, gradually letting the tension wind out of Sid's voice. By the end of the conversation, Sid was no longer panicking, and all Zhenya could feel was the warm happiness of helping Sid. 

The moment he hung up, Anna scared the shit out of him. "Was that Sid?" she asked in Russian from behind him. She was leaning on the doorframe with her arms crossed, smirking slightly, looking haughty and dangerous. 

Zhenya had loved that look once. Now, all he is fond of is a friend. "Because that is your Sid smile." She finished with a smug look. 

Zhenya sputtered back in Russian, words making more sense in his head than English ever could. "How did you know…" he trailed off before realizing he would never get an answer. "I don't have a Sid smile!" 

"Yes, you do!" Anna said teasingly. "Anyway, how is he? With the changes?" Zhenya had briefly explained the situation when he got home from camp that afternoon. Anna had made sympathetic noises but no ideas. Yet. She always had a plan; just sometimes, it took her a while. 

"Overwhelmed. As can be expected, to be honest." Zhenya said. He crossed over to the bed. He wasn't sure how to explain it all. 

"He went from not having children to having two. That's a lot to happen." Anna said, shrugging, uncrossing her arms, and moving more into the room. 

"Yeah." Zhenya agreed lamely; he stared at the wall for a moment. It was a lot to happen. 

"What does he need right now?" She asked, perching on the corner of the bed. "Babysitters? Food recommendations?" 

Zhenya thought about it. "Probably a nanny. Or an au pair. Someone who won't mind the long hours. But I have no idea what his plans for road trips are." 

"Too soon to make decisions anyway." But Anna hummed. "I'll ask the Lady Pens if they have any idea." 

Zhenya smiled at her in gratefulness, knowing that while she isn't too active with the Lady Pens, she has kept tabs on them. However, she always felt a little nervous with her English and never really connected to other women in the Pens WAG group. 

Then something occurred to him. "Are you planning on telling the Lady Pens? About us?" Zhenya hadn't told many people yet. 

Anna blinked; a frown of irritation crossed her features. "I thought you already told the organization." She said shortly.

She always hated how much his personal life was considered public to the Pens organization. It was something they had long argued over. 

Zhenya sighed, sitting on the bed. He forgot how much she hated that and hoped this would not lead to a fight. "Not yet. I've only told Sidney and Tanger," he said honestly. He hoped that would be enough. "I wasn't sure whom you wanted to know." 

She took a moment to consider that, still frowning but no longer gearing up for a fight. "Of course. The core always knows." She said that Sid and Tanger weren't some of the reasons he could calm down and sign with the Penguins over the summer. "But no one else?" 

"You never liked it," Zhenya said simply. "So, I didn't say." 

Of course, he didn't ask either. And by the face she pulled, Anna wasn't happy that Zhenya just assumed. Again. 

Zhenya felt a flash of guilt and did his best not to lash out at her in response to the feeling. One of their main arguments was how much they assumed of and for each other. He didn't want an argument tonight, but they might have one if he stuck his foot in his mouth. Zhenya was trying hard to maintain a good friendship and partnership with her. He had to stop making these mistakes. 

Anna visibly took a calming breath and re-studied herself. Not trying to provoke him as much as he was trying not to with her. "Thank you for taking my wants into consideration. Now that I have the option," She said meaningfully, "I don't want to tell the Penguins yet. I'm unsure about our next steps, but I don't want to close any options until later." 

Zhenya nodded; he was right not to tell the front office. He was also correct as to why. He let the victorious feeling run through him before reminding himself that just because he was right didn't mean it wasn't the proper thing to do. He should have asked first. 

"That being said, if there are people on the team you trust not to run and tell management, other than Sidney or Kris, then you are welcome to tell them. I'm sure you will have to tell Jennifer sometime sooner rather than later, but she's always been on our side." Anna continued. 

It's true. Jen had always been on Zhenya and Anna's side. With all of the ups and downs in their relationship, the media, and that one time that Zhenya had made a mess on Twitter, Jen had ensured he and Anna were comfortable with what had to happen. 

"But not yet?" Zhenya confirmed. He wanted to get things right. 

Anna nodded. "But not yet. I'm… not ready for that." 

Zhenya nodded back. They were being so careful with each other. They had to be. 

They were both trying so hard, and it felt like ships were passing by each other in the night rather than traveling together. It was better than before; since before, that was always an explosion, but now? They were all out of gas, and yet they were still hissing. 

"How's Nikita?" Anna asked, clearly ready for a change of subject.  

Zhenya jumped at the topic. "Sleeping like a champion." 

"Good." She said, a relieved smile crossing her face. They had been worried at the sudden regression to wanting bedtime stories again. But Nikita's Pittsburgh pediatrician said it was normal. 

They briefly lost themselves, talking about Nikita, his new schedule, his soccer team, and school. They both use him as an emotional shield sometimes after hard conversations. They were so instep in how they wanted to raise him that they had been able to ignore many of their other problems for a long time. 

Eventually, after deciding that if Sid were interested, they would be okay with Nikita meeting Michael and Marisol, they went to bed. 

Long after Anna left, Zhenya stared up at the ceiling. 

-

Sid stared at his ceiling, a legal pad beside him on the bed. 

He was a father. He had a son. He was a father. He had a son. His son was abused. 

Other than the occasional burst of worry and other concerns, that mantra was all he had going on in his brain. Just on repeat. 

He was a father. His son was a teenager. His son was abused. He had a son. He was a father. He had a son. His son was abused. 

What the fuck was he supposed to do?! Geno had been great at calming the worst of Sid's worries, but this was more than something one of his best friends could manage. He had a son. That son was a teenager.

The kids were asleep. His agent was flying in three days. The first preseason game of the year was that day. Sid already knows he won't be playing. 

It was hard to believe it was already late September. Most kids were in school now.  

School was…. Something he had to think about. Sid wrote home school programs down on the pad. There was already a hefty list on the paper. Nanny, food prefaces, favorite movies, hobbies, and even religion(?) were written in stark letters on the notepad. 

Michael talked about a travel team. he was good enough for one of his coaches to work with Sid on a camp once. Did Marisol know how to skate? 

Ice time? Sports. Sid wrote that down on the pad and returned to staring at the ceiling. 

He was a father. He had a son. His son was abused. He was a father. He had a son. His son was a teenager. 

-

Michael stared at the ceiling, not quite sure how to go to sleep. 

Marisol was tucked into his side, fast asleep, on a bed that was for guests. It was larger than any bed Mike had ever slept in before. 

Sid had offered to get them set up in different beds, but Mike refused and just asked for more blankets for Marisol.

Sid hadn't pushed; he just ensured they had pillows and knew where the bathroom was. He had some of Marisol's pull-ups delivered before they went to sleep, and Mike was so grateful for that. 

His Mama's phone was on a desk, attached to a charger Sid had assured him would be okay to keep. It was one of the few times he had been able to charge it to full power since they had left Anaheim. 

Everything sounded weird. There was no traffic noise, or other people, or fans, only the chirping of the animal nightlife and the AC. 

They were safe. They were fed. They were warm, not sleeping on a bus or a train or in a station. Marisol was snoring. The bed was soft, unused, but soft. 

They were safe. They were fed. Marisol was asleep. They weren't surrounded by people who could barely call themselves 'family.'  

Instead, Sidney Crosby was his father. 

Probably. Maybe. Mike hoped. 

"Fuck," Mike blinked at the ceiling, eyes growing blurry with what he forced himself to believe was exhaustion and not tears. He would be selfish for the first time since his parents died. Marisol was safe, and he had a bed. 

Sidney Crosby was his father. They were safe. For now, at least. There was the DNA test, and whatever Aunt Cynthia and Uncle Rodger might do…. Why else would Sid need a good lawyer? 

What comes next? 

Michael had no idea, but maybe he could skate soon. 

Marisol snored beside him on the bed, unmoving in the way children could sleep, and Mike let his eyes close. She was safe. 

-

[imnotoverlyobsessive]

In Your Dreams

Chapter Five: The Sun Won’t Resign Until You’re By My Side

AO3 info one two three four five six seven epilogue

All my work is 18+.

I feel you crawling out my veins, leaving the walls inside with flames; burning the emptiness I’ve saved, until only you remain. But then my lungs collapsed, and you pulled me out; forever, I have changed. Honey, you can take me now, till it all runs out. Baby, it’s okay.- Cartel, Only You

Tim had been very clear that he wasn’t gonna last much longer. So when she hadn’t heard from him for a day and a half, she knew it meant he was gone.

She lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling and pondering the ache in her chest. 

It felt like there was a black hole consuming her from the inside out, beginning where her heart had been.

Lea had never known anyone who’d died before. Did it always hurt so much?

She’d never get to kiss him again. He’d never smile at her again, hold her again. She’d never hear him say her name again. He was gone. Gone.

After awhile of considering this, it occurred to her that she’d been in love with him.

Too fuckin’ bad he was dead. She was too much of a coward to realize she loved him when he was alive. She never would’ve acted on her stupid feelings, anyway. Too much of a coward for that, too.

A knock at her door startled her, making her jolt upright. She trudged over to the entryway, her feet dragging over the laminate floors. When she opened the door, a woman stood there. She’d met her before, when Tim had taken her to have dinner with his parents.

“Nicole?” Lea asked, surprised.

The woman’s eyes were rimmed in red. She’d been crying.

“He told you?” Nicole asked without preamble.

Lea blinked. “I… I know what he is.”

“And that you’re his mate?” the other woman persisted. 

Lea nodded silently, looking down at her feet. “Is he still…?”

“Barely. He doesn’t have long now. He’ll be gone within the next few hours, if that.”

Tears filled Lea’s eyes for the bazillionth time that day. “Is he in pain?”

“He’s unconscious. They always are at the end.”

She took a deep, shuddering breath before lifting her gaze again. “Why are you here, Nicole?”

“To ask you for your help. If you’ll reconsider your refusal.” Lea looked away again, and so Nicole pressed on. “He told me why. He said he’d rather die than force you or guilt trip you. He loves you too much to ask, but I love him too much not to ask. Come see him. Please. If you look at him and still refuse, I’ll understand that. The situation you’re in is no more your fault than it was mine when Marc told me. But please. Come see him.”

She couldn’t refuse, she realized. She knew now that she was in love with him. Did she love him enough to put herself at risk? To save his life? Yeah. Yeah, she did.

Maybe… maybe if he got it out of his system once—just the once—, then she wouldn’t need to do it again. Maybe he’d be alright.

Lea finally nodded at the other woman. “Alright. Give me a minute.”

With that, she went to collect her purse and phone. Even on the off chance she’d stay with Tim for any length of time, he had plenty of her stuff.

“Where is he?” she asked Nicole.

“He wanted to be in his own bed when he went,” Nicole said softly, looking away. 

Lea nodded again. 

Tim’s penthouse apartment was just as pristine as his housekeeping staff always kept it. The three floor residence was huge, covering well over thirteen hundred square feet, but Tim’s bedroom was easy to get to, even if she didn’t know her way around (which she did). Directly to the right of the entry hallway was a set of stairs. She went up, Nicole following close behind, walked past the second floor living room (he had three living rooms; one on each floor) and into his bedroom.

It was a very long room with floor-to-ceiling windows—many of which were doors to a balcony spanning the length of the second floor—covering one side. Past the sitting area, his desk and bookshelf, his dad and sister were seated beside his bed. They were both teary-eyed and exhausted-looking.

When Lea got close enough to see his face, she felt as if she couldn’t breathe.

He was pale, even more so than he’d been before, and his lips were tinged blue. His chest was barely moving.

“How much longer?” Nicole asked, stepping over to her son’s bedside.

“Not long,” Marc told her in his thick French accent, not taking his eyes off Tim. “Maybe twenty or thirty minutes now.”

“I brought her,” Nicole told her husband softly.

At that, both Pauline and Marc turned towards the corner Lea was standing in.

“Am… am I too late?” she asked shakily.

Pauline stood, immediately rushing over to her and shaking her head. The older girl took Lea’s hands in hers. “No, you’re not. You can still save him. Are you here to save him?” Her voice was so hopeful, so desperate.

Lea nodded. “I don’t want anything to happen to him.” She didn’t want to disclose more than that to people she didn’t know too well, even under the circumstances. 

Pauline threw her arms around Lea, sobbing quietly. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

Nicole put a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “There’s no time for that now, honey.”

Pauline pulled back, nodding.

Lea faced Marc, aware that if anyone knew what was necessary to save Tim at this point—to be honest, she was quite uncomfortable with initiating anything sexual, let alone while he was unconscious—, it would be the twenty thousand year old incubus. “What do I need to do?”

Marc stood from the chair at his son’s bedside and moved towards the door, followed by his wife and daughter. “He will wake up within a few hours of feeling your skin against his. As much of it as possible is best.”

Lea flushed, realizing that Tim was probably naked under the covers and that she would need to join him. She’d known that shared nudity would be a necessity when she’d agreed to, er… save him, but still. 

It’s a one-time thing, she reminded herself. Plus you love him and he loves you, so it’ll be okay. 

Still, she nodded her understanding.

“Lock the door behind us or Nicole may well barge in to check on him at inopportune times,” he warned.

Lea reddened further—and most definitely not in a good way—at the idea of being caught with Tim, and was sure to lock his bedroom door firmly once his family had left.

She stripped down methodically, letting her clothes fall to the floor in a heap and doing her very best not to think about the fact that she was currently naked in her best friend’s bedroom and about to press her very naked body up against said best friend’s equally naked body for life-saving purposes that required them to be naked. When she climbed into bed with him, pressed herself up against his side, and tentatively draped an arm over his chest, his cold, clammy skin immediately warmed up again and regained its natural color.

Lea wrapped herself around him further, and his breathing evened out. She watched as the blue slowly left his lips. When they were their obnoxiously perfect pink once more, she heaved a sigh of relief and let herself relax. 

It took awhile, but eventually, she fell asleep. 

She woke several hours later to a murmur of her name.

“Lea?”

She blinked her eyes open, lifting her head so as to look at him.

Tim sighed. “Another hallucination, huh?” His eyes closed again and he mused, “Thought I was done with this shit. Maybe it’s my brain’s last hurrah before it gives up.”

Lea frowned. “I’m, uh. I’m not a hallucination.”

He cracked one eye open at her. “My hallucinations of you always say that.” He closed his eye again with a sigh. “Plus, there’s no way I’d feel like I wasn’t about to die if I was awake, on account of me being about to die and all that.”

“No, really,” she told him. “I’m not a hallucination.”

Tim hummed, considering her words. “You admittedly don’t get into bed with me in my hallucinations, I’ll give you that. You usually tell me you’ll never love me or let me touch you, that you think I’m disgusting and hate me for the fact that my body chose you as my mate.” Another sigh. “Sometimes you show me that you got your Mark surgically removed. Those ones are particularly rough.”

“I could never hate you, Tim,” she said softly. 

He was about to speak again, adjusting himself slightly before he did so, and then his eyes shot open and he froze. “Lea, are you… are you naked?”

She flushed, very deliberately looking not at him.

“This… this might actually be real,” he said disbelievingly. “If you’re real—if you’re here—, what’re you doing in my bed? Why’d you come?”

Lea gulped anxiously. “Well, uh.” She attempted to swallow spit that had not yet gathered in her mouth. And then the words came out in a jumbled mess. “Okay, so your mom came to my apartment, right—“

“My mom did what?!” he demanded, but she continued on as if he hadn’t said anything, primarily because her nerves—at being there, at what she was about to confess, at her own emotions and the strength of them, at her nudity and his potential reaction to it, at his nudity, and also the inevitability of them having sex; a number of things, really—prevented her from registering that he’d spoken at all.

“—And I’d been laying in bed for, like, ever, staring at the ceiling and thinking about the fact that you were probably dead, and I realized that I loved you, and then when your mom knocked on my door—“

“Wait,” he cut in. “You… you love me? As more than a friend? Are you in love with me?” he pressed.

She winced. “I’ll, uh… I’ll get to that.” She felt his muscles tense against her. “So… your mom came and asked me to at least see you. She said you didn’t have long left. And knowing you weren’t gone yet, that it wasn’t too late, that I could save you…” She swallowed again, fighting back tears. “I had to save you, y’know? I couldn’t just let you die. I couldn’t do that to you. Even if I didn’t, um… feel the way I do about you, I still couldn’t have just…” 

Sobs overtook her then, and he wrapped his arms around her and pressed a kiss to her scalp. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m okay.” Another kiss, this one longer, more lingering.

She cried harder. “I’m here. I’m sorry it took me so long, but I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere. I’m sorry I’ve been such a shitty friend, but I—“

“Hey,” he cut in firmly, placing a gentle hand on her cheek and lifting her face to his. “You’re not a shitty friend for not wanting to let me fuck you, okay? There’s nothing wrong with that.” Before she could interrupt him, he went on, “Plus, I don’t want you agreeing to this just ‘cause we’re friends and you want me to not die. If you agree to this, I want it to be because you want it. I want it to be because you want me.” He hesitated. “I want it to be because you love me, and not just as a friend.”

Lea looked down, fairly certain that her face—and probably her neck, chest, and shoulders, too, if she were honest—were all approximately the same shade of red as her hair. “I do love you,” she told him quietly. “So much that it scares me.”

She heard him inhale slowly, then exhale.

“Are you here to accept me, then?”

“I’m here to do whatever I need to do to save you,” she mumbled, still not looking at him. “You need to sleep with me to live.” The reminder was extremely uncomfortable for her to think, let alone say, but it had to be said. “If that’s what you need to live, well. There are worse ways to lose my virginity than sleeping with the guy I’m in love with.”

“I don’t want you wanting to keep me alive to be the only reason you accept me, Lea,” he reminded her firmly. “Do you want to keep me alive or do you want me?”

“I wanna keep you alive,” she admitted quietly, “but I want you, too.”

“You’re certain?” Tim clarified, lifting her face up to his again. “You’re sure you want this?”

She couldn’t help but watch his lips as he spoke. Fuck he was pretty. “Yes.”

“Tell me you love me, then,” he pleaded, his eyes searching hers. “And don’t look away from me this time.”

She thought her heart would beat directly out of her chest, but still, she managed, “I love you, Tim.”

A small, hesitant little smile graced his lips, and he stroked her cheek with his thumb. “I love you, too.”

Her heart beat even faster, if that were possible.

“This is the first time you’ve been naked with me in reality, y’know,” he murmured, brushing her hair from her face.

Lea frowned. “What do you mean?”

He stared at her for a moment. “Your dreams, remember?”

Her eyes widened in shock. “My what?” she squeaked, memories of riding him flooding her. “Fuck, I forgot all about those—“ She buried her face in his neck in humiliation.

Tim chuckled softly. “Don’t be embarrassed, baby.” He wrapped his arms around her again, holding her close.

“How can I not?!” she whined miserably. “I can’t believe I— and then I— ugh!”

Laughing outright then, he nestled his face into her hair. “Being an incubus means I can enter other people’s dreams, put certain images and scenarios they desire in their minds. It’s really not that big of a deal.”

“And you, uh…” She gulped, hoping for one answer but fully expecting another. “How much do you remember of my dreams?”

“They’re like regular memories to me.”

She groaned. “You can go ahead and throw me off the balcony now, thanks.”

He laughed again. “Why?”

“‘Cause you saw me… y’know…” She couldn’t finish her statement.

“Bouncing on my cock and begging me for more?” he teased gently, his voice a soft murmur against her scalp.

Lea whined again. “Don’t say things like that.”

“Why not?” he wanted to know. “It’s what you did.”

“It’s embarrassing,” she insisted.

At the exact same moment, however, he declared, “It’s sexy.”

The second his words registered in her brain, she squeaked again. “You can’t say stuff like that—“

“Why not?” he repeated.

“It’s embarrassing!”

“Lea, sweetheart,” he began with great patience, “you’re my mate. I’m going to claim you the second you allow me to. I want you to beg for my dick. I want you to moan my name. I want you to be desperate from wanting me so bad.”

She whined miserably, reiterating, “It’s embarrassing,” yet again.

“I am very much looking forward to the process of getting you used to it.”

“Not sure I’ll ever be used to it enough to say things like that out loud,” she admitted.

He hummed, considering. “I’m not gonna have enough strength to fuck you right away, you realize,” Tim pointed out. “I’ll need an orgasm before I’ll be able to manage it.”

She pulled back, her blush intensifying. “I, uh…” She gulped. “You were my first kiss, so… I’ve never made a guy… do that… before…”

He frowned. “I don’t mean I need you to give me an orgasm. I mean I need to feed off an orgasm from you.”

Her mouth fell open. “Oh.”

“Mhm,” he nodded. “‘Oh’ indeed.”

It’s to save him, Lea reminded herself firmly.

“What… what do I need to do?” she breathed.

“Well,” he paused, “you could make yourself cum.” She squeaked at this prospect. “Or I could use my fingers.” Another pause. “Or shit, you could sit on my face if you wanted to. That sounds awesome, actually—“

“That last one is definitely a bit much for me,” she managed.

Tim did a very good job of not looking disappointed, but she could see it in his eyes. “Then do you wanna ride my fingers or show me how you touch yourself?”

Lea squirmed anxiously. “Um. If… if you could, like…”

“Yeah?” he prompted. 

“I’d like it to stay under the covers, so…”

“Why’s that?” he asked gently, sweetly. “Don’t want me to see you?”

“Sorry,” she told him bashfully.

“I’d never make you do anything,” he assured her. “Not gonna lie and say I haven’t been aching for that sexy little body of yours, though.”

“It’s not really little,” she muttered. That was the very thing she was afraid of, after all. She’d seen pictures of him with girls who were half the dress size she was. What if he didn’t think she was attractive in person, mate or no?

He snorted. “What are you, four feet tall?”

She whipped her head up to glare fiercely at him. “I’m almost 5'1”, I’ll have you know.”

“Yes,” he agreed, “you’re tiny. The point stands.”

“Does not,” she grumbled in annoyance.

“Does too,” he countered. “And anyway, it’s fine if you don’t want me to see you naked, I’ll do my best to avoid that if it’ll make you happy, but you should know that I’ve already seen your body and have subsequently had countless orgasms to the thought of said body.”

She blinked at him in astonishment. “You— you have?”

“Sweetheart,” he said gently, “I’m an incubus and you’re my mate. Everything about you is inherently sexy to me and will inevitably turn me on.”

Lea frowned, finding it incredibly difficult to believe—despite the piles upon piles of evidence—that anyone could find her as attractive as he seemed to; the idea that someone so physically perfect, who was around supermodels all the time, could want her this way… Well. It just seemed far-fetched to her.

“You don’t believe me?” he murmured, gaze fixated on her lips.

She licked them self-consciously, and his eyes followed the movement. “Just a bit hard to grasp, I guess.”

“Want me to show you?”

She furrowed her brow in confusion. “Show me?”

“What you do to me,” Tim clarified, albeit rather unhelpfully.

Brain too muddled to consider how he might go about doing that, she said, “Uh. Sure.”

With a downright astonishing lack of shame or modesty, he flipped the covers off of himself. She almost looked on reflex alone before realizing what was happening and keeping her eyes fixed on his face instead.

He laughed at whatever expression she was wearing. “Go ahead, baby. I want you to see.”

Lea gnawed on her lower lip anxiously before slowly—ever so slowly—lowering her gaze down his lithe form to his…

Well. The piercings from her dreams were not, in fact, made up, it would seem. There were those barbels along the base of his shaft, with another just beneath the head. He was startlingly—terrifyingly, really—large, and very, very hard, his dick jutting out proudly away from his abdomen.

She swallowed, and she honestly wasn’t sure if it was due to nervousness or if her mouth was watering.

“Believe me now?” he eventually asked.

“Y— yeah,” she stuttered, her face flaming. “So, uh. The piercings, they’re, um…”

“They’re real, yeah,” he confirmed. “I can get rid of them if you’d prefer.”

Lea wondered what they would taste like, what they’d feel like against her tongue. “No, that’s okay,” she murmured.

“Alright,” he agreed. She wasn’t looking at his face—how could she look away from his dick when it was, like, out in the open that way, all ginormous and hard and pierced?—but she could hear the grin he was most definitely sporting, the smug bastard. “You know I can sense your arousal, right?”

She bristled. “Shut up.”

He shrugged one deliciously bare shoulder. “Just sayin’.” His gaze traveled the length of her body as if she weren’t covered by the blankets at all. “Now that my desire for your incredibly sexy body is evident, are you comfortable with me seeing you naked or are you still wanting to be covered?”

She flushed—or rather, her existing flush deepened—and lowered her gaze to where her hand lay on his chest. “If… if you want to see me, I’d be okay with it.” When she spoke, her voice was quiet, barely a whisper.

“As a reminder,” Tim began gently, “I’ve already seen you, sweetheart. Your body in your dreams, I saw it. The subconscious mind is accurate in its portrayal of the individual in the dreams I plant. I know what you look like already, is my point.”

“Okay,” she told him hesitantly, nodding her assent.

“Here,” he murmured, lifting the hem of the covers and sliding them away from her body. “Let me see you, darling.”

Once her body was revealed to him, he stared at her for so long she was afraid that he’d been wrong and he really did find her repulsive. Finally, however, he croaked, “Fuck, you’re sexy.”

Her flush deepening impossibly further, she fidgeted, rubbing her feet together anxiously.

“Can I…” He gulped. “Can I touch you? And kiss you?” His eyes raked over her bare form. “Fucking hell, please let me kiss you.”

Lea nodded, and then they were kissing, tenderly at first, and then desperately, like he wanted to breathe her in. His hand was cupping her face, sliding into her hair so as to hold her against him, and she instinctively pressed closer to him, her breasts against his side. Feeling her bare body against his in such a way, knowing what they were about to do, what she was going to have with him— it made her nervous, but for once, it wasn’t a bad sort of nervous, maybe her arousal had burned all of that away; it was an excited kind of nervousness, like he’d set fire to her skin when he wrapped his arm around her waist to bring her closer to him.

Trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down her neck, Tim squeezed her hip possessively, his fingers flexing and digging into her skin. “Fuck, I love you. Can I touch you?” he rasped. “Please, Lea. Please let me touch you, make you cum.”

Trying to think clearly enough to formulate words felt like trying to wade through molasses, but she found enough scraps of sentience to say, “You can do anything you want to me as long as you keep telling me you love me like that.”

She felt his smile against her skin. “I love you, I love you, I love you. Fuckin’ love you, sweetheart.”

It was almost startling, how much she wanted this. How much she wanted his hands on her. Hesitantly, she put her palm on his cheek, guiding his lips back to hers.

In response to her initiative, he made a noise somewhere deep in his throat, slipping his tongue into her mouth and moving his hand from her hair to brush against the side of her breast. When she arched into the touch, light as it was, he grasped her breast outright, squeezing gently.

Lea panted into his mouth, whimpering desperately and wanting him closer, impossibly closer. Being pressed flush up against him wasn’t enough; she wanted to melt into him until they couldn’t be sure where one of them ended and the other began.

When his thumb brushed her nipple, she whimpered again, tilting her head and returning his kiss hungrily. He pinched her nipple then, and she moaned outright at that. She hadn’t been aware she was capable of being so turned on; it felt like her desire for him was burning her alive from the inside out.

“Wanna make you cum,” Tim muttered against her lips. “Wanna make you scream for me.”

“Yes,” she panted out, her breath coming in short little gasps. 

He hummed into her mouth, taking her lower lip between his teeth gently and trailing his hand from her breast down the front of her body.

“Spread your legs for me, pretty girl,” he murmured. “Gonna make you feel so good.”

Her nerves were basically nonexistent by that point, so she didn’t hesitate in parting her thighs for him. His hand cupped her, stroking her with long, slender fingers, and she gasped sharply.

“I knew you were wet for me, but feeling it is something else entirely,” he groaned, trailing kisses down her throat to the tops of her breasts and brushing his fingertips over her folds. “You make the sweetest little noises. What noises will you make when you cum, baby? Hm?”

Tim’s lips moved up her neck again, sucking a bruise into the sensitive skin there and effectively short circuiting her brain. She clutched the hair at the base of his neck in her fist, tightening her grip when he touched his index finger to her clit, just barely, hardly a touch at all, but the light contact made her jolt nonetheless.

Chuckling softly at how sensitive she was, he rubbed slow circles around her clit, and all she could do was kiss him harder.

“Yeah?” he breathed, inhaling her desperate whimpers. “That feel good, sweetheart?” Lea could hardly register that she’d been spoken to, let alone respond to him, and he chuckled again when all she could manage was a moan. “C’mon, baby,” he encouraged softly. “Tell me how it feels.”

“G— good,” she forced out, rocking against his hand as he slid a finger down to her entrance, teasing her and thumbing her clit.

“Gonna take such good care of you,” he promised, dipping a finger inside her briefly and pressing a bit harder on her clit. “Gonna worship you till the end of time, baby, I swear.”

“Tim,” she gasped, and he circled her clit faster. He seemed to know just what her body wanted, just what she needed, even before she knew it herself.

“Tell me you love me,” he practically begged. “Wanna hear you say it.”

“I love you,” she moaned, and he rewarded her by sliding a finger inside her and hastening the movements of his thumb over her clit.

“Good girl,” Tim growled in her ear. His words—or maybe it was his voice, she wasn’t entirely sure one way or the other—sent a fissure of heat up her spine, and when he began to thrust his finger in and out of her, she bucked her hips on instinct. “There you go,” he encouraged. “Wanna watch you fall apart. Wanna feel you cum around my fingers, then around my cock.” She whimpered at that, and he kissed her neck, where he’d left the bruise before.

“Kiss me,” she begged abruptly, suddenly overtaken by a desperate need to have his lips on hers again. He didn’t hesitate, slanting his mouth over hers and rubbing her clit faster with his thumb, sliding another finger in with the first. He sucked her tongue, and she moaned, rolling her hips in time with every thrust of his fingers inside her.

He hadn’t even been touching her for that long, and Lea was already getting close. She’d be embarrassed if it didn’t feel so goddamn good that her brain had essentially turned to mush.

“Fuck,” he groaned into her mouth. “I can feel you ‘bout to cum. You gonna, baby? You gonna cum on my fingers?”

“Mhm,” she whined, her voice high-pitched and breathless. “I— I’m gonna—“

“Yeah,” he encouraged, “that’s it. Look at me, sweetheart. Lemme see your eyes when you cum for me.”

Lea hadn’t even realized her eyes had been closed to begin with; all sensation that didn’t involve his hands and fingers had been entirely forgotten. Still, she forced her eyes open, leaning into his palm when he cupped her cheek with the hand that wasn’t occupied between her legs.

It took her a second to register what she was seeing, which was… weird, to say the least. For one, his eyes were glowing. For two, they were bright red.

Strangely enough, however, this didn’t turn her off, or even startle her away from her building orgasm. On the contrary, it only served to arouse her further, though she couldn’t fathom why.

“So perfect for me,” he murmured, rubbing her clit in swift, firm circles as he thrust his fingers inside her, curling them each time. “Cum for me, baby. Give it to me. C’mon.”

Her moans escalated in volume and frequency, as if she’d lost control of her vocal chords, her entire body thrumming with the need for release, and then—

And then she burst, clutching at him tightly, digging her fingers into his shoulders. She came down slowly, blood pounding in her clit so hard that it resonated throughout her entire body.

He collected her into his arms, spent and panting, and held her close. She buried her face in his neck, breathing in his scent. He was pressing gentle kisses to her hair, murmuring softly to her, but the blood rushing in her ears drowned out his words.

After a couple minutes of him holding her and stroking her back, she managed to find the wherewithal to mumble, “Your eyes turned red.”

He was silent for a moment. “Yes.”

“That an incubus thing?” she guessed.

She felt him nod. “Yeah. Happens when I, y’know. Feed.” She hummed, and when she didn’t say anything further, he asked, “Does it, uh… Does it bother you?”

“Nah,” she sighed contentedly, her inhibitions so lowered they basically didn’t exist anymore. “It was pretty hot, to be honest.”

Tim sputtered out a quiet laugh. “Hot? Really?”

“Mhm,” she confirmed, nuzzling him affectionately. “All demon-y and sexy.”

“Thank fuck for that,” he muttered. “Don’t wanna have to close my eyes every time I fuck you or give you an orgasm.”

“No, don’t do that,” Lea giggled. “I love the way you look at me.”

“I love you,” he countered.

She lifted herself away from his neck and was momentarily distracted by the green that had returned to his eyes before she leaned in to kiss him. “I love you, too.”

At her declaration, the arm he had wrapped around her waist tightened. Her skin was still kinda tingly from the orgasm he’d pulled from her, so when he kissed her again, it made her want more of his touch.

His fingers had felt so good—incredible, really—and she wanted to know what his cock would feel like. What would those barbels feel like? What sounds would he make? Would he talk to her, the way he’d done as he pleasured her?

He groaned into her mouth. “Fuck, baby, already? You already wanna cum again?”

“N— not exactly,” she breathed before quickly amending with, “Not that I’d say no, but, um…” Lea gulped anxiously. “Don’t you need to… y’know…?”

He cupped her cheek, his grin sharp and maybe a little bit predatory, which shouldn’t have turned her on, but apparently she was fucked in the head, so it did turn her on.

“Are you asking me to claim you?” His voice was soft and sweet, so at odds with the dangerous-looking gleam in his eyes, and her stomach fluttered with want.

“Claim me how?” she breathed, the words barely more than an exhalation. 

She licked her lips, and he stared at them before saying, “By fucking you, Lea,” in that gentle voice that sent shivers down her spine and set fire to her blood. “Tell me if you want it, sweetheart. I wanna hear you say it.”

Blushing to the roots of her hair, Lea managed to squeak out, “I— I want…” The rest of the statement failed her. She wasn’t even sure how to phrase it.

“If you want me to fuck you,” he murmured, his lips brushing hers as he spoke, “say the words.” She could only stare at him with wide eyes, so he continued, “Say, ‘I want you to fuck me, Timothée.’”

“I want you to…” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “Iwantyoutofuckme.”

The words had spilled from her mouth in a jumbled mess, so he said, “Clearer, darling. Can’t understand you when you talk that fast.”

Lea glared at him. She knew damn well he could understand her just fuckin’ fine, thank you very much. He was a certifiable expert in deciphering her anxiety-speak. But she wanted this so bad, and she loved him so much, and she desperately wanted to please him, so…

Mustering up courage she absolutely did not feel, she exhaled slowly and said, “I want you to fuck me, Timothée.”

He smirked, and it somehow reminded her of both a knife and the Cheshire Cat, and then he was kissing her again.

She melted into him without thinking about it, kissing him back hungrily. He sat up, pulling her with him and into his lap.

“Tim,” she gasped out as he mouthed at her neck, “is— is this—“ As it turned out, it was very difficult to think or speak when he was in the process of giving her a hickey, so naturally, she cut herself off.

Tim, however, seemed to have a significantly clearer head. “What is it?”

Her mind felt unstable and wobbly, like jello during an earthquake, so it took her a second to remember what she’d wanted to ask him. “Is this, y’know. A meal to you?” He pulled back, looking somewhat offended, so she hastily added, “I— I know that you love me, I just… Would you still want this with me even if I wasn’t your mate, if you weren’t gonna die without it?”

He stared at her incredulously. “Lea, there is absolutely no scenario, situation, or universe in which I would not fall in love with you. Therefore, there is also no scenario, situation, or universe in which I would not want to fuck you senseless.”

Lea wasn’t entirely sure what to say to that, so she pressed her lips to his instead. As they kissed, he reached down between them to position himself at her entrance, and she gasped at the sensation. She could feel the cool metal of the uppermost barbel against her skin, and she was so entranced by it that she hardly noticed when he moved both hands to her hips.

“I love you,” he breathed into her mouth.

“I… I love you, too,” she gasped out, her brain muddled by the way his tip brushed against her drenched folds.

He tightened his hold on her hips, brushing his lips over hers again with a murmur of, “Sink down onto me, baby. Nice and slow, okay?”

“Y— yeah,” she managed to stutter out. Slowly, ever so slowly, she lowered herself onto his length. She winced, clenching her eyes shut. He was huge, and she wasn’t sure if this was gonna work.

“You’re okay,” Tim praised gently. “You’re doing so well, sweetheart. You’ll get used to it, I promise. Just be patient.”

She was skeptical of this, but still, she trusted him—more than that, she loved him; adored him, really—, so she gave herself time to adjust before sinking a tiny bit further into him. He murmured soft encouragements into her hair; telling her how perfect she was, how much he loved her, how beautiful she was.

It took awhile, but eventually, she was seated fully in his lap, her arms draped over his shoulders and her face buried in his neck as she panted with exertion.

“This is not the way it was in my dreams,” she complained against his skin.

“No,” he agreed, running a gentle hand up and down her back as he brushed a kiss to her temple, “it’s better, ‘cause this is real.”

Smiling despite herself, she murmured, “Yeah.”

“How do you feel?” he asked her softly.

Lea considered this for a long moment. “I feel… full.” She paused, adjusting herself slightly. “And I can’t feel your, uh… your piercings as much as I thought I would.” She adjusted herself again, and he groaned softly.

“Until you’re ready for me to move, can you please stay still?” he practically begged.

She blinked in surprise. “Oh, uh. Yeah, sure.”

After a couple minutes of Tim holding her, he finally asked, “How you feelin’, baby? Does it hurt?”

“I don’t think so,” she said softly, pushing away from his neck to readjust and see how it felt. She flushed when she saw the red in his eyes and realized he was feeding on her again—why was that so sexy? Why was she into that? What was wrong with her?—before shifting her pelvis slightly. A quiet gasp escaped her, and she caught the smirk he tried to hide.

“I’ll take that as a no,” he drawled.

“Shut up,” she muttered, her face flaming in embarrassment.

“Don’t think I will, no.” The stupid prick was still smirking at her, and she tried to glare at him, but he was too goddamn sexy with his hair falling over his eyes like that, and having him inside her was really starting to feel good. One of his hands traveled up her body to cup her breast, squeezing and kneading it, tugging gently on her nipple. When she gasped again, his grin sharpened like the blade of a knife. “Fuck, you’re so sexy. Lemme show you how to move, okay?” 

He pulled his hand from her nipple, and the tug made her whimper, but then both of his hands were on her hips again, and he encouraged her to move back and forth, rocking against him.

“There you go,” Tim encouraged lowly, his gaze locked onto where they were joined. “Go slow till you get used to it, sweetheart. You’re doing so good for me.” He reached for her hands, lifting them up to drape them over his shoulders again. “Roll your hips, baby.”

She did so, moaning at the way he filled her. “Like this?” Her voice was so breathless and high-pitched that she barely recognized it as her own, but he seemed to like it, judging by the way his eyes—still red, still sexier than they should be—flashed up to hers and his hands tightened on her hips.

“Yeah,” he rasped. “Do whatever feels good. I wanna make you feel good.”

She leaned forward and kissed him, murmuring, “You feel good,” against his lips.

“Yeah?” She felt him grinning, even as he kissed her. “Can you go a little faster? See how you like it?”

She rocked her hips a bit faster, fisting a hand in his hair and sucking his tongue into her mouth in a way that she’d learned he liked.

After a few seconds of desperate, hungry kissing, he moved his mouth down her neck and murmured, “Gonna try something, okay?”

“Uh huh,” Lea gasped out mindlessly, unable to think of anything but the way he felt inside her.

He reached around her, gripping her ass firmly, and lifted her partially off of him. She squeaked in surprise, not at all expecting him to be that strong—it was an incubus thing, wasn’t it? It was totally an incubus thing, and she really shouldn’t find that as attractive as she apparently did—, but her squeak turned into a loud moan when he dropped her back down on him, the force of her own weight making her slam down onto his cock. Before he could pick her up again, however, she lifted herself off of him and slammed back down. Throwing her head back, she moaned again, gripping his shoulders for leverage.

“Yeah, baby,” he encouraged, his voice strained and hoarse. “Bounce on my cock. Fuck yourself on it.”

“Tim,” she whined desperately. “Oh god, Tim—“

“I know,” he gasped. “Fuck, I know.”

She’d had no idea sex could feel so good. She never wanted it to end, she wanted this forever—

“You’ll have it forever, Lea,” he pointed out, and she realized she’d actually voiced her thoughts aloud, but she couldn’t find it in herself to feel embarrassed about it. How could she when he was making her feel so incredible? “You can have this any time you want. Gonna spend the rest of existence fucking you, sweetheart. Making you cum.”

She couldn’t recall why that was a bad idea at that exact moment; all she could do was bounce on him over and over, all she could think was, yesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyes—

“Your pussy’s a fuckin’ dream, babydoll,” he was babbling. “Can’t believe you’re mine, that I get to have this, that I get to have you, fuck—“

She moaned again, bouncing on him as hard and fast as she could. Her thighs were burning, but she hardly even noticed.

He squeezed one of her breasts roughly, and she wondered if his touch would bruise her— actually, she kinda hoped it would. She wanted him to bruise her everywhere.

“Tell me you like it,” he demanded. “Tell me you want more.”

“I like it, I like it,” she chanted, fucking herself on him, chasing that delicious sensation of fullness. “More, more, I want more, fuck, it’s so good, Tim—“

Something about the way she’d whined his name seemed to flip a switch in him, and he shoved her down abruptly onto the mattress. There was something feral in his eyes, and it wasn’t just the fact that they were glowing red— it was something else entirely, something neither of them could name, and whatever it was made him fuck into her so roughly it started to scoot her across the bed, but he pinned her wrists down to keep her there.

Lea spread her legs wider, wanting to take him deeper into her, as deep as he could go, she wanted—

She wanted—

Fuck it all, she wanted him to get her pregnant. She wanted it so desperately she was fairly certain she’d die if he didn’t. His eyes—still glowing red, fuck but it was sexy—watched her intently, and she could’ve sworn he knew somehow, knew she what she was wanting, what she was needing, what she’d always been needing. 

“T— Tim,” she whimpered. “I— I love you, I—“

“Love you, too,” he groaned, leaning down to kiss her. It was all teeth and tongue and hunger, and when he released one of her wrists, she immediately grasped his hair, tangling the curls between her fingers. “Touch yourself,” he demanded sharply, his voice serrated and edged, sharp and dangerous in a way that made her tingle down to her very toes.

His free hand grasped her breast, and he pulled away from her lips, only to fasten them firmly to her nipple. She moaned, arching up into his mouth and rolling her hips to meet his thrusts.

It took a few seconds for his command to register with her addled brain, but once it did, her hand shot down to where they were joined, and she barely had to rub her clit at all to stimulate it, what with the force he was thrusting into her with jolting her body so quickly and roughly, so she just let her fingers rest there, and that, combined with the sharp movements of him driving into her and the way he was sucking her nipple, had her hurtling towards the edge at a rate that would’ve been incredibly embarrassing if all sense hadn’t been so thoroughly fucked out of her by that point.

He knew Lea was about to cum, it seemed like, and she could’ve sworn his eyes burned an even brighter red than before when he growled, “Cum. Cum. Now.”

It was as if she had no control over her body whatsoever, as if she were a puppet attached to strings he alone held sway over, because no sooner had he given the command did her orgasm rip through her like a tsunami of pleasure so intense she wasn’t entirely sure it wouldn’t drown her.

Before her orgasm had finished, he kissed her, fucking her harder so as to prolong her release, and she knew, somehow, that the way he was kissing her—possessive, desperate, starving—meant more than she understood in the moment, but all she wanted was to kiss him back with the same amount of fervor he had for her. He groaned into her mouth then, the sound coming from his throat, and then his thrusts slowed before ceasing entirely, and he collapsed atop her.

“Well,” he panted out, “that was awesome.”

“Uh huh,” Lea said, her mind feeling as if it had been filled with cotton.

He lifted his head to grin down at her, and then declared, “Let’s do it again.”

Eyes widening in shock, she shook her head. “I’m gonna need, like… a decade before I can do that again, Tim.” For god’s sake, couldn’t guys not go again after they’d orgasmed? “Aren’t you, like, full or something?”

He frowned for a second before laughing, leaning down to kiss her nose. “It’s not like regular hunger. I can’t overindulge.” He sighed, lifting himself off of her and pulling out in the process, “But I’m sure it’s tiring for you. I don’t usually…” He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.

Lea blinked up at him, propping herself up on her elbows to examine his bashful expression. “You don’t usually… what?”

“I don’t usually stick around after I’ve finished,” he admitted.

“Haven’t you, like. Dated before?” she asked, frowning.

“I have,” Tim confirmed, looking down at his hands. “But not humans.”

Lea’s frown deepened. “You’ve never dated a human?”

“I’ve dated humans.” He glanced up at her briefly before returning his gaze to his hands. “Just… not in a very long time.”

“Oh.”

Ah. Well. There was that jealous feeling again. Of both his human exes and his Otherworlder exes. Lovely. What did it even matter? This was supposed to be a one time thing anyway! Just to save him, right?

…Right?

“Lea,” he sighed, reaching out to take her hand in his. She didn’t look at him, though. “There’s no one for me but you now, okay?”

“Okay,” she grumbled.

“Hey.” His voice was firm now, and he gripped her chin and lifted her face to his. “I can’t feed off anyone but you, and I’m not interested in regular sex with anyone who isn’t you because I love you. You’re it.” His eyes searched hers. “Okay?”

Fucking hell, but when he looked at her like that, with those stupidly perfect eyes, she forgot about everything else. “Okay.”

“Good.” 

With that, he cleaned her up and pulled her back underneath the covers. He pressed a kiss to her forehead with a murmur of, “I love you.”

Lea’s eyes closed, and as exhaustion overtook her, she smiled and said, “I love you, too.”

Tag list

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[oscurascout]

Y/N As A Doorman

From That's Not My Neighbor game

Part 2 (Part 1)

A few hours had passed since the twins left again, and to be honest, being a doorman was more boring than I had thought. "Well, maybe it's because they are still at work," I thought as I lay in the chair. Surprisingly, the chair was very comfortable. I lay there with my headphones on, listening to music and scrolling through social media. That's when I saw that someone had arrived. I looked up and saw a woman with a stitched face—her mouth and eyes were stitched. "Okay, let's do this as professionally as possible," I thought as I got closer to the desk. I then noticed that she didn't give me any documents.

"Um, ma'am, I need your entry permit and ID," I said, looking at her. I tried hard not to show any emotion, but who could blame me when faced with something straight out of a horror movie? "That's why I was watching some doppelganger on Instagram, to prepare myself, but I guess nothing prepares you for the real thing," I thought as I waited for a response, but she remained silent and still.

*Sighs* "Okay, let's do this, ma'am. Since I see the, um, condition you are in, and well, I actually like you. Wait, not like romantically or anything, but like a friend. So, if you could please leave. I seriously don't want to do this, but if you don't, then I'll have to call the D.D.D.," I said, starting to sweat. I didn't say all of this just to be kind, but because I don't want this doppelganger after me once I leave work. I "fought" with the twins, but because they won't do anything. Those two are cowards, but these doppelgangers. Nope, they will probably do something to me. So basically, right now, I am the coward, but I don't care if it saves my skin.

I waited for her to do something, ready to push the red button, yet she only nodded and then left. I let out a sigh of relief. "I can't believe that worked!" I thought, smiling as I looked through the window and saw her leaving through the front door. I lay back in the chair and released another sigh of relief. "Okay, back to watching these weird videos," I thought, continuing to watch.

After a few hours of work, it was already 9, and honestly, I feel like I did an amazing job. I encountered approximately six doppelgangers, and three out of six people had come in. I only needed to wait for Francis and the two twins. "Two more hours, come on Y/N, you can do it," I thought, encouraging myself. Yet again, I saw a figure at the window. Not exactly a person, more like a doppelganger. This one had a white uniform and a hat with the words 'Milkman,' but his face immediately told me he was not human. Instead of normal eyes, there were two black holes with two little white dots as pupils and a black void as a smile.

*Sighs* "Here we go again," I thought as I scooted closer to the desk. He handed me all his documents, and I checked them over. I noticed the ID number was wrong, so I looked at the doppelganger. "Hey buddy, um, your ID number is wrong, but hey, you got everything else right," I said. I don't know if it was my imagination, but I think I saw him become happier. I returned his ID and threw the entry permit in the trash. "Well, buddy, since I have discovered the error, you could either leave on your own, or I can call the D.D.D.," I said, waiting for his decision. For the first time, he spoke.

'Francis' - “Hoon”

I blinked a few times. "Huh?" I said as I looked at him.

'Francis' - *happy* Hoon!“

I slowly nodded, and he took his ID and left. "Huh?" I said one last time before getting on my phone, trying to find a way to understand what the doppelganger said.

The clock struck 10, and I was dying of boredom. My phone died, and I was hungry, since the only things in the fridge were water and a bowl of fruit. I could feel my soul leaving when I saw the possibly real Frank or Fernando or whatever his name is!

He got close to the window, handed me his documents, and greeted me. I got up and started to read his documents.

Francis - “Mmm, long day?“

*looking at the ID* “..6, mm? Oh yeah, more than a long day. This lady didn't have any food when she said she did!" I said angrily. He gave me a small smile.

Francis - “Yeah, she's like that. Actually, it's probably better if you bring your own food after all. She only comes here to collect rent or pay the doorman.”

I stopped and looked at him with an 'Are you serious' face. He only chuckled, and I let out a sigh. I then slammed the green button. “This is why none of her doormen last. Actually, I don't care anymore. If those two brats don't arrive right now, then I'm leaving!” I said angrily. He only chuckled while grabbing his papers and entering. I locked the door and was about to start gathering my things when those two pretty models came in. The one in the yellow dress approached me first.

“Agh, just get over here, you two. I don't care anymore,” I said as I saw Selenne smirk at me, which made me angry. “You know, I had 6 or 7 doppelgangers today. I think the D.D.D could probably deal with the two that I have right now,” I said angrily. Selenne only bit her bottom lip, clearly understanding what I meant and what would happen if she said anything.

I pressed the green button and let them go in. After that, I grabbed my things and left. “I swear I'm going to eat a very big meal once I get back home,” I thought as I got into my car and drove away.

[insertsickusername13]

They See Right Through Me

I wrote this entire thing on my phone while waiting for my stupid flight that got delayed like three hours. I promised myself I’d post it before we took off bc I haven’t posted any like, original content in so fucking long so it’s unedited but I present to you: Everyone forgets Jenna’s birthday except it’s the archer by taylor swift coded

word count: 2.7k

tws: mention of suicide, kinda graphic but no one dies

For Michael’s first birthday after the SQUIP, Jake rented out an entire retro arcade that Jeremy had found four hours away from Middleborough. They skipped school that day, took the train, and spent six hours playing games everyone but Michael hated. They were smiling the entire time.

For Jeremy’s first birthday after the SQUIP,  they all pitched in to buy him a new computer and spent the evening watching movies on his kickass macbook. 

They took Christine to New York for six days to see three different shows on broadway. Rich got a new skateboard and spent the day at the skate park receiving lessons from some professional skater Jenna had never heard of. It was all far too extravagant, courtesy of their insanely rich King and Queen (handsome Jake, pretty Chloe), but it’d become a defining characteristic of their friend group—the ‘squip squad’, as Michael had dubbed it. They threw crazy fucking birthday parties.

Jenna didn’t exactly expect the same for herself. Though it was never explicitly stated that she still wandered in the outskirts of the group, fitting in only when it was convenient or there was an extra seat in the car, it remained an unspoken fact. She wasn’t even sure they were aware of it. They didn’t think about her long enough for it to even occur to them that she had no where else to sit, that she considered most of them to be her best and only friends.

Thinking about it realistically, she’d probably get a cake. Maybe a couple gifts, if she was lucky. A balloon.

She wouldn’t admit it out loud to a soul, but there was a spark of disappointment when she got to her locker that morning to be met with math textbooks and an uneaten granola bar from the day before rather than streamers and her friends singing to her. She glanced around, a pathetic show of hope, a last-ditch effort to believe she was more than the little bits of gossip she contributed to the group. Jake was walking briskly in the other direction, his hand on Rich’s back, dragging him away from the English class they were both supposed to be going to and towards the single-stall gender neutral bathrooms on the first floor only one person was supposed to be in at a time. Christine was standing by the stairwell with Jeremy, animatedly talking about a musical she’d discovered. 

No one was looking at her. 

Jenna walked to class without a good morning from a single one of her friends. Even worse, she didn’t get a happy birthday either. 

She held out until lunch. All morning she listened aptly to every word spoken, groping and striving to find enough gossip that she’d capture the attention of the entire lunch table just long enough for someone to say, ‘by the way, isn’t it your birthday today?’

Dustin apparently slept with Kylie. Barely interesting, considering his rep, but Kylie was claiming he only got off after licking her toes, and one of Jake’s favorite jokes was pretending he had a foot fetish. That was her in. 

She sat down, already buzzing with the anticipation of all eyes on her, their attention captivated. But before she could get a word out, Jake hopped up onto the table, clapping his hands twice to capture the undivided attention of everyone within a ten foot radius. 

“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen.”

Jenna was torn between the hope building in her chest, distracting and loud, as bright and sporadic as a display of fireworks, and the instinctive, all-consuming urge to forget every opinion she’d ever held just to listen to Jake Dillinger speak. Though the squip had taught the group to value themselves and not societies ideals of normal, that did nothing to dismantle the hold Jake held on the stent body. 

“As many of you are aware,” he continued, flashing his crowd a winning smile, “Our dear friend, Christine, holds the talent of a million Anne Hathaways combined, and it seems a local director has finally acknowledged the full extent of her talent and cast her as Blanche in a showing of A Streetcar Named Desire!” At the grand announcement, a round of applause flitted throughout the cafeteria. Jenna was so caught up in it she almost missed the disappointment of Jake ignoring her birthday. 

It didn’t settle until he was sitting back down. Still smiling, he said, “Pinkberry tonight as a celebration, ladies? Then drinks at my place?”

Jenna frowned. She tried to find the flicker of hope she’d kept burning all day somewhere in her chest, nestled safely between the growing admiration for her friends as they went from ruthless bullies to kind, genuine actors and actresses and nerds and the ghostly confidence she still had in herself that she fought everyday to keep even vaguely alive. She found empty darkness and the daunting realization that there was no more time for them to pull in with a surprise. She understood forgetting in the morning—knowing her friends, they’d all probably stayed up too late the night before—but this was…

They’d forgotten. They’d all forgotten. They were throwing a party for goddamn Christine Canigula, the girl so pretty and talented Jeremy was willing to let himself be mind controlled just for her affection, on Jenna’s birthday.

She wanted to cry. She wanted to stay exactly where she was seated, on the edge of the table next to Michael, and just start crying. She wanted them to see her tears and ask if she was okay and she wanted to scream their mistakes in their faces and watch the realization. She wanted their pity, even if it was faux and layered with the knowledge that they should feel bad even if they didn’t, because she needed them to look at her. To see her. To convince her that she hadn’t already died, that she wasn’t just a ghost so unwanted she’d been turned away from heaven and damned to pine after the attention of people who didn’t want her. She was prepared to wander the halls of Middleborough as the outline of a girl until it burned or rotted away.

But she rose to her feet instead, slow and unassuming, and walked away, her bag over her shoulder. She was pretty sure Michael cast a second glance over his shoulder—a split second, could he see her?—but there was the ever growing possibility that it was out of curiosity rather than concern.

That theory was proved when she walked out of school without a text. When she drove herself home in her crappy-ass car that she could barely afford and no one bothered to check if she was okay. When the group chat (that she’d notably had to ask to be let into) kept texting like nothing was wrong, like there wasn’t supposed to be candles and cakes and balloons at every corner. 

She settled on the floor next to her bed, her vision blurred by tears she wasn’t prepared to let anyone see.

She didn’t know what she was doing wrong. She was better than Chloe at least, right? She was never ruthless like Chloe was. People didn’t quiver at the sight of her, didn’t flinch when she brushed up against their arm, so why were they so willing to take Chloe to a fashion show in Paris for her birthday while Jenna sat alone in her bedroom?

She considered killing herself just so they would mourn. She considered doing it in the ugliest way possible, with blood and guts and tragedy entwined in every vein of hers that laid exposed. She considered doing it on her birthday so they’d know it was their fault. You forgot, her funeral would scream, you fucking forgot. 

But to do that would be to admit defeat; to admit that her friends, whom she admired more than anything, were bad to her. Terrible. 

She’d tell them. It was that simple. She’d tell them it was her birthday, then they’d apologize and be good to her.

She got dressed up. She wore a long summer dress, a butterfly barrette in her hair, a silver necklace—she thought she looked like a princess. 

She left without looking in the mirror long enough to question if she was attractive, if the outfit wasn’t enough to hide her inherent ugliness that surely everyone constantly saw, and showed up to pinkberry an hour before they agreed to meet. 

She wasn’t going to be the first one there, she decided. That would be too far. Too obvious. She waited in her car until Christine, Brooke, and Chloe showed up, all in Brooke’s car. She slipped in before the boys had a chance to arrive as to not appear too late with a natural smile on her face. 

Conversation was already bubbling when she sat down next to Christine, far enough from the edge that someone would be forced to sit next to her and she’d be sandwiched between two people. When the boys arrived Michael plopped down next to her, the smell of weed clinging to his clothes.

“Sup,” he said, and it took her a moment to realize that it was directed at her.

“Hi?”

She and Michael weren’t friends. She didn’t want Michael to pay attention to her. She wanted Chloe. Brooke. Jake. Rich. The clique of popular kids who supposedly weren’t popular anymore but really were.

Michael squinted at her. 

“You’re eye shadow’s glittery,” he said while Christine summarized the plot of A Street Car Named Desire for everyone else. 

Jenna nodded briefly at him before turning to Jake and opening her mouth. The plan was the same. Enter with the foot fetish story, transition into her birthday. 

“Hey, did you hear—“

“I bet English teachers fuck that play in their free time,” Jake laughed, leaning back and draping his arm over Rich’s shoulder. Christine squawked and shot something about metaphors and unnecessary crude jokes back at him. Jake accepted her criticism but turned to Rich and whispered something else that had them both giggling.

Jenna tried again.

“Jake! Did you—“

His attention was stolen by Brooke blowing bubbles into her smoothie. He laughed. Jenna tried to keep her hurt masked by anger and determination. She’s tell them. They’d feel bad. She’d be okay. 

“Jake—“

She wasn’t even sure what Jeremy said, but Jake was listening attentively, completely unaware of Jenna.

She clenched her fists into her dress.

“Dude, I don’t think he can hear you.” 

She turned back to Michael, eyes narrowed.

“No fucking shit.”

“Aye, I’m being nice here.”

“Really?” she said, eyes widened and vowels drawn out to try and emphasize just how deep her sarcasm ran. 

Michael rolled his eyes before he gaze settled on her, daring her to continue speaking. To insult him further. To say something mean enough that it wouldn’t be out of proportion for him to snap back at her.

She didn’t want him. He was a loser. Beyond a loser, beyond the social hierarchy. He resided on a scale all of his own entitled ‘Liked Because He’s Friends With Jeremy and Gives Jake Free Weed.’ Even she didn’t have to talk to him. 

But he was looking at her. Cold and uncaring, his gaze remained pinned to her face, lazily examining her expression. He could see her. 

“Dustin has a foot fetish,” she sighed. 

Michael stared at her. He didn’t seem to understand. 

She decided it was simpler to say, “It’s my birthday,” than continue her stupid attempts to get someone to remember.

Michael’s stare remained blank. Then, slowly, he blinked awake and sat up a bit straighter.

“Like, your birthday-birthday? The day you were born?”

Jenna nodded. There was a lot she wanted to say, complaints she wanted to voice, but it felt like something was clawing at her vocal chords and whispering promises of sobs and cries so pitiful they’d be forced to ignore her out of discomfort rather than gather around to provide support.

“Why…uh, why aren’t we doin’ a party thingy?”

Jenna shrugged and crossed her arms. Michael frowned.

“Whaddya want to do?”

“Anything,” Jenna breathed, quiet and pained. She had to blink rapidly to keep tears from forming. Michael nodded seriously and rose clumsily from his seat. 

“K,” he said, then stuck out his hand for her to take, “Let’s go.”

Because it was Michael standing up and not her, Jeremy paused his conversation to ask, “Where’re you going?“

“Out,” Michael snapped back like a preteen just learning what the term independence meant. Without waiting for Jenna to look up from her lap (hiding her trembling lips), he grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her from the booth.

“You’re all bitches!” he called out behind him, so confidently yet so muddled by his determination to keep himself standing upright that Jenna couldn’t help but snort out a watery laugh. 

Michael dragged her to his rundown car, paused in front of the driver’s seat, and said, “You should probably drive.”

“Me?”

“I am like, way too high to be driving.”

Jenna scrabbled for the lingering bits of the mask she upheld. She straightened her posture, turned her hesitant smile into a condescending grimace and said, “God, you’re such a fucking loser.”

Michael didn’t dignify her with a response. He stumbled over to the passenger seat, sat down, and waited. Jenna didn’t have any choice but to get into the driver’s seat.

The second she was seated, Michael said, “We’re not gonna do the mean girl shit. I deal with enough of that shit sitting with fucking Brooke and Chloe. This is escaping, Jenna. Now drive us to Shop Rite and be fucking nice about it.”

Jenna was in no place to deny him. She drove them there in tense silence, questions sitting on her tongue, so heavy she couldn’t even speak them. 

Why do they like you? Why do they treat you better than me? You’re a loser. You’re worse. Why can they see you?

Michael bought her a cake and candles. They sat on the roof of his car in the darkness, Michael’s phone pinging with constant text messages from their friends asking what the fuck was going on (Jenna thought she glimpsed a text from Chloe asking if he and Jenna were having a secret affair). Jenna had her hands clasped politely in her lap, unable to look at him. She thought she finally understood why people didn’t like her.

She couldn’t talk. Michael had told her to drop the act, to be herself, and now she couldn’t talk. Everything she tried to say was an extension of someone else. A rerun of an insult Chloe had said weeks ago, a joke that vaguely resembled something Jake had said. 

“Do ya want me to sing, or do you just wanna blow out the candles?”

Jenna blinked back tears and shrugged. 

“I suck at singing,” Michael said. Jenna almost insulted him. She kept her mouth clamped shut. 

“…so,” he continued, hesitant now, “Maybe uh, just blow them out?”

I wish they could see me, she thought as she blew out all eighteen of the candles Michael had lit. She was only turning seventeen, but it was sweeter than what anyone else had done, so she didn’t bother commenting on it. 

As if reading her mind, Michael whispered, “Sorry they forgot.” 

Jenna shrugged. 

“Do you, uh, wanna eat?”

Jenna wasn’t sure she’d be able to swallow any cake he gave her. Still, he cut her a slice with a plastic fork he’d bought and passed it to her on a paper plate with the words ‘Happy Birthday!’ printed in bright pink letters across it. She accepted. 

“So…what do you like?”

“Hm?” 

“Well I gotta get you a gift now, right? Somethin’ nice as compensation for being a total dick all day.”

Jenna liked gossiping. She liked pinkberry. She could pretend to like Shakespeare if she tried, but she had the sinking feeling that wasn’t what Michael was asking. 

The last thing she remembered genuinely wanting to be was a princess, or maybe an explorer. 

“Uh, nature, I guess?” The words tasted like acid in her mouth, so painful she began to question if they were even true. Still, because Michael was looking at her, she pushed through. She’d lie until she was buried and dead if only he’d keep looking. “I wanted to be an explorer. I really liked snakes.”

“Snakes?!” Michael screeched, “Snakes! Fuck, I’m not getting you a snake. Jesus.”

Jenna forced out a small, sympathetic chuckle.

“I’ll take you to the zoo or something. You’re going into the reptile house alone, I don’t fucking care, but we can look at the zebras and stuff together, I guess.”

In her chest, nestled between her self confidence and her flickering admiration for her ‘friends’, she thought she felt something like hope spark.

“Really?” she whispered, pathetically desperate. Michael nodded determinedly.

“Fuck yeah.”

Jenna ducked her head to hide the glowing smile on her face. 

She decided, for the sake of the unfamiliar excitement growing inside of her, jumping and leaping in her lungs as it screamed for the first time in years, that didn’t need Jake’s shallow attention or Chloe’s condescending stares, just as long as this one person—this one nice person—could see her.

[saint-batrick]

I posted 13,977 times in 2022

171 posts created (1%)

13,806 posts reblogged (99%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@endreal

@fatsexybitch

@cumaeansibyl

@crypticcripple

@osmanthusoolong

I tagged 1,927 of my posts in 2022

#ofmd - 420 posts

#bats for bat - 313 posts

#call your mother. - 146 posts

#mutual aid - 96 posts

#selfies for bat - 79 posts

#they/them - 57 posts

#and history remembers me as pretty - 56 posts

#spouse??? please??? - 45 posts

#laliiiiiique - 42 posts

#bats for sweetiebat - 39 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#op don't you dare apologise‚ as this was a fun punchline to deliver‚ as an introvert who has less than five people who know my phone number

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

HELP URGENTLY NEEDED.

see that forecast? our central air conditioning just broke down.

me and my roommates have six cats between the three of us, and it's going to be a couple of days before we can get it repaired.

repairs are going to cost $2000 and we've had to get hotel rooms to keep the cats (and ourselves) at a safe temperature.

PLEASE help if you can, and please share this.

paypal.me/voidbat | cashapp and venmo: voidbat

447 notes - Posted August 1, 2022

#4

so, earlier today i was having a discussion with a friend about how james cameron's avatar had just zero fucking cultural impact, which is kinda nuts considering how huge of a movie it was.

then a few hours later, i learned goncharov fics surpassed the number of avatar fics on ao3.

my friend is terminally offline. so i first had to explain ao3, which they grasped fine. i then had to explain goncharov, which...well, that took a while. but they got there!

then i had the immeasurable joy of informing them that goncharov, a movie we invented whole-cloth less than a week ago has more fan works on ao3 than avatar. the glee on their face was amazing. just fucking transported.

5,047 notes - Posted November 23, 2022

#3

20,065 notes - Posted October 4, 2022

#2

sometimes i get so angry about how the housing market bubble bursting led to the economy collapsing and literally never recovering for the middle class. like...basically wiped out the middle class entirely, if we're being honest.

my bank just offered me a "high yield" savings account. high yield! just a fucking amazing APY! ...the APY is 0.4%. zero. point. four.

in 2006, i worked in a call center for $17.60 an hour and had a savings account with a 9% APY. not 0.9%, a full fucking 9%. i'd only been with the call center for a year and a half, i was 24 years old, my credit was middling at best, and that savings account was brand fucking new with a bank i'd NEVER banked with.

high yield. 0.4%.

my field is in-home healthcare now, and i get paid $9.25 an hour.

the fucking rage i feel at what was taken away from my end of my generation (eldest millennial) and fully denied to everyone younger than us is unreal sometimes.

23,139 notes - Posted March 7, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

do y'all even know how much i hate being an "elder queer" at 40? a whole goddamn generation before me was wiped out by a plague that politicians deemed not their problem bc it was killing the "right" people. like. this was OPENLY STATED. i spent a large chunk of my childhood going to funerals. nevermind the fact that killing queer people for being queer wasn't codified into law as a hate crime until i was a junior in high school.

i should NOT be an elder queer, i should be middle at most. i am a middle aged queer. most of the elder queers died.

when i was growing up i didn't go to pride parades, i went to pride marches. because that's 100% what they were in the 80s and 90s.

from the absolute bottom of my heart, LEARN OUR FUCKING HISTORY. a generation was nearly wiped out so you young queers could be here. don't let that have been in vain, please.

46,764 notes - Posted May 29, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[ollyandglitter]

Bubble Bath

Words: 7.5k

Summary: In the Time of Covid-19, Simon and Baz return to Hampshire, reminisce about the past and look to the future. Plus some bubble bath scenes :)

Notes: thanks so much @twinkle-twinkle-up-above for the very profound beta and editing. You have a huge part in it.

Also, thank you so much for this stunning art 😍 go check it out!

The story on AO3

---

March 2020

Baz

Daphne wouldn't let us in. It's a little odd even considering Snow is standing next to me all messy and dirty, and admittedly we also have landed a Canadian mountain dragon right into her lovely rose garden. She wouldn't even open the door, and through the glass I can see her waving her arms frantically and pointing in the opposite direction. I frown, look suspiciously around, and knock again, before my phone buzzes.

"Baz!" Daphne cries out.

"Daphne," I try not to sound irritated, but honestly, my patience is quite short today. Six hours of flight on a dragon over the North Atlantic is cold, shaky and very uncomfortable. For everyone's sake, she better let me in soon to a proper human house, throw a chunk of meat to the very hungry Asriel in her garden, and let me have a nice bubble bath. (Snow can join if he wants to.) (Frankly, he should wash more, and someone ought to take care of his health.)

I open my mouth, but before I manage to speak, Daphne squeals in my ear, "you can't come in!"

I move my phone away from my ear and glance uneasily at Snow again. He is immersed in a conversation with Asriel, brushing his wings and pointing to the sky enthusiastically.

"Look," I try to sound reasonable. And determined. "We'll get the mud off our shoes before we go in, all right? But we've had a long flight, and before that we were on a three-month quest all over the Canadian wilderness, nearly died several times if you don't mind me saying, so I would sincerely appreciate it if you please—"

"You can't come in!" she wails. "We're under quarantine!"

I frown. "What?"

"Didn't you go through the airport?" Daphne asks. "Didn't they explain the restrictions? Actually, I'm surprised they let you into the country..."

"What on earth are you talking about?" I'm starting to feel like something is terribly wrong here. Snow is spreading his wings, clearly getting ready to join Asriel for an afternoon flight.

"It's Swithin, I just took him to the park, he wanted to meet Louie, you know—Lady Millicent's grandson, you remember him, he was invited for the twins' birthday—"

"Daphne," I try to stop her. She's unstoppable.

"—So he got sick, and she was just about to get that knee surgery, but then they cancelled all the elective surgeries, so—"

I wonder if  Daphne is having a stroke. A moment later I almost burst through the closed door when I realise she said Swithin was sick??

"Basilton," my father takes over the phone. "A pandemic broke out in the country. Louie got sick, and Swithin is under quarantine, to make sure he isn't sick himself so he won't infect others. Daphne thought it would be best if the whole family were under quarantine right now, so you can't come in." He pauses for a moment and continues, "You should also be under quarantine, according to the law."

"What? Which law?" Did we fall into a parallel universe accidentally? We should have listened to Shepard, who insisted that dragon flights may contain unexpected risks.

"How far did you wander out there in the wilderness?" he asks impatiently. "Check the news, for Crowley's sake!" he hangs up. I stare at my phone, puzzled, and then check the news.

Simon

Flying with Asriel is awesome. I fly underneath him, and he shields me from the wind. I really hope he'll stay for a while, though it's obvious that the woods surrounding the Grimms' hunting lodge are no match for his home in the Canadian Rockies. But it's just so nice to have someone to fly with.

My mood remains bright even when we land. Asriel is nibbling on a deer, and I lean on a wide tree trunk and listen to the birds until I fall asleep.

Baz

"Right, there are quarantine rules for all arrivals to the UK," Bunce announces nonchalantly over the phone. "Mum sneaked me in. Quarantine, Pfft. Honestly. As if she hadn't cast a protective spell on the whole family."

"Does it work?" I frown. Daphne's magic is a little weak, but my father's is all right, and I don't believe he would neglect his children that much.

"I'm not sure," Bunce admits. "Dad's still looking into it. It's a new disease and all that. Anyway, school is closed, and mum and dad are working from home, so they decided it would be all right if I just don't go outside."

Hmm. I'm not sure this would work with Daphne. She sounded utterly hysterical, as usual when her children are involved in something unpleasant. And this experimental spell the Bunces tried on themselves so recklessly wouldn't be acceptable to my father at all.

"Why don't you just go home?" Bunce suggests.

"To London? It won't be easy to land a dragon in our back alley." I think gloomily about my long-awaited lovely bubble bath. A global pandemic, seriously? Just when we got back from a long, dangerous, and filthy quest in the sheer Canadian wilderness? "Fuck," my heart sinks, "We'll have to sleep in the woods again."

Simon

I'm woken up by shouting. I hear a snatch of panicked voice before I even open my eyes, and immediately jump on my feet and draw out my sword.

"Simon!" It's Baz. Something's wrong. I start to run towards the sound of his voice, then instinctively rise up into the air. (My flying instincts got much better in the Canadian wilderness. We met a lot of weird things there.)

I find him easily from above. He's running into the forest, trying hastily to clear himself a path with magic. Baz still uses magic for everything. Sometimes it's useful, like when he decides we should clean the house. (And also sometimes on Saturday mornings, when I think I should get up already, and Baz spells a duvet so soft and warm over us that it drowns me like a puffy cloud, and with his cool arms around me, and his nose buried in the back of my neck, I can't even try to start moving. But I decide that's all right, eventually.)

"Simon," Baz gasps. "We need to set up camp."

"Huh?" I'm confused. Baz kept talking on and on about his precious bubble bath all the way back to England. He spent most of our flight in an endless monologue about all the different foams Daphne has.

He says something about a pandemic. I can only understand that his parents refuse to let us in. The idea itself doesn't surprise me that much—I've lived in more than one place that refused to let me in every now and then. Once I even slept in the backyard of the children's home the whole night. (I stayed in the kennel, the guard dog was always friendly to me.) (I would secretly give him some dried sausage sometimes. He just always seemed hungry.) But I thought Baz's parents were usually more hospitable than that.

I try to ask something, but Baz starts talking about quarantine rules. It annoys me a bit, reminds me of all the times the Mage tried to isolate me for my own protection.

"We can't go home," Baz says. "We can't leave Asriel alone here. So we'll have to sleep in the woods. Again." He looks so devastated. I have no choice but to think for both of us.

"We need an isolated place, right?" I try. "But comfortable. And with a forest big enough for Asriel. And a proper bath." Maybe Watford? Is it considered isolated? Maybe Agatha will spare us a room in the barn with the goats?

Baz looks at me. Looks around. Looks at me again "Maybe..." he says slowly. "My old home."

Baz

It's not like I haven't set foot in Hampshire since Snow turned the whole area into a giant dead spot. I got there once or twice to take some stuff. It just... feels suffocating. Like scuba diving under the sea—you know you have all the proper equipment, yet it's hard to shake off the feeling that there's just no air around. I've felt like that sometimes in the higher parts of the Canadian mountains, too. There was almost no magic there either. That's why we tried to stay close to moderately populated areas, even if they were miles away, and the magic was weak and unstable—because I just couldn't keep going without any magic at all for more than a day or two. My whole body starts to tingle, and I get restless, and also, I'm practically unable to do anything.

Snow looks at me. The emotions that show on his face chase one another: Fear. Guilt. Hesitation. Concern. Something soft, that almost makes me reach out for his hand. Guilt again.

"Baz," he mumbles, his head down. "There's no magic there."

"I know," I admit, a little uneasily.

"You hate things without magic."

"I don't hate you."

Simon's gaze jumps up. A sharp pain passes through him, and immediately melts into agonising self-doubt. He bites his lower lip. He still can't quite believe that it's possible to love him just the way he is, that magic doesn't mean that much to me, and nothing I say convinces him. And when I try to show him—well... it was difficult, up there in the Canadian mountains. A few hours without magic does indeed make my skin tingle restlessly, even if I try to hide it. And Simon feels it, and feels uncomfortable, and immediately rises up to try and find the nearest town on the horizon and head in its direction. Sometimes he would lift me up in the air, or force me to join a flight on Asriel, so we would get there sooner. And then, when I would immerse in the blissful reunion with my magic, he would become all quiet and distant, go fetch something and only return hours later. Or he would suddenly get tired and go to sleep. Usually, it passed away after a while (my magic duvet does wonders.) But it didn't exactly help convince him.

"Simon," I begin. He shakes his head violently.

"No, no. Let's just... rent an empty house or something. Some sort of an Airbnb. I'll pay."

"No, that's ridiculous." I don't want him to pay. I also don't want to sleep in a stranger's house. I've missed my bed so much that my heart aches.

"Then we'll get you back to London, Asriel and I. You stay there, and I'll take him to Epping Forest."

Pfft. He must be joking. As if I'll let him sleep in the woods cuddled with Asriel, while I'm stuck at home alone. Between this and spending a few quiet days with Snow without magic, I know my first choice.

"No," I say firmly. "I want to go to Hampshire. I... miss home." I manage to sound like I mean it at least a bit. I feel a kind of tremble deep down, that suggests I might actually mean it. I've never felt quite at home in Hampshire, not like in our room at Watford, but it's still the house I grew up in. Where all my siblings were born. The forest where I first learned how to hunt. I haven't thought about all this in years, but suddenly I can't shake off the thought of going back to Hampshire, and I feel a kind of anxious excitement. How would it feel, to be in my home without any magic in it?

Simon

I don't want to go back to Hampshire. I don't want to go back to Hampshire. I try to come up with a logical explanation that will convince Baz, but my mind is racing too fast and I can't quite speak.

Hampshire: The Humdrum throws a familiar red ball at me; a fire; fancy pyjamas covered in mud; wings. The memories strangle me like a thick fog. Baz's parents run outside screaming, and I fly away in a wild panic, navigating instinctively with the magic I stole from the world. I haven't been able to look Malcolm Grimm in the eye since, not that I had many opportunities. I'm not invited to visit often. Daphne is nicer, but sometimes she casually mentions something about her home, and I know how much she misses it. Baz also talks mindlessly about his home sometimes: the room he used to play in, the magnificent library, the ghost of some ancient uncle who lived in the woods and would occasionally help him find a wounded deer—Baz always felt better when he could put an animal out of its misery.

I stole all of that.

And yet the house remained in its place, as still and gloomy as a tombstone. Several other magickal families sold their houses to Normals and left their past behind, but not the Grimms. They would never give up their ancient family estate. But it's also very clear that it's no longer livable.

The burden of guilt settles on my chest and makes it hard to breathe. Faintly I mutter, "I don't want to go back to Hampshire." Because how will I be able to set a foot in this place and still look Baz in the eye, and believe that he is still capable of loving me, when he remembers everything I've done to the world? Everything I've done to him? Everything that I really am?

______________________________________________________________

Baz

I step carefully into the front hall of the place that used to be my childhood home, and is now a dark space full of covered furniture. We have a Normal housemaid who is supposed to come and clean up every couple of weeks, but I'm not certain she's doing a proper job. The windows are sealed, the floor creaks under my feet, and everything smells like dust. The house feels abandoned. I raise my wand to cast a few basic cleansing spells, and stop abruptly as realisation hits me. It's a dead spot. Huh.

Simon comes cautiously behind me. He's uncharacteristically quiet, his head is bowed and his shoulders are slumped as if he's trying to disappear inside himself. His wings are flattened against his back tightly, and even his golden curls look faded in the faint, dusty light.

He looks at the wand I'm still holding in my hand, and begins to say nervously, "Baz, I'm not sure that was a good idea—", and I just have to stop him before we find ourselves teetering in the wind again.

"Come on, Snow, we have a lot of work to do," I say with all the vigorous high spirit I can muster, throwing my wand aside. "Come and help to clean up."

Simon

Cleaning up takes forever, and I throw myself fully into it: I open the windows and sweep the floors and remove heavy, dark covers from rigid Victorian furniture. It's the least I can do. At first it's distressing, and I try not to look at Baz, who is trying to look enthusiastic and motivated rather than restless and grumpy. He walks through the rooms, grumbling to himself when he thinks I can't hear. But gradually, the monotonous physical work relaxes me. Then a vague feeling of familiarity starts nagging me, and I realise I've actually done all of this before.

I did a lot of housework in a lot of old Victorian houses that had been converted into public charity buildings, homes for the poor, neglected children. And even though It's been years since I last held a duster (our flat in London is regularly cleaned by magic, obviously), the well-practised movements from my childhood are woven naturally into my muscles, and I don't even have to think about it. The automatic movements feel right somehow, like a forgotten note of my true self, like meeting the Humdrum again and not fearing him anymore.

As time goes by, Baz tries less and less hard to fake enthusiasm, and dissolve into the familiar sour mood I’ve come to know all too well on our quest. Instead of drowning myself in guilt again, I decide to try to be productive, and turn to the bathroom. Baz isn't very skillful at Normal-style cleanings, but Merlin, I surely have more than enough adequate experience.

Baz

The bathroom is so warm and bright and clean and feels like home, that I almost forget to feel suffocated. I've spent so many hours here—soaking in the sudsy water, listening to violin and piano concerto records, and almost managing to push aside everything that was happening in my life: my father's disappointed looks, my aunt's mess, the blood I just drank in the forest. I've spent so many lovely summer evenings trying not to think about how Snow spends his time in his orphanage, and how at the beginning of each school year he returns too thin and too sad, and it takes Bunce at least a few days to cheer him up. So many hours I've spent in this luxurious bath, listening to Schubert's Ständchen, D 889 and dreaming up Snow wrapped in my arms, relaxed, satisfied, safe and happy.

I start the bath. Daphne gave us so much stuff before we left, that we barely managed to carry it all. ("We've got way too much anyway," she said. She also insisted that all the toilet paper in the supermarket had run out, but that surely was a joke.) With a happy sigh of delight, I open the bag and take out an ultra-soft exfoliating sponge, lavender bubble elixir, vanilla and patchouli body wash, white rose bath bombs, coconut bath oil, and milk and honey creamy foam. I hang the towels on the vintage copper hangers, choose some of my favourite soaps, and start filling the bath with hot, fragrant water.

Simon

I leave Baz in the bathroom and go handle the groceries in the kitchen. I haven't seen a kitchen this big in years, and I ease up into the routine work. I air out the cupboards and take the covers off the chairs, wipe the counters and put vegetables in the fridge, and suddenly I find myself singing.

In one of the children's homes, when I was maybe six or seven, Betsy the cook would sneak me biscuits when I helped her clean the oven, and let me watch her make lunch on Sundays. I pick up some potatoes and start peeling them absently, humming a nursery rhyme she used to sing. The notes dance around me as I once knew them: not as plain matter-of-factly magic spells, evidence of my constant failure, but as small drops of kindness that I've treasured in my childhood with yearning devotion. Precious moments of peace and warmth and attention that were gifted to me alone. I fry onions and ground beef and hum How Many Miles to Babylon, sinking into a foreign and unexpected feeling of almost-home. My old therapist asked me repeatedly about my childhood memories, and I always answered I don't remember anything; I really didn't. I didn't even know that I still had such memories hidden somewhere inside me.

I'm about to put the pie in the oven, singing loudly "If your heels are nimble and your toes are light, you may get there by candle-light", when Baz pops up behind me. He clears his throat, and I jerk and turn around. He stares at me.

"Are you trying to leave?"

"Huh?" I'm confused.

"It's a navigation spell," he sounds hurt.

I lean back on the counter. "Baz, it's a nursery rhyme," I say. And also, I don't have magic, and there is no magic here, and magic isn't everything there is to life, and where on earth could I possibly go—but that's all getting too much to say.

Baz nods. He's still scowling. I sigh and add, "I made a pie."

"You did?" Baz is surprised. I don't blame him. I don't cook much. There are so many pubs and bakeries and sandwich shops around us, Baz eats lunch at university or at work, and on Saturdays we're invited to Lady Ruth's, so I just don't see the point. But sometimes I think that maybe none of these is the actual issue—maybe there's just something too warm and domestic about home-cooked meals, that I don't feel entirely comfortable making it something I do. Something that's happening naturally in our house.

We don't talk about it much—about our place in London, which neither of us feels at home in, and there's still hardly any furniture in there even after three years. About our plans for the future, after Baz finishes his master's degree. About marriage and children. I know Baz wants a family, of course he does; He is the most domestic person I know. He won't admit it, but secretly he wants his father's life precisely: a beautiful home, a beautiful wedding and beautiful children, and a warm home-cooked family dinner at the end of each day.

We've never talked about it. Even after three years, I'm still uncomfortable with the idea of a family of my own, one that I fully belong to. I'm afraid to ruin everything for everyone again. Maybe if Baz would have asked... maybe I would try to deal with it somehow. But he never brings it up. He doesn't suggest that we buy a place that will feel truly ours. He doesn't even offer to cook. And he has no idea that I'm actually able to cook a bit, and may even enjoy it sometimes.

"Yes," I manage to say. "I made shepherd's pie."

Baz stares at me for a few more moments, then takes a step forward and reaches hesitantly at my hand. "Come to the bathtub."

Baz

Snow isn't used to baths. (Big surprise.) As I soak into the warm water and lean back blissfully, he curls up on the other side of the tub, his knees pulled up to his stomach, one hand swirling small cycles in the water and stirring the foam in a restless motion. I nudge his shin lightly with my foot, and he slides backwards instinctively until he's pressed against the wall of the tub, cowering like a trapped animal. I sigh and close my eyes, trying to dissolve into the peaceful inner space where I almost manage to forget about everything.

"How do you feel?" Snow's voice cuts through the steamy fog, small, almost inaudible. I open my eyes.

"Fine. What do you mean?"

"I just thought..." he hesitates. "About the... you know. Magic." He barely whispers the word, as if he's afraid to remind me.

I think about it. When I first stepped into the house, I felt the usual suffocation, but now—inside my homely-familiar soothing bubble bath—it doesn't feel quite as awful. I've missed home, I suddenly realise. I did not expect this. I never felt entirely comfortable in this house, but I guess I somewhat liked it nonetheless. "I feel all right," I say, and add carefully: "I think I missed home a little, maybe." One beat of silence passes, then two, and three, and then Simon's hushed voice cuts through: "I think I did, too."

Simon

I soften into the steamy mist. Everything smells sweet, clean, and soothing, and the water is a little too hot, but Baz's leg pressed against mine is cool enough to send a pleasant shiver through me. I see him watching me; his foot rubs against the bottom of my calf, pressing and loosening and pressing again. I look down at the small ripples my hand is swirling in the water, and dare to say, "Some memories came to me. From... before."

Baz says nothing. I can feel him tensing up. His foot lingers on my calf.

"They're… I don't know." I can't quite put it into words, and these memories are slippery and shaky. It's like trying to remember a smell, a touch. "There's just something about them."

"Something," Baz repeats.

"Something... not just bad."

Baz is quiet. He's waiting for me to continue, but I'm out of words. The air between us is strained like a string, and I can see him frown intently. A few achingly still moments pass, and I'm starting to think frantically about a change of subject, when he rises up suddenly. The water waves around him and splashes on the floor, and he doesn't even notice. "Wait a minute," he says hastily and hurries away.

Baz

I run back to the front hall, water dripping around me and my footsteps wetting the wooden floor, but I don't even think about a wiping spell. Lunging towards our bags still piled by the door, I pull out my violin, carefully wrapped in its case. I wipe my hands, pick it up carefully and run back to Snow, because I think I might be onto something. I might have found a new spell that no one has ever known before, that seemed utterly impossible up till now.

Simon

I manage to settle back into the fragrant bubbly water when Baz returns and pauses by the doorway, holding his violin. The door is half open, the air has cooled a little, and the water is now just the right temperature. He tucks the violin under his chin, lifts the bow and slides it gently over the strings. The opening notes rise up, then go down, and rise up again, in a melodic rhythm of a quiet stream:

"How many miles to Babylon? / Three score miles and ten / Can I get there by candle-light? / Yes, and back again."

The tender wave of music flows on, and on, and on. Baz's movements gradually relax and open up, dissolving into the melody, his eyes closed, his body sways absently from side to side. He is as beautiful as a black-and-white movie character, his pale skin shining like porcelain in the soft light of the bathroom, a dim glow surrounding him like a halo. The musical harmony echoes in the room and swirls around me. I relax into the water, immersed in warmth, comfort, and small drops of kindness that grow bigger and bigger until they become a trickle of rain, then a flood, then a river, then an ocean. The bath is a warm ocean on a golden summer day, and Baz's music is an endless flowing wave that rises and falls and rocks me tenderly, until I'm drifting away in a repetitive rhyme that feels like magic:

"Can I get there by candlelight? / Yes, and back again."

When Baz eventually stops, it feels like hours have passed by, and I realise that my eyes are wet and my breathing is deep. The air I exhale reaches my very bottom. When Baz slides back into the water, I shift towards him like he's gravity itself. I melt against his chest, my head's tilting back to rest on his shoulder, and my words begin to flow on their own.

Baz

Simon scatters incoherent fragments of stories that I don't even try to fully comprehend, and it's impossible anyway, no more than it's possible to line up the waves of the sea. Instead, I just hug him and rub his back over his wings. Tears run down from his eyes, and he doesn't wipe them away. I kiss his wet cheeks. When the flow of stories finally fades away, he curls up against my chest, his body limp, his eyes half closed, his head dropped back.

I'm starting to think he fell asleep when his gaze drifts towards me with an almost imperceptible shift, his breath fluttering against my cheek as he whispers, "Baz?"

"Hmm?" I murmur and kiss his shoulder.

"Do you want to buy a house together?" he asks in a low voice.

I close my eyes and pretend I didn't hear him. We had a long day, and Simon is tired, and his eyes are still swollen with tears. It would be hasty of me to dive into a conversation that he doesn't mean, that he'll do anything to forget about tomorrow morning. I kiss the side of his head, inhale the lavender scent of his hair and pretend to be immersed in a peaceful silence, until Simon squirms out of my embrace. I look up and my eyes meet his—very blue, very wide, and something like a hurt expectation spreads through them as he blinks rapidly a couple of times, but doesn't look away. "What do you think?" He whispers.

I pull him back into my arms and give myself a moment to calm down before the corners of my mouth curve up in a tentative smile. Simon is still looking at me. I'm not sure he's breathing. I'm not sure I'm breathing. I think of my home in Hampshire, of my home in Oxford, of my home at Watford, of Simon who has always been my home.

I let my full smile, wide and dazzled, slip out as I tighten my arms around him and my head tilts towards his. "When you're ready," I murmur into his ear, "you don't have to ask."

Simon laughs and kisses my neck, and even though the water is starting to cool down, my blood is boiling. Simon's wings spread over and wrap both of us in soft, warm leather. His tail slides and twists in the water around my thighs, teasing me. I let out a strangled breath and lean forward to kiss him. Simon smiles at me, puts a hand on the back of my neck and pulls me closer to him, and I can no longer separate teenage fantasies from reality -- and suddenly an unmistakable, loud ding cuts through the house.

Simon leans back with a frustrated groan. I grin at him as I get up and pull him outside, wrapping him in a big, fluffy towel so he doesn’t get cold. "Come on, Snow. Your pie is ready."

I allow myself to take a small, happy leap in the air when he goes in front of me and can't see. Then I grab his hand and walk with my back straight and a wide smile spread over my face—because today I'm the greatest mage who ever lived, and I discovered the hardest spell that ever was: the spell that will make Simon Snow feel at home.

______________________________________________________________

December 2022

Simon

I run into the house and throw the bags by the door. I don't have much time, and I need to get everything ready before Baz finishes his phone call. (He's immersed in a conversation with Penny about their final project. She called just in time, right before I parked, and the conversation can keep him busy for a while, but I better hurry still.) I grab one bag and run upstairs to the bathroom.

Somehow, even though Baz adores baths as much as Cleopatra herself, we haven't taken many of them together over the years. Our flat in London doesn't have a bath, and at first, I tried to suggest that we look at other places, but the prices just keep rising, and it didn't make sense to give it up. It's a lovely place just on the edge of the city, surrounded by lively green meadows, and nearby is a small forest where Baz can hunt. (It's not quite as remarkable as the woods in Hampshire, but at least he doesn't have to drink only rats anymore.) I like joining him there and spread my wings high above the trees when no one can see. (The neighbours got used to the wings—Penny told them I'm a particularly eccentric circus artist, and considering all the creepy guests she and Shepard bring over all the time, it doesn't seem to surprise them in the slightest. But they still don't know I can actually fly.)

We visit his parents on holidays, and Baz sometimes uses Daphne's well-equipped bath, but I don't feel comfortable joining him—because honestly, this is his parents' house. And I'm still not sure I actually like baths, all steamy and oily and so very still.

But I do love Baz, and despite what he believes, I am in fact capable of being romantic. I think.

And the oracle that Shepard met in the pub insisted that 2023 would be the most fortunate year ever known to mankind, so it's quite clear that now is the right time.

The bubbling water fills the tub. I know nothing about all those soaps and foams Agatha brought me, but Baz loves everything, so I reckon it doesn't matter. White thick bath cream mixes with rosy bath salts and pine-green foam, and I start handling the fairy lights and the roses (I'm not sure what to do with them, so I just put the bouquet in the sink.) The room starts to fog up in a sweet-fragranced cloud, just as Baz yells in irritation from the foot of the stairs: "You haven't even started unpacking?!"

Baz

I disconnect the phone call, and finally consume fully the sense of home. We returned from our quest to Edinburgh just the day before Christmas, and Simon would have stayed longer if I hadn't insisted that we can't miss Christmas eve with my family. We don't visit my parents much, but Christmas was settled years ago. My siblings love Simon—he flies the little ones over the lawns, tells adventure stories and plays football with them. Daphne makes an enormous amount of food, and fusses over us. (Simon never turns down an extra serving, and that wins her over every time.) Even my father got used to it eventually: he's still too formal with all of us, especially with him, but when he's settled in his armchair with a book while Simon plays with the children and Daphne chats cheerfully, he seems almost relaxed. Once or twice he even asked me about my "future plans" and glanced at Simon, which is as close to a pressure to settle down as he's probably capable of.

Still, when we returned from Edinburgh Simon insisted that we spend a night in Hampshire before going to Oxford. He said he wanted to "spend some alone time" with me. So we parted ways with Penny and Shepard at Southampton Airport, and rented a car for ourselves.

I'm still not sure how I feel about this house. We haven't been here much since the two weeks of the COVID quarantine, but occasionally when we pass through the area, we find ourselves staying for a few days. Simon feels strangely comfortable here, now that the entire area is a dead spot. He doesn't even have to think about magic. And I feel comfortable because Simon feels comfortable, and because I grew up here, and it will always feel like home to me at least a little. And also, because the silence between us here is both intimate and light. The house is large and spacious, and I can peacefully listen to music and play my violin for hours, without disturbing the neighbours like in our small city apartment. Simon wanders around in the woods (he's already befriended all the creatures in it), and flies miles away in every direction, until his cheeks are flushed and he can't stop smiling. When he comes back, we make dinner, and then he's soft and cuddly as we watch telly together. Honestly, what more could I ask.

I still have a hard time staying for too long in a completely non-magickal environment, but even I came to admit there's something to it. This Normal stillness brings out some sort of a new perspective. As Simon says, songs are just songs here, phrases are just phrases. We rediscover mundanity, and it's unexpectedly soothing at times. And when I look at Simon like that, I can see him as he probably sees himself most of the time: a Normal boy who grew up in a Normal environment and just wanted to belong somewhere. Not the greatest mage who ever lived, not a pool of overflowing and uncontrollable energy, not a weapon in a war that isn't his. Looking at him as he cooks and sings to himself mindlessly, I understand a little better his journey from being that Normal boy to The Mage's soldier and back, and how difficult it is for him to explain—even to himself—what he is now. In these moments I give up completely on explanations, solutions and interpretations, and just hug him or sing along with him for a while, and something about this homely warmth soothes us both. If only I had known before that this very place, which for years has made us both feel so anxious and detached, would give us a home.

Simon

I finish undressing when I hear Baz going up the stairs, carrying the bags. I look around one last time, take a deep breath and come out to the hallway.

"Do you mind helping...?" He starts, and I ignore it because I don’t have time for this right now. My heart is beating too fast. Baz frowns when I step closer and reach out for his hand. "What—" he starts, and I cut him off, "come on."

Baz drops the bags without taking his eyes off me. I pull him by the arm. "Come on, I prepared a bath."

Baz doesn't argue. (He never argues with a bath.) I open the door and the steam surrounds us immediately. Baz inhales sharply and stops in place, looking around at the fairy lights and the flowers and the rosy bubbly water. I pull him more urgently. "Come on, the water is getting cold." He's still staring around, so I start unbuttoning his shirt myself. He comes to his senses when I pull his shirt off completely, and finishes undressing on his own. Then he dips a cautious hand in the bath, lets out a blissful sigh, and slides inside. Step one—check, I think, and my heart is drumming in my chest like at the beginning of a quest.

"So, you finally felt like taking a bath?" Baz asks. He smiles, but I can hear the hesitation in his voice. He knows something is wrong. (I always argue with a bath.)

I clear my throat. I'm naked and shivering a little, though the room isn't cold. "Baz," I start. The steam is fogging up around me, so it's hard to see him, and it helps me to keep going. "Do you know what day it is?"

"Friday?" He furrows his eyebrows.

I let out a frustrated breath. "No! I mean, yes. It's Friday. But what else?"

"Um… the day before Christmas?"

"Right," I start fidgeting restlessly. "And also...?"

Baz leans back and settles lower in the water. He hums quietly for a moment before saying in a softened voice, "Why don't you tell me, Snow?"

"It's… um. Well. It's our anniversary."

Baz is silent for a couple of seconds. "We don't celebrate an anniversary."

"Right," I admit. "But that doesn't mean it doesn't exist."

"It doesn't?" Baz asks.

"No. I mean, it exists. It's today. It's this night, actually. Which isn't exactly today, but waiting for the night would have ruined the surprise, so..."

"Snow, what on earth are you talking about?" He's starting to get up, and I think he's about to do something very Baz—to take my hand, to hug me, to pull me into the bath—and I just can't let that happen. I inhale dizzily, like at the moment before I spread my wings and fly.

"Baz, wait," I say shakily. "Sit down for a moment. I need to say something."

He soaks back into the water. Through the steam, I can see him frowning and worrying at his lip. I don't have much time left. I grope for the sink, get stung by a rose thorn (who was the bloody idiot who decided roses were romantic), turn around, take a few steps forward and lean on the edge of the bath. It feels ridiculous, it feels insane, it feels like the first moment when I'm rising up in the air and the wind hits my wings.

"So," I start again. "It's our anniversary. Our seventh anniversary," I add.

Baz nods, "Okay."

"And seven is a magickal number," I say. Baz frowns again, so I quickly continue, "And we've been living together for a long time. And I love you."

"I love you too," Baz says softly.

"And someone has to say it already." It's not going the way I planned. Not at all. I feel like I'm wobbling in the air and drifting up and down and rolling over, and then suddenly my wings spread wide and I just fly. "here."

I push the box into his wet palm. It almost slips out of his grip and sinks into the water, and I almost leap into the bath to rescue it, and it's just about the most ridiculous romantic moment ever.

Baz tightens his fingers around the box. He doesn't open it. With one delicate finger, he strokes the black velvet. He looks at me. I rub the back of my neck nervously. "Come on, open it."

Baz opens the box. A white gold ring with a thin dark-violet centre stripe sparkles in the soft, misty light. Baz loves violet. And the contrast will match the colour of his skin. And this is an ancient ring I got from that elf whose village Shepard and I helped save. Baz loves ancient and magickal things.

He still doesn't say anything. He looks at me. Looks at the ring. Looks at me again.

"Well?" I choke out.

Baz puts the ring on his finger. It fits him perfectly, because Baz is perfect. (And also, Penny helped me to spell it to his size.) He reaches a hand out to me and says, "come to the bathtub, Snow."

Baz

I pull Simon to me, tighten my arms around his chest and kiss his neck. I kiss him, and kiss some more, until I'm so hot that my vision blurs. I bite his soft skin carefully and suck one drop of blood. It's an intimately familiar dance that we've perfected over our years together, and still my heart leaps anxiously and then excitedly every single time. Simon presses against me and drops his head back on my shoulder, exposing more of his neck. He rubs my cheek with his warm skin, which always smells like brown sugar and butter and summer. My head spins, and for a moment I lose myself in it, in how good it all is, in how good he is, in how good he is to me. I suck another drop of blood and inhale his sweetness. Simon lets out a strangled whimper and his tail curls and tightens around my thigh. Small, quick breaths emerge from his parted lips. His skin burns against me and he grips my palms tight. I almost start to drown in all of this goodness, but then a flash of light on our clasped hands catches my eye, and I suddenly remember that we still have a conversation to finish.

I let go of his neck and turn his face towards me until his beautiful blue eyes meet mine. Simon blinks as if waking from a dream.

I clear my throat. "So," I say and look at my hand, then back at him. "You were saying something?"

Simon smiles. He pokes my thigh with the pointed end of his tail. "Do I really have to say it?"

My lips curve up in an effort to imitate my old sneer. I'm failing shamefully, of course; A vague, affectionate shadow of a smirk hangs at the corners of my mouth as I raise up an eyebrow and say, "Use your words, Snow."

Simon lets out a wet laugh and buries his face in my shoulder. His muffled voice vibrates against my skin as he asks hoarsely, "Do you wanna marry me?"

Simon

It's the worst proposal in history. I know that. Baz absolutely knows that. I should have done everything differently, and now it's hopeless. Maybe we could just forget about it all, and he'll go back to drinking me.

Baz

It's the best proposal in history. And I mean in all five dimensions Bunce's parents are married in, and in all the other dimensions there are.

"Yes," I say. I lift our joint hands and kiss his knuckles. I run my fingers through his wet hair, stroke his cheek fondly with my thumb, and pull him for another kiss. Simon melts into me and a sigh of relief escapes him. He laughs and says, "Okay." I think he's wiping his eyes. His wings spread over my shoulders and wrap us both. I kiss him again, and again, and again, then slip back down the familiar path to his neck. "On one condition," I murmur against his skin, and kiss a mole there. "After the wedding, we're getting a new house, with a bath."

[anthonyaldenphotography]

Portrait Of Death

I remember when my brother died 10 years ago, his death brought tears to my soul. I was engaged in my normal busy schedule and heard an unearthly voice that said “Call home.” immediately stopped what I was doing, picked up the phone and called my mom. My nephew picked up the phone and said they found Uncle Marvin unconscious at home and rushed him to the hospital.

I knew the end was coming; he had been diagnosed six months ago with terminal lung cancer and fought a courageous battle to survive with dignity. You see, he knew he would lose the war, but he wanted to die a warrior. With honour and pride, he didn't want to stretch out his impending death by having someone take care of him. He chose to die in control and the comfort of his home.

I hung up the phone, composed myself, and jumped in my car to make the two-hour ride to Toledo. God is great! No one thought to call me and tell me that he was fighting for his life in intensive care, yet the spiritual connection between my brother and I had moved beyond space and time. My heartfelt heavy, I have never lost anyone close. I fought to stay in control of my emotions; how I made the drive down 23 North was still a blur. I finally broke down halfway home, gathering up my feelings outside the emergency room. I parked the car and made the long walk down the dim corridor that led to the hospital entrance.

Death can be celebrated, feared, or embraced. I chose to embrace it. I just talked to Marvin three days before his death. His words were slurred and his left hand trembled out of control as he tried to maneuver his paintbrush. He was a great artist in my opinion, one of the most prolific artists of his generation. Creating art was the only thing that pushed Marvin to fight against death. Realizing his date with death grew closer, he laid his brush down, took a deep breath, and said; “just as well I have nothing else to create, seems I’ve done it all".

There were no words to console my big brother. I could not begin to imagine how he must have felt, trying to cope with death while living. My sadness felt like it was never going to let up; I was about to lose my brother, my friend, my mentor.

Sometimes the shortest walk is the longest distance. The hallway that led to the intensive care unit was long and narrow. The floors were paved with white tile, the lighting was subdued. As I approached the double doors, the out-of-focus sign now read clearly “intensive care”. The automatic doors opened like a gateway to another dimension.

My immediate family was all gathered around the hospital bed. No tubes were coming in or out of his body, just an ankh-shaped bandage around the IV that held the needle firm in his collapsed vein. He was still alive, waiting and barely clinging to life. My mother was at the head of the bed, holding his hand. The wall clock above reads 2:15 am. I had never seen anyone dying; it was nothing like the movies. Everything was surreal, as if I was in a dream. I maneuvered myself just opposite my mother at the head of the bed. She held his right hand, and I had his left.

For the first time, I saw my mother cry; it was a soft whimpering cry. I wanted to be strong for her, so I held back any visible tears, yet my heart flooded with grief. Death is always only a blink away. Marvin always seems invincible. My brother Tommy, who since then has passed away, tried to ease our tension by cracking stale jokes. Now that I think back, it was his way of coping with the loss of our brother. Deep down, losing Marvin was tearing Tommy apart. I could see right through his comedic act.

Marvin’s breathing became noticeably irregular; he fought death, refusing to let go of this reality. He was preparing to cross over; however, I don’t think he was afraid; he just wasn’t ready to say goodbye. For all of his life, Marvin spoke through his art. He laid his soul on canvas for the world to see his pain, joy, humanity, and sexuality. The small room was silent; no one spoke a word. We all just waited for the angel of death to reclaim his soul.

My mother leaned over and whispered in Marvin’s ear, “You can go home now; it’s ok, Marvin, you can let go.” The voice that welcomed him into this world told him it was okay to depart. My mother closed her eyes held his hand tight, and waited for him to let go.

Somewhere between life and death, a space holds our spirit in limbo. Marvin elevated above us all that night, capturing his last recognizable glimpse of the ones he loved. Marvin lifted his brush high and painted his final stroke for the ones he had to leave behind. Rest in peace!

Anthony Alden Vines