#the couch is less magnetic lately

[abirddogmoment]

She's putting the pieces together for such a nice baby retrieve 🥺

[euphoricfilter]

𝐒𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐧𝐱𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐲 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏𝟔

attempt #1

tags/ warnings: games designer! jungkook || non-idol au || established relationship || fluff || small brain jk is making a reappearance he's just a little silly

word count: 1.1k

notes: no taglist!!!!!

☆ collaboration with @bonny-kookoo 💕 ☆

☆ series masterlist

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.

“Y/n—baby” Jungkook almost slips over as he speeds into the living room, corner of the rug curled up just enough for him to trip over.

His eyes catch onto you, sprawled across the couch, movie running on the TV. Because as much as he planned to spend every moment with you on this trip, there was only so many times he could ignore the calls from his boss before he was toeing the line of losing his job.

You find it in yourself to pull your eyes away from the television, “Hmm?” you blink over at him, neck craned uncomfortably.

“I packed you a fancy dress, right?” he rushes, foot tapping against the floor.

You simply look at him for a moment, mind slowly whirring back to life as you recount what had been put in your suitcase before the both of you left. Vague memory of a nice outfit being folded beneath a pile of clothes.

“I think so…” you start, watching as Jungkook stalks across the living room.

His hands wrap around your arms, lifting you off the couch with ease, “We need to get dressed then” his hands linger over your warn skin a little longer, fingertips acting like magnet as he has to drag himself away from you.

“What?” you breathe, stumbling behind him as he slithers back into the bedroom.

He’s quick to unzip his suitcase, neatly folded clothes thrown onto the chair as he looks for something.

“What’s happening” you stand beside your own suitcase, entirely confused as to what was happening. It wasn’t exactly out of the ordinary for Jungkook to panic, mind always frazzled, and so you’ve taught yourself to figure out what exactly was going on inside his head before you chose to panic too.

“I booked a dinner at this restaurant—” he starts, throwing a suit onto the bed, “And I forgot It’s in less than an hour… and we’re not exactly dressed yet, and we need to drive there—”

“Jungkook” you call out his name.

He looks up at you with wide eyes, stray piece of underwear held in a tight fist as he swallows.

“Calm down” a gentle smile pulls onto your lips, “We have time. When’s the reservation?”

“6:30” he murmurs, shoulders losing that little bit of pent up tension.

“That’s enough time, okay?” you nod, “You can get ready before then, and so can I. You don’t need to panic”

“I know, it’s just—” he sighs, fingers tugging at his earrings, “I want this to be perfect. No, it needs to be perfect”

You step over your suitcase, crouching down beside him, “You’ve done a good job so far, so please stop stressing. It’s not good for you”

He presses his forehead against your shoulder, “I love you” he murmurs.

“Love you too” your fingers tangle into his hair, “Now get changed, or we really will be late”

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.

“One picture, please baby” Jungkook whines as he pulls his bag from the back seat of the car.

“And what if we’re late?” you peer through the passenger side widow at the time of the dashboard, keys still running the car.

“It’ll only take a minute” the car door slamming shut echoes through the empty car park, “You look too pretty, I need to document this moment forever” he tells you, entirely serious as he looks at you from over the hood of the car.

You glance over at the restaurant on the other side of the street, then back over at Jungkook.

“One photo… maybe two but the second one has to be the both of us” you mumble, arms crossed over your chest.

He slips around the front of the car, fingers gentle as they skim down the length of your arms. He leans down, lips soft against your cheek as he whispers out his thanks, kiss lingering over your warm cheeks.

He thinks the dinner is perfect, entirely enamoured by everything you say as you talk over dinner. Warm unfiltered, raw, perfect love bubbling within his heart, so fully of you, loving you, wanting to worship the ground you walked on.

There’s something entirely magical about the moment in Jungkook’s mind, candle on the table reflected like starlight in your eyes, restaurant mellow enough that it felt like it was only the both of you there. The world yours just for this moment, even if only a couple of hours. He’s happy as he watches you eat, cheeks aching from smiling at you so much though it’s the good kind of ache that reminds him of why he wants to spend the rest of his life with you.

“Let’s share dessert” you say as you look at the menu, “Or should we get one each and share both of them?” you run a finger over your bottom lip.

Jungkook’s eyes linger over your face, words barely registering in his mind before he’s telling you to order whatever you want.

“You’re not helping, Jungkook” you lay the menu flat on the table, “What do you want?”

“Whatever you want, baby” he pulls his chair a little closer to the table, wanting to be that little bit closer to you.

You narrow your eyes at him, “I want whatever you want”

“Liar” he chirps, “because I know for a fact there’s shit on that menu you wouldn’t even dream of eating, even if it is dessert”

“Touché” you pull the menu closer to you, “I want something you’ll like too”

“I like everything you like” he tells you.

“That’s not true”

He hums, “Name one thing you like that I don’t”

You pause for a moment, head tilting to look up at him, “What about…” you start, leaning back in your chair.

He opens his mouth, smug little smile on his face.

You stop him, “There definitely is something. Just give me time to think of it”

He laughs, head tipping back a little.

“While you think of that… and order dessert, I’m going to the bathroom” he pushes his chair back, leaning over the table to give you a gentle kiss before he’s slipping around tables towards the toilets, bag tucked under his arm.

And only once in the bathroom does he realise a flaw in his plan. He rummages through his bag, frantic as he sits on the toilet seat, feet tapping against the floor as he pulls everything out of his bag.

“Shit” he whispers.

He’d planned it out perfectly, ready to have the little velvety box tucked away in the pocket of his suit, ready to be yours as you walked along the beach. Secluded from the rest of the world because he knows not to ask you to be his in front of a crowd.  

He feels the panic settle beneath his skin, contents of his bag emptied over his lap, velvet box nowhere to be seen. Likely still tucked away between his clothes where you wouldn’t be able to stumble across it.

He holds his head in his hands, a long drawn curse falling past his lips.

[uravitypng]

𝐈 𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐊 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐌𝐔𝐂𝐇: 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎

pairing: kaminari denki x reader, (hanta sero x reader)

word count: 3.8k

content warnings/things in part two: gardening bashing, pet names, fluff, it's a mystery trying to figure out what's going on inside your best friend's heads, i use the words sofa and couch interchangeably, written with a chubby reader in mind (smut in later chapters/+18)

a/n: i hope you all enjoy part two!! i'm really excited for you all to read it and i hope you like it!! let me know what you think of this chapter ♡

i talk too much summery: it's terrible when you're in love with your best friend. it's terrible that he's in love with someone else.

<< previous | next >> | masterlist / check out my poll for this chapter!

Having the morning off is great for many reasons, sleeping in, spending time getting ready, maybe meeting with your friends and sleeping in again. Today is one of those days, where you can relax for the morning and not be in a rush to go out the door. You love being a hero but early morning patrols are the bane of your existence, so you start the morning of by waking up late and getting breakfast. Denki's already patrolling right now so you can't spend the morning with him, although lounging about on the sofa sounds like a good idea.

That's when you get a message come through and you know straight away it's from Hanta, he has a custom ringtone on your phone. One night when you both just graduated you went down to the beach together and played each other music until dawn. That was the first time he played you the song heat waves and now you always think of him when you hear it. That night he grabbed your phone and took a photo of you together, before changing his ringtone sound, pressing the record button and using the sound from the speaker. You still use that exact sound now where you can hear the waves and the sound of you laughing in the audio so as you hear the familiar notes of by glass animal and waves you open up your messages. 'Hey you're not patrolling right now, right? You've got the morning off?'

You briefly wonder how he know's your schedule but maybe you mentioned it earlier in the week. 'Yeah, have the whole morning off.'

'Cool, you wanna hang out?'

'Definitely. It'll be so much better than watching day time tv and napping throughout the morning.'

'Don't disrespect day time tv like that.' That gets a laugh out of you before you're arranging somewhere to meet and start getting ready.

You end up in a small cafe not too far a walk from yours, where you see Hanta is already there waiting and sitting at the back where you typically sit. It's not a very well known place as it looks fairly small on the outside but it's looks deceive because the inside is beautifully decorated. You've been told the owners daughter wants to be an artist when she's older, there's pretty little paintings in the corners or the walls and everything about the place just fits. It's delightful and you can't knock the food and drinks either.

Because it's so quiet you're less likely to be recognised which is also a big reason as to why you like this place. Fans coming up to you and asking to take photos or have signatures is part of the job but every hero deserves respite and you in particular are not the most charismatic, just wanting to do hero work and finding all the extra PR stuff boring and tedious. Most of your friends are more accepting to that side of hero work, but you lack the patience and charm for it, maybe Bakugou has rubbed off on you. You're just not good at it.

You are sitting across to one of your friends who is good at it and you're not confused to why. Hanta is one hero that people never have criticism for, he works hard, he's good at hero work, he's outgoing, approachable and magnetic, you're often in awe with him in general and how you have such amazing friends.

"Are you even listening?" You're thoughts get interrupted as you realise Hanta is grinning at you with this all knowing look on his face. Your silence answers him causing him to snicker at you. "Am I boring you or something?" In that moment you wish you were equally as quick-witted as him and be able to say something that would wipe that cheeky grin of his face, but alas you're not.

Sticking your tongue out at him, "yes." he laughs again which causes you to smile, all attention focused back onto him and your conversation. The next few hours are spent in the cafe immersed in one another's company, enjoying your time together. He's been on another failed date and every time there's an entertaining story to go along with it. This time he swears that the women he went on a date with must have been over ten years older than him and the only thing she seemed interested in talking about was gardening.

"I swear it's true! I don't know where Mina finds these girls who she swears are 'perfect for me'." The thought crosses your mind that maybe he should stop going on dates picked by Mina, they never end well but you think not to as the stories always make you laugh and Hanta has never told you throughout all of you knowing him if he even wants a committed relationship or similarly what his type is. For now you'll enjoy listening to his stories and maybe you'll have to ask Kiri at some point if he knows more about it than you. You know he has one night stands, you've seen people leave his flat and people leave with him after nights out at the club but he's never introduced a partner to you. "There's no way that she's our age, she's got to be like 40 AND then the gardening thing. The whole time she was talking about how often you have to water orchids and that you should put ice cubes on them. I'm telling you that just isn't true."

"How do you know it isn't true?" you interrupt, chuckling.

He pauses for a second before replying, "if it is true I don't want to go on a second date with someone who knows that fact." You laugh more, knowing that he is a hundred percent serious and that makes it all the more funnier.

You quickly glance at the clock hanging up on the wall opposite you, you're going to be in serious trouble if you don't get a move on. You've been so engaged talking to Hanta that time flew by. "Shit, I wasn't looking at the time, fuck." You grab your phone and throw it into your bag.

"Patrol?" Sero asks after checking the time.

"Yeah, I'm going to be late if I don't hurry," you respond, as you're getting up, starting to make your way to the door.

He gathers his things and slides his way next to you, "I'll walk with you."

With you walking as fast as you can and Hanta's long limbs you're bound to make it in time. Worrying less, you take a deep breath and remind yourself that you're not going to be late. If it's necessary you'll just get him to swing you there with his quirk.

You're both a couple minutes away from the agency when you're about to be heading your separate ways. You, on your way to the agency to get your hero gear on and Hanta across the road next to the agency to get back home. "See ya, I'll text you after work," you tell Hanta. Before you know what's happening he holds onto your wrist and quickly places a chaste kiss on your lips, "have a good shift, I'll see you soon. Yeah?" He says just as quickly as the kiss and he turns and heads down the road. That's never happened before but processing that can wait until after work.

It didn't wait until after work. During patrol your mind couldn't help but wander. You think maybe it was so fast you could have imagined it, or maybe it's likely that you're overreacting and thinking to much about it. It was just a quick kiss, a peck. Sure, Hanta's never done that before but you've been friends with Mina for years and she's surprised you more than you can count by kissing you quickly, unexpectedly grabbing onto your face making you keep eye contact as she swiftly swoops in and kisses you before saying she's about to leave whatever convention you're at.

Also every Christmas you and Kiri find yourself under the mistletoe together. The first time it happened it was awkward and you felt kind of shy however every Christmas after that it happened without fail, both of you gained confidence and took the kiss in stride and would find the whole ordeal amusing. It would feel strange if you didn't end up under the mistletoe with Kiri one Christmas, that does make it an odd pattern and a weird thing to happen but there are certainly plenty of worse people to be stuck having to kiss every year.

Like having to kiss Mineta, feeling his eyes staring at every inch of your body or Iida whose kiss you know would be to such a level of discomfort you wouldn't be able to look each other in the eye for days when seeing each other again. Or heaven forbid Denki, the man you love but know you can't have, you know that kiss would kill you. Stuck under there, with you feeling like he's being forced to kiss you while wishing it was someone else.

Maybe the kiss is like that, like it is with all your other friends. Simple. Either way it was a great kiss and though it was only a second it was a good second. His lips were soft and smooth and you could smell his pine and sandalwood cologne.

Your patrol feels quicker than normal, with you thinking about Hanta for most of it, either way you're going home and you're going to try not to think about it anymore, it's a waste of brain power. Luckily you remember what you said to Hanta before you left, shooting him a text while walking home saying how your shift was and you thanking him for a lovely morning, you can't remember who paid for drinks so you leave that bit out.

You make it home on time, to you there wasn't a time to make it on but Denki had a time. You and Denki haven't spent a lot of alone time together in the past couple of weeks and you've both noticed. It can't be helped you're both busy with patrols and work different times and different schedules and then when you have had time together it's typically with Kirishima and Sero so it's made him antsy, he misses you. He checked your patrol times for the week and made sure he was free, clearing his schedule for the time you finished work. He wanted to see you and make you dinner, just be with you.

You opened the door and five minutes later dinner would be served. Denki silently congratulates you and himself, even without knowing so your teamwork is impeccable. "I'm home!" You call out like every time. At first you didn't know if Denki was home or not but after a second you heard a clatter of pans and Denki distinctly say 'shit', you giggle before making your way into the kitchen. He must be concentrating pretty hard not to call back as loud as possible like normal.

Before you can even tease him about dropping things and being clumsy Denki turns around with a huge grin, "I'm making your favourite, go sit down." Walking behind him, and peering over his shoulder to see what he was doing exactly, your heart bursts out of chest due to the gesture.

"I can see that Denks. It smells really nice. Is it a special occasion or are you just trying to distract me and butter me up before telling me you broke the toaster again?" You ask half joking and half being genuine.

He laughs before telling you, "no, I just wanted to something nice for you, that's all." You heart warms and you try not to let it show, even though if Denki turned around he would clearly see you bashfully smiling and suddenly finding the floor very interesting looking down. "Go sit down or you're not getting any."

That gets you to move but not before you get a couple of glasses for you both and take them with you, replying a little snarky with, "yes boss." If it was anyone else you might have regretted doing that, people don't always respond well to the mocking or teasing comments you make but you know that Denki doesn't mind. In fact he always finds them humorous, every time getting a smile or chuckle out of him and pretending to be hurt by what you said so he gets you to make up for it in various ways. Even if he'll only be 'hurt' when it's his turn to do the hoovering or when he's feeling particularly tenacious and wants your attention, dragging you along with him to everywhere he needs to be that day.

You're on your way to the couch to sit down, most of the time after work if you're home late you'll eat on the couch, taking comfort over conventional seating but you're reconsidering tonight, it's not everyday you get to eat homemade food especially Denki's. Choosing the table you go over and you see that Denki has already made that decision with the table set. Not only is it set but he's put out your specific cutlery you use, you don't like using the bigger knives, forks and spoons so you have a couple of your own sets, he brought you one one day, you had only one but he brought the second set after moving in together in case the other set hadn't been cleaned yet. There's also glasses already on the table with a couple of options of both your favourite drinks. 'He really did think of everything tonight, huh.'

You sit down and place the glasses you carried to the side table so they won't get in your way as you hear, "foods coming, babydoll". You light up at use of the nickname, it's been a little while since you've heard it. He used to call you it all the time but hasn't for a little while, you would never admit it but you're glad he's called you it again, whenever you hear it you get butterflies.

The food really is delicious, neither of you are particularly good cooks but after you put your mind to something it's fantastic and this food really is. He went through all this for you and you'll love and saviour every bite. Even if it were burnt you'd still love it because of the time Denki put into it, you might've poked fun at him a bit though. You tell him how good it is and how your day has been while he tells you his. "I was kind of distracted during patrol if I'm honest." You say in between bites. "I was still on the top of my game though!" you rush out, tacked on at the end.

"I'm sure you were, you always are but what were you distracted about though?"

"It's nothing. not really."

Denki looks at you, not believing you for a second. "You may think I'll think it's nothing but that's not the case. If it's not nothing to you then it's not nothing to me as well. If you were distracted by something you've got to tell me, I've just made you dinner." He has got you there, it really isn't a big thing so there isn't any harm in telling him.

He's looking at you waiting for you to tell him, he's knows with you it could be anything. Maybe something like a philosophical question that you haven't gotten out of your head or a strange thing you saw while walking down the street, one day you came home rambling about a riddle that had you puzzled.

"I had lunch with Hanta, like I said I did, and before saying bye he kissed me. Like one of those kisses Mina gives everyone or when me and Kiri catch each other under the mistletoe."

He didn't know what he was expecting but it certainly wasn't this. You don't see Denki when you say you kissed Hanta, you're looking down at your plate getting ready to take another bite. You miss Denki's furrowed brows and his deep frown, it doesn't suit him. He tried to school his expression but that didn't stop his mouth moving, "he what?" You look up to see him and there's something about the way he said it that seems familiar. You can't exactly place what's strange about the way he said it or where you've heard him speak like that to you before but you chalk it up to confusion.

"Yeah, he kissed me. It just shocked me that's all, I didn't expect it," you explain.

"No wonder you were distracted during patrol! I can't believe he did that. You'll have to make him apologise." Denki says back automatically like it's the most urgent matter in the world, and to Denki right now it is. He can't believe Sero would just kiss you randomly like that, it's made you uncomfortable. The gall of him to put you in a situation like that!

"It's really not a big thing Denki! He doesn't need to apologise or anything." You give him the biggest smile like it's suppose to be obvious to him, that it's not a big deal but it doesn't stop him from thinking and just as he was about to say something else you start speaking again. "I'm so lucky to have you as my best friend Denki, you always look at for me but I swear this time you don't have to. It's just Hanta. It's not like I want him to apologise, it wasn't bad or anything, it was just surprising." Denki stays silent after that, you know he's protective of you, you just hope that doesn't lead him to talking to hanta about it and getting into an argument with each other.

"Dinner really was lovely Denks, thank you." You reach over to his plate and make your way into the kitchen. Just when you're about to wash up he comes up to you.

"I'll clean up tomorrow." Before you can object and tell him it's only fair for you to do it since he made dinner he's clutching onto your wrist and pulling you out of the kitchen.

"Denki what are you doing?"

"We're sitting down and we are going to watch a film."

"Can't that wait until after I clean up?"

"No." He picks up a blanket as he brings you both on the sofa and hands you the remote. Normally you sit close together or you end up next to one another because you're cold but as soon as you sit down Denki's dragging you next to him so your thighs are touching his and you're leaning against him as he pulls the blanket over you. "Put something good on babydoll."

You clear your throat, "oh, um yeah, I'll pick something now." You flick through what to watch seeing if anything in particular catches your eye. "How about wall-e? It's way better than any of the star wars films."

Denki chuckles and agrees with your pick, "it's still not better than star wars though."

"I beg to differ, it's the best space film there is."

"I don't know about that, hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy exists and there's alien too."

"Hush, wall-e is the best film that's ever been made." He's about to rebuttal but the words die on his tongue as he sees you look up at him pouting.

He pulls you even closer to him, where you're practically laying on his chest, "whatever you say doll." You play the film as you move to get comfier and pull the blanket more so it's covering your whole body.

You watch together as he cracks jokes and asks you questions and your opinions about specific scenes. It's so warm and cosy next to Denki. You can smell the citrus shower gel he uses and the faint dark chocolate smelling fragrance from his cologne that Todoroki gave him one year as secret santa, it was incredibly obvious it was from him, he basically told him. Denki now buys it whenever it runs out, he fell in love with it, he must be on his tenth bottle by now, but you're not entirely sure though.

You hear his breathing and it just all feels right, it's so cosy that halfway through wall-e you've fallen asleep. Denki realises you've fallen asleep nearly instantly by the way you didn't respond to his last joke, he looks at you and see's that your eyes are closed and fluttering occasionally, he wonders what you're dreaming about. Denki holds you tighter, wrapping his arm around your plush waist, making sure that you're comfortable and that you're warm enough. You get cold so easily. He watches the film with you in his arms and he's so thankful that neither of you were busy tonight.

Thinking about being busy he pulls out his phone, careful not to wake you, and reluctantly checks his phone, hoping that nothing important comes up. He sees a few messages from the group chat and a couple sent to him directly but nothing that demands his attention more than tonight with you so he puts his phone back down.

You wake when you feel Denki shoving his phone back in his pocket, blinking your bleary eyes trying to wake up. Hopefully Denki is unaware that you've been asleep but you know that isn't the case as you pretend you've been awake the whole time and he laughs. "I really was awake."

"Sure, I totally believe you."

"It's not my fault, I was relaxed and comfy. Sleep is important."

"Awe, ' you saying I'm cosy?"

"Go away Denki."

He chuckles as the credits roll. "Sleep is important, and that's why i'm telling you to go to bed. It's late and after the best dinner of your life I'm sure you're tired." you giggle but don't disagree or argue. "I know I'm better to sleep on than the bed but you've got to." he grins at you. you wish he wouldn't say things like that, you're tired brain can't help but imagine you asleep on him again, only this time you're in your own bed.

" 'kay i'll go to bed, but my bed is the best to sleep on," you respond tiredly.

"What else have you slept on?"

You ignore this but it still makes a sleepy smile creep on your face, "night Denks."

"Yeah night 'doll."

You waddle into your room and close the door and drift off to sleep thinking about sleeping next to Denki, while Denki's in the kitchen washing up the dishes just in case you wake up before him and do it yourself, he highly doubts that he would sleep in or that you would wake up early, but just in case.

[apomaro-mellow]

Guitar!Steve 3

Eddie liked Crash's mom. She was the most casual and welcoming of his friend's moms. Jeff's mother took some time warming up to him. Gareth's mom still called him "that boy". His own mother...well the less said about her the better.

That wasn't to say Mrs. Crash's Mom didn't have rules. No shoes on the couch, no touching her cider, and all that jazz. That is to say, Eddie was rightfully nervous about the fact that he'd accidentally taken something of hers and used it to conjure up a whole entire person.

They got to Crash's house and she was in the kitchen, stirring something. She turned and her eyes immediately went to Steve. Before leaving Eddie's trailer, they'd dressed him properly in a shirt and jeans.

"You didn't", she said as she grabbed Steve's chin, turning it this way and that before looking at the whole lot of them. "Which one of you did it?"

Three hands pointed at Eddie right away.

"I-"

"Where did he come from? What was your wish?"

"He's...", Eddie hadn't thought much about telling his friends, but telling a friend's mom? Now the reality and embarrassment was sinking in. "...Uh, he's..."

"I'm his Sweetheart", Steve replied with a smile.

"I don't need to hear anymore", she said, pulling away from him. "Clearly an inanimate object come to life the question is what is the consequence." She began ladling what she had been stirring into bowls.

"Are you making soup in the morning?", Gareth asked.

"I'm making candles, boy. You all can get some cereal from the pantry if you're hungry." Then she pointed to Steve. "You, come help me get something."

Eddie watched as his Sweetheart was pulled away from the rest of them and he anxiously patted at Crash's shoulder. "Hey hey-hey, where's she taking him? Where's she taking my baby?"

Crash looked out the kitchen window. "Over to the garden."

"To do what?", Eddie hissed.

"Whenever my mom takes me to the garden it's usually for a life changing talk. She took me out there when grandma died. And when I got my first pube."

Eddie looked out the window and saw the two of them kneeling by some bushes, picking something and placing them into baskets. Eddie paced, looking up occasionally to see them but couldn't discern what they were talking about. The other three were dutifully eating some cereal.

When the two returned from outside, each carrying a small basket of berries, Eddie immediately went to Steve's side, trying to see if he was okay but was brushed off by Crash's mom.

"Eddie, you're helping me make the jam. Crescent, take your friends, and this one as well", she gestured to Steve. "I need you to deliver some eggs and honey."

Crash groaned and Eddie protested, not wanting to part from Steve again but it was never easy to deny this woman. Soon, he was left alone with her, making jam in a giant pot. They talked a long while. About what life would mean for Steve. About what this new adventure would mean for Eddie. If he was ready for it, to take care of his Sweetheart.

If he was ready to be depended on like that. Eddie was tempted to answer right away. But she knew more about Eddie's life than even if friends. She had been friends with the late Mrs. Munson. So Eddie truly considered it when she asked if he was ready to take care of Steve in all the ways he needed.

When Steve and the boys returned, he ran to Eddie like he was a magnet and kissed him. God his Sweetheart was so sweet, almost like honey. Eddie pulled back, a question in his eyes.

Steve put a finger to his lips. "Don't tell, but we dipped our fingers in a little", he whispered.

"Secret's safe with me, baby." Eddie kissed him again and felt Steve's hands go to his hips.

"You taste good too", Steve murmured against his mouth.

Eddie was about to reveal that he'd dipped a spoon into the jam when someone cleared their throat.

"Well I can tell how only your wish got granted", Crash's mom said. "It takes a very powerful desire to change reality. The stones don't work for just any wish."

Everyone helped with jarring the jam and both Steve and Eddie knew that whatever came next, they'd be in it together for the long haul.

"You know, I just realized", Jeff started to say. "Eddie's never gonna have to meet Steve's parents."

There were a few chuckles from that but Jeff's words caused Eddie to have his own epiphany.

"Oh shit. Steve's gotta meet Wayne."

END

Thank yall for reading this one and all your votes! See ya later :)

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[bullet-prooflove]

When I fold, you see the best in me The joker and the queen

Companion piece to One Night

You see the fall coming. It starts the week before Sharon’s anniversary. Vince becomes more subdued, his mood brittle. He cancels plans, ignores your texts, dodges your calls. This time of year it’s hard for him, you understand that more than most.

You give him his space, whatever issues he needs to work out they aren’t with you and you don’t want to put that additional pressure on his shoulders. He has enough to think about with both Bode and Luke.

It’s late when he comes by your office. You’re standing in front of the whiteboard surveying the latest helicopter surveillance images of the forest.

The reason you were selected for this posting was because of your experience shutting down weed farms in the Appalachian Mountains, the strains that were coming out of there were potent, too potent for the kids whose hands they were finding their way into. High levels of THC were causing psychotic breaks in users as young as twelve years old.

Then there was the violence. A family of eight had been found slaughtered across three of their properties, each one containing a ransacked grow. You’d managed to catch the perpetrators as they off loaded the product to local contacts.

You’d been brought in when something similar had started to occur in the local area, there was a spike in high school students suffering from hallucinations and psychological issues. Three hikers had been killed up in Lakeport after they’d stumbled across a farm during a nature walk and there was some sort of Hatfields/McCoys style feud going on between two rival growers that was spilling out all over the place.

Vince stands beside you as you study the board, his fingers reaching for the yellow magnet you’ve placed over one of the images before he guides it a few miles north.

“I was out there earlier today.” He tells you, his fingertip trailing along the river. “If there is a farm it’s more likely to be here, closer to the water source, there’s less trees so more access to sunlight for the grow.”

“Thank you.” You say softly before writing the coordinates on the board with the marker.

“I’m an asshole.” He says abruptly into the space between you and you sigh, gesturing for him to take a seat on the battered couch that you sometimes nap on.

He winces as he lowers himself down onto the sofa, you can see the stiffness in his movements. You’d heard about the structure collapse over in Elmsdale, it had been an all hands on deck situation for the rescue crews. You note the dust in his hair, the streak of dirt still smeared across his cheek and realise he must have come straight here after his shift ended.

His fingers thread through yours, his thumb chasing over the back of your hand.

“I haven’t been fair to you.” He says quietly. “I’ve ignored you, shut you out…”

“I know why you did it Vince.” You say softly. “You forget that I’ve been through the same thing, that I know what it’s like when a birthday or anniversary comes around. Sometimes cutting yourself off is the only way to get through the day, to survive it.”

That’s the thing Vince forgets about you is that you get it, what he’s going through because you’ve been there before. You’d lost a partner back in Tennessee, the man you’d planned to marry. You still kept that ring in a velvet pouch at the back of your underwear drawer.

Jacob may be gone but his memory still lives on inside of you, the same way that Sharon’s still does in him. You will always treasure the time you spent together but that story is over, it’s time to start making new ones. That’s the part that Vince struggles with, the book is closed but sometimes a couple of pages fall out and he has to confront the loss all over again.

“I felt guilty.” He finds himself telling you. “That by being with you I was somehow betraying her.”

He shakes his head as he purses his lips together.

“Sharon wanted me to move on, she wanted me to be happy.” He says gruffly before he tilts his head up to look at you. “You give me so much joy Annie. I wake up with a smile on my face, I sing in the shower, I’m finally living again and that is because of you, your love, your patience.”

His forehead comes to rest upon yours, his thumb ghosting over the apple of your cheek.

“Just don’t give up on me.” He pleads, his voice breaking just a little. “I’m know I’m messy…”

“Vince…” You sooth, your fingertips trailing along the line of his jaw. “I could never give up on you.”

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[hollybell51]

In this timeline

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Trevor Holden (0115) x Philip Pearson (3326)

Travelers (2016)

Word count: 11.5K

Summary: Philip has made some bad decisions. This isn't one of them.

Content: Smut, hurt/comfort, bit of fluff (I guess?), Philip is horrendously down bad, Trevor is too, making out, hickeys, hand jobs, blow jobs, anal, fingering, dirty talk (like a tiny bit dw), Trevor calls Philip "man" during sex, top Trevor/bottom Philip in an attempt to avoid Trevor's accidental twinkification (I fear this may have backfired), (there are honestly switchy moments too so idk if I'd label it as anything other than a healthy flexible dynamic), Philip's hallucinations, the age gape is mentioned but just in passing, implied/referenced drug use (guys c'mon it's Philip), everything canon typical. This takes place after s3 e3. I may have missed some things so lemme know if I should add anything xx

Notes: Happy valentines day! What even was season 3 honestly these two are so fucking whipped for each other it's stupid. How can anyone look at them and see anything but a married couple who are deeply, disgustingly in love with each other. Honestly. I'm so upset that this got cancelled (even though I lowkey liked the ending) so my insufferable ass is probably gonna deal with that through taking matters into my own hands. Also side note this is the first time I've posted m/m so don't be too mean I actually don't really know how men work so... yeah. Shit's been rough lately, breakup and car crash in the space of two days so I actually haven't proofread this sorry (there might be mistakes but that's ok because to err to be human <3) and also I’m literally a (queer) girl and I know nothing about gay (man) sex and it shows. You have been warned.

Philip had woken that morning (morning? Or afternoon? He can’t remember. It doesn’t feel like it had been morning when he’d finally swum up out of Marcy’s sedative) with Trevor in his bed. Well, it wasn’t Trevor, not really, but it was still nice. Not Trevor was smiling at him, wriggling closer, his hand finding Philip’s and pulling it towards his chest. Philip had blinked and he had shimmered, dispersed into light, reformed. He’d blinked again and Not Trevor was gone, and then the real world was flooding in and he half wished he hadn’t woken up at all. 

It’s been happening more and more often lately. Philip looks up from the computer screens and Not Trevor is already smiling at him. Not Trevor interrupts him with a kiss as he walks past. Not Trevor pads barefoot with a towel wrapped around his waist out of the bathroom and winks as Philip watches him go. Philip kneels next to the couch to pick up a ball bearing he’d knocked off the table from under its edge and when he looks up Not Trevor’s legs are either side of him and he has his head tilted back, shirt discarded and he’s panting hard. Philip has no doubt what that particular version of himself had just been doing. On the flip side, he pushes his chair back to take a break and Not Trevor grins up at him from between his legs, he leans over Philip from behind and slides his hand down his front, braces himself against the shower wall, tells Philip to turn around and get on his hands and knees and a million other things and Philip curses the update because none of those images are ever going to leave his head. 

Philip’s not too proud to admit when he likes someone. He’s human, after all, even if some days he doesn’t feel it, and Trevor is beautiful. It’s not just his host, either, although it probably helps to have been blessed looking like that, but there’s something about what 0115 and Trevor Holden have become — Philip’s Trevor, the team’s Trevor, 0115’s own Trevor — that pulls Philip in like a magnet. His joy is addictive. His enthusiasm for life, while it sometimes grates on Philip’s considerably less enthusiastic nerves, is infectious and maybe what people say about opposites attracting each other is right. Not even opposites, really — Philip doesn’t think they’re opposites, but he knows they’re not so-called twin flames — but something about Trevor balancing Philip. Pulling him out of those particularly dark little holes he knows it’s all too easy to get stuck in. Hell, he fell into one last night.

So Philip’s been peeking into other timelines and it’s been fueling the Trevor thing and now he’s waking up and half wishing that what he’s seeing is real. He wants to reach out and grab Trevor and never let go. He wants to stay in this bed with him and never have to do another mission again and just be and let humanity save itself. But, he tells himself firmly as he swings his legs over the side of the mattress and pauses, letting his body stabilise and adjust, that is not going to happen. No amount of wishing will make it. 

Carly and Marcy have explained, as best they can, and he really does feel bad for pulling that kind of shit when they’re all under stress, when nothing feels like it’s going right for anyone and they all have their own bullshit to deal with (he knows all about that, thanks to the update), but Aleksander’s face is still on the computer screens and Philip also knows Mac and Trevor will follow through. And that is where his brain snags for the second time today. Trevor, who found him on the floor and called Marcy over, “panicked” is the word the medic used, and then took off to kill a kid — to help Mac kill a kid. Trevor has faith in the Director, in the Grand Plan, Philip knows that as well as anyone, but he still cringes at the thought of what his roommate — because calling Trevor friend doesn’t quite feel right when he’s seen what he looks like when Philip is not going to complete that thought, they’re past coworkers, and he doesn’t feel like the other guy’s teammate anymore — must be thinking and feeling and doing right now. 

But then, after a few hours of Marcy and Carly doing their best to help him and Philip doing his best not to scream or break something or walk out the door and never come back, the Messenger comes through and just like that it’s all ok again. Marcy and Carly are relieved. Philip is relieved. A massive weight has been lifted off all their shoulders, so why does he still feel so heavy? 

He walks through erasing Mac’s memory like he’s walking through a dream, manages not to stare too long at the insubstantial vision of Trevor’s hand on his knee as they take their leader back to his house and (not uncarefully) deposit him in his bed. They leave. They drive back to ops. Marcy asks if he’s alright and he nods, doesn’t miss the way she says something too quiet to make out to Trevor as she heads back to David. Carly stays for longer, cleans a gun, then makes her exit with a firm hand on Philip’s shoulder and a tight smile. Then they’re alone, and Philip is staring at the screen with a cup of something (he thinks it might be tea, but it’s not hot anymore) he doesn’t remember getting in his hand.  

He doesn’t even hear Trevor approach until the engineer sighs, settling himself next to Philip’s shoulder. 

“The mother even speaks Romanian,” he says, steaming mug cradled in his hands. 

Philip glances at him and he shrugs. “Well that’s great, I’m obviously happy about that.” And he is, he really is. The woman smiling in the photograph looks like a kind person. She doesn’t have the sharpness about her eyes that Aleksander’s previous foster parents did, and maybe the familiarity of the language will help. He knows it did when they rescued the boy in the first place. The word rescue, even just in his mind, leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. He could have avoided the whole mission — putting Trevor and Mac through that — if he’d just stuck to what he was supposed to. There’s no way that this wasn’t some sick lesson. But still… “Why didn’t we start there?”

Trevor pauses before he answers, eyes still locked on the computer screen, brow furrowed. “That wasn’t the path he was on.” 

Sometimes Philip forgets how old Trevor — 0115 — is. He doesn’t act like an old man, as much as the others (Philip included) call him that and joke about it, as much as Trevor himself is open and just as willing to talk about the fact. But there are moments like these when Philip can see 0115’s plural lifetimes of experience and knowledge and wisdom poking through that barely adult face, and it catches him off guard. He’s not put off by Trevor’s age, Truth be told, he’s not sure if anything could put him off Trevor, but it can still be a little unnerving. 

“You don’t need to explain that part to me.” Philip tries not to sound annoyed, because he isn’t. Not really. “What I'm asking you is why we didn’t get a mission to change his path in the first place.” 

Again, Trevor shrugs, and on anyone else the gesture would look flippant. Not him, though. Nothing’s ever flippant with Trevor unless he wants it to be. “Maybe we did. The Director has to thread the needle on billions of possibilities happening to billions of people in a billion different places all over the world. If it seems hard to understand the steps that lead to a particular outcome, it’s because it’s literally impossible for any of us to understand that.” 

Philip can feel Trevor’s eyes on him, but he doesn’t look up. “I hate that.” 

There’s a pause, and he feels Trevor shift infinitesimally closer. “Yeah,” he says. “But you can’t argue with the results.” 

This time Philip does raise his eyes from the screen, turning in his chair to face his roommate. The other guy is perched on a filing cabinet, and Philip has the distinct urge to tell him to just get a chair. He looks a little ridiculous; elbows on his knees, feet resting against the desk (he really wants to tell him to get a chair), cup in his hands and that look that’s so sincere he’d laugh if he saw it on anyone else. It’s so… him and Philip can’t look away. 

Trevor sighs, leans forward and sets down his cup, his feet slipping off the desk as he twists to face Philip. “It wasn’t your fault,” he tells him. 

Philip shakes his head, looking away. He wishes he could believe Trevor, wishes he had just an ounce of his conviction. “It was. By definition, Trevor.” 

“You were trying to save him.” 

“And I made things worse. The Director was teaching me a lesson, I know it was. I know… I know I shouldn’t have tried to interfere.” 

“Hey, hey.” Trevor’s hand is firm and warm on Philip’s shoulder. “You tried to do what you thought was right. And yeah, it didn’t really work out, but it’s in the past. We can’t change that.” He stops, as if realising the irony of his words, then, “Nobody blames you, Philip.” 

“They should.” I do. 

Trevor is close enough that Philip can see the evening sun gilding the tips of his eyelashes, and his voice is so gentle it hurts. “What good is it gonna do now, huh? How is holding onto all that shit and dishing out blame and responsibility gonna help anyone?” 

Philip doesn’t have an answer for that, but he’s not sure if that matters. Not sure if he could speak even if he wanted to, because Trevor is still touching him and Philip must have slid his chair closer because he doesn’t remember the gap between them being this small. Trevor is searching Philip’s face, and he can practically see the cogs ticking behind his eyes — which, up close, never fail to suck Philip’s focus like a vacuum. 

“It’s not your fault. It was never going to be your fault, Philip.”

Philip swallows hard, tongue darting out over his lips. It’s too quiet and too loud all at once, and he wants to look away and he never wants the moment to end. The world is blurry, all he can see is Trevor, his skin is too tight and Trevor’s simultaneously too close and not close enough and then he is leaning the last few inches and all Philip can think is that this has to be another timeline. Things like this don’t happen to him, at least not this him, and—

Oh. Oh. 

Trevor’s lips are soft against his own, the hand that had been resting on his shoulder sliding up to hover almost hesitantly at his jaw. Philip can feel his own heart beating at a million mph, his blood rushing in his ears, and without even realising it he’s kissing Trevor back, tilting his head and pressing closer, Trevor’s skin so warm against his. 

The thing about what Philip sees — hallucinations, illusions, visions, whatever he calls them — is that he doesn’t feel it. He didn’t process the warmth of Not Trevor’s hand when it had been resting on his leg in the car or against his own that morning. He hadn’t felt the press of Not Trevor’s shoulders between his thighs, hadn’t felt the rush of breath over his skin when Not Trevor had laughed and kissed his cheek. And he certainly hadn’t felt the slick softness of Not Trevor’s tongue brushing over his lip. 

Oh, is all Philip can think again as he lets Trevor part his lips, the barest hint of his tongue sliding against his. A question. A warning. A test. Of course, the answer is yes. Philip knows in his soul that the answer will always be yes for Trevor, no matter what timeline they’re in. He feels himself sinking, floating, and when he pushes back against Trevor and slips his own tongue into his mouth, he can taste the tea he was drinking. Trevor is warm and sweet and Philip has never tasted anything so good and now his hand is moving, fingers tangling in Philip’s hair and if it weren’t for the rushing in his ears he could have sworn that Trevor gives a pleased little hum.  

Philip wants to stand, wants to crowd closer and take Trevor’s face between his hands, stand between his legs and feel the press of his body against his own. He wants to feel Trevor’s skin on his, wants him under him and on top of him and everywhere he can think of. He’s pretty sure that Trevor’s knee is blocking him from getting any closer, that and the fact that he’s still sitting in his chair. 

So, as much as it pains him to do so, Philip pulls back from Trevor’s mouth and pauses, heart still thundering, breathing hard, and looks at him. Trevor’s lips are kiss swollen and still parted, his eyes dark and locked on Philip and Philip alone. His hand doesn’t leave Philip’s hair, thumb moving in a tiny arc over the skin under his ear and he knows that even if he wasn’t a Historian, even if he wasn’t hardwired to remember everything, this moment would be ingrained in his brain forever. 

“Are you…?” Trevor starts, watching as Philip pushes himself to stand, his eyes following his every move, head tipping back. He wavers, and for a moment he’s shirtless and sweaty and his cheeks are flushed pink. Not Trevor tilts his head to the side, teeth digging into his bottom lip, and Philip blinks. His Trevor is still watching him, a hint of concern marring his face. 

Philip just nods, watching Trevor’s hand trail down over his chest, coming to rest right over his heart. He wonders if he can feel how hard it’s beating. He looks so serious and sincere, and Philip still can’t believe that this isn’t just because of the update. This is real. This is happening here and now. 

“Philip,” Trevor murmurs, voice thick. God, Philip could listen to that all day. 

He dips his head, and he’s sure that Trevor is smiling as their lips meet again. Philip is painfully aware of where his legs aren’t quite touching him, just resting either side of his hips, but that doesn’t matter because Trevor’s hand is sliding down his torso to sit feather light on his hip, not quite on the waistband of his pants but close enough that Philip feels blood rushing quickly downwards. He places  his own hands firmly either side of Trevor’s face, feels the muscle there twitch momentarily, the mechanism of Trevor’s neck and jaw sliding smoothly like well oiled machinery as he kisses him deeper, harder. His fingers curve perfectly around the back of Trevor’s neck, and this time he’s sure when he hears the little sound slip from the engineer, muffled by his own tongue. It is going to drive Philip insane. Trevor is going to drive him insane. He already is. 

“Philip,” Trevor says again, and Philip really can’t help but push closer. The edge of the filing cabinet is hard against his thighs, the metal cold through his jeans and somehow that is what brings Philip’s spiralling, out of control, too-much-too-fast brain back to the present. And then it clicks, and a stone sinks deep in his stomach. Trevor is distracting him, taking his mind off a truly terrible day because Philip did something stupid last night and Trevor found him this morning. He breaks away, breathing hard for an entirely different reason now. 

Trevor’s hands stop him from going far, his eyebrows furrowing into that familiar concerned frown. “You alright?” 

“I…” Philip stops, takes a breath, swallows. Yes, he’s alright. He’s more than alright with Trevor kissing him, with kissing Trevor. But here and now… Philip isn’t sure how to voice that. He knows Trevor wouldn’t judge him, not after Jenny. Trevor isn’t someone from the 21st, where sex is currency and intimacy is a completely separate thing. Trevor, like most from their time, knows that there’s more to it than that, he knows about Jenny because Philip has told him about Jenny and that whole mess and he trusts Trevor not to ignore all that. But…

“Hey, I’m sorry,” Trevor says, and Philip unfreezes. “I didn’t think it through. I know it’s been rough, and I don’t wanna rush you or—” 

“Are you trying to distract me?” 

Trevor stops, his frown deepens and he shakes his head. “Not really. Maybe a little.” He sighs. “I mean, I didn’t kiss you to distract you. But if I am… is that a bad thing?” He takes a deep breath, his fingers curling on Philip’s hip. “Do you want me to stop?” 

“I don’t…” He isn’t sure what he’s supposed to make of that. It’s not what he wants to hear, but it's not what he doesn’t want to hear either. Truth be told, he doesn’t even know what that is. All he knows is that Trevor means more than 21st century sex and he is in way too deep here. 

Philip does not consider himself brave. He knows people in the future who would say he is just for being here now, but the truth is, they don’t know what they’re talking about. He is not brave, he simply exists. He is a piece in a machine and there is nothing brave about that. But this is different. This is Trevor, and Trevor has always made Philip feel like more than that. Like he’s a person, and more importantly, like that person is worth something. And no, Philip doesn’t want Trevor to stop. He would be happy to live in this moment forever, and that’s the problem. Philip swallows. He will be brave. 

“I don’t want you to be a distraction.” 

Trevor draws back, a tiny wrinkle forming between his eyebrows. “What do you want me to be?”

Philip almost curses, swallows again, looks at his hands. “I want you to be you. You… You mean something to me, Trevor. I want this to mean something.” 

Philip isn’t brave enough to look back at Trevor, but he doesn’t have to be. The other guy’s hand is on his cheek, tilting his face back towards his, and when their eyes meet all Philip can see is the familiar warmth and understanding and joy that Trevor somehow carries within himself no matter what. “It does,” Trevor whispers, and kisses Philip again. 

This kiss tastes different. It has to, Philip supposes as Trevor inches forward on his perch, gripping his shoulders, his arms, his waist, his hips. Trevor really does mean something to Philip, more than he ever would have guessed he could. It’s not because of the visions, and it’s not because Trevor is kissing him now. It’s everything else. It’s Trevor bringing Philip a fastfood meal after he’d been shot. It’s the wordless hands on his shoulders when he’s the first to arrive at the garage and the last to leave. It’s the undiluted wonder and awe in his face when he looks outside. It’s the insistence that he’ll come with Philip, even if it’s because he doesn’t fully trust him — because whatever the reason, Philip likes that he doesn’t feel alone. The reminders that Philip is human, just as human as Trevor, because sometimes that is the hardest thing to remember. 

And Philip really does feel like shit for this morning. For last night, when he’d seen the mission come through and he’d sat there, frozen, and debated calling out Trevor’s name just to see another face and hear his voice, feel another person touch him and remember. But he hadn’t been brave last night. He’d run, and had left Trevor to find and clean up the mess he’d made. He feels his chest tearing apart, ripping violently right down the middle. 

“I’m sorry,” he gasps, tearing himself away from Trevor’s mouth. 

“What for?” Trevor frowns. 

Philip swallows. “Last night. This morning. All of… that.” 

The understanding is so clear in Trevor’s eyes, followed quickly by sadness that hits Philip like a punch. It resolves and shifts, and Trevor’s lips twitch into something that could be called a smile. “You scared me,” he says. 

“I know. I didn’t mean to.” An eyebrow raise at this, and Philip goes on, “I wasn’t trying to. I just… I don’t even know. I was going to tell you when it first came through but I just… I just couldn’t. You know?” 

Trevor nods, and Philip knows he means it. This is the guy who interrupted Grace Day’s TELL, for God’s sake. He doesn’t blame Philip for Aleksander. Things might get murky and complicated sometimes, but at the end of the day Trevor understands when it matters. “I wish you had,” he tells him. There’s no blame or resentment in it, just a statement of fact. “We could have worked something out together.” 

Now it’s Philip’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Worked something out?” 

“Ok,” Trevor concedes, “maybe not work something out. But you didn’t have to be alone. You don’t have to be alone, Philip. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.” 

It’s so much. It’s too much, and Philip is too heavy for this. So he just nods, watches as Trevor slides off the filing cabinet and stands before him. Philip lets him put his hands on his face and can’t stop himself from leaning into the touch. It doesn’t matter how small it makes him feel. Doesn’t matter that Trevor’s breath hitches in his chest when Philip keeps going and kisses him again, doesn’t matter that he can’t even begin to express what’s swirling in his update-addled, over-full and under-nourished brain right now. They’ve got time. Philip can untangle it all later. 

He pulls Trevor closer, so close he wonders if he can feel the beating of his heart against his own. He can feel his breathing, the expansion and contraction of his lungs and the rush of air on his cheek, the heat of his body and oh, yeah, ok, Trevor’s hard. The thought of that alone has Philip aching, hips pressing into Trevor’s, their jeans hard and rough between them. Something just this side of a moan slips from Philip as Trevor presses back, his hands once more finding Philip’s hair and commanding him to kiss him harder, kiss him longer, kiss him deeper. Philip is only too happy to oblige.

Trevor hums into his mouth as Philip reaches between them, fingers skirting the hem of his shirt. Trevor gives him an insistent nudge and that’s all Philip needs to slide his hand under the fabric, run it over the hot skin of his hip and the planes of his stomach, bunching his shirt up like it’s nothing. Philip wants to map out every cell of Trevor’s body, commit every curve and dip and hollow to memory like he’s memorised every TELL and candidate and major event. He passes his hand over Trevor’s ribs, up the centre of his abdomen, higher to his sternum and back down again to grip his waist. Touching him isn’t enough. Philip needs this man. 

Trevor’s grip on his hair tightens momentarily when Philip’s lips move from his own to his jaw, down the column of his neck. These kisses are wet, open mouthed, not quite careless but hardly neat, and if he goes any harder he’s going to leave marks. He isn’t sure if that’s something Trevor wants, but the other man’s head is tilted to let Philip continue, so he sucks — oh so lightly — at the spot where neck and shoulder meet. 

“Fuck,” Trevor hisses, fingers curling, hips grinding against Philip’s. Philip can literally feel his brain emptying of all thought except that he needs to make Trevor do that again. 

“Hm?” he asks, just in case (just in case what? He doesn’t know), and Trevor nods. So Philip does the only rational thing and sucks again, moves his head and does it to another spot, and now that he can see the darker patches of skin on Trevor’s neck, he never wants to stop. 

“Philip,” Trevor whispers, voice cracking. His throat moves as he swallows, hard, and Philip pointedly grazes the spot with his teeth. He tastes like the cheap soap they keep in the bathroom, and even though it’s the same one Philip uses day in day out, on Trevor’s skin and up this close it is somehow more. It’s Trevor, and Philip isn’t sure he’s ever going to be able to casually use the stuff again without this moment flooding his overly accurate historian brain. As desperate and insane as he knows the thought is, even as he has it, Philip wants to lick every trace of that soap off Trevor. But his shirt is still bunched around his chest and Philip can only reach so much of his skin around it. 

“Off,” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to see Trevor’s tongue dart over his lip, his eyes dark.

His voice is husky and raw when he speaks. “You too.” 

“Here?” The realisation that they’re still at the desk seems to strike Trevor the same moment that Philip fully processes it, eyes darting around the room. 

After a moment, Trevor shakes his head. “No,” he says, untangling himself from Philip enough to take his hand. “No, come on.”

Philip has never been led into his own bedroom. He’s never watched someone else’s hand pull at his, met someone else’s eyes over their shoulder, stumbled to keep up with someone else through his own door. Never been pulled onto his bed by someone else. He’s been pushed, which was exciting and fun and hot at the time, and he’s done the leading, and the looking back and the steadying at the inevitable stumble, but this is new. If Philip is completely honest, it’s a little unnerving. 

But then Trevor is facing him, reaching for his shirt and pulling it over his head and all Philip can think is holy shit because all that football pays off. Trevor’s mouth curves as he steps towards him, like he knows exactly what Philip is thinking. Which wouldn’t be that hard, since Philip isn’t exactly trying to keep a straight face. 

“You tryna catch flies, Philip?” Trevor asks him, and Philip feels his cheeks heat. He hadn’t even realised his mouth was open. 

“Sorry,” he mutters, eyes locked firmly on Trevor’s face. His smile. The collection of red marks dotting his neck. 

Trevor just shakes his head, stepping closer. “Don’t be.” His hands settle on the hem of Philip’s own shirt, his fingers barely brushing Philip’s skin. “But,” he goes on, “this isn’t fair.” 

“Oh, fair,” Philip echoes, raising his eyebrows. But he’s already taking over from Trevor, shrugging off the shirt and dropping it like it’s nothing (and it isn’t really, not when he has Trevor standing before him like this). “Better?” he asks. 

Trevor looks away from his face, and Philip can almost physically feel his eyes sliding over his torso, stopping at his chest, lifting back to his face and gleaming with something that he can only describe as incredulous excitement. “What’s that?” he asks, as if he doesn’t know. 

“Piercing.” Because that’s what Trevor’s looking at, and if Philip’s completely honest, he feels a little… proud? He’d had his doubts when he’d first discovered the ring through his nipple, and had been more confused by it than he had by the ear and nose piercings. He can understand jewellery where people are going to see it. He’d done his research on piercings and tattoos outside of the training on 21st century behaviour they’d all taken, at the same time as he’d taken a deep dive into tattoo symbolism (he’d been suddenly consumed by the fear that his host’s tattoos meant something he should know about, which hadn’t really been the case but Philip still thought that it was better to know than not). He hadn’t found much to convince him that the solitary ring through his nipple of all places was a particularly groundbreaking way to modify the body, but now… Now he thinks he might get it. 

Trevor is shaking his head, eyes still glued to the little piece of metal. “That’s so…” 

“Weird?” 

“No, it’s—” He stops, laughs, grins at Philip. “It’s really hot.” 

Philip can feel his eyebrows shooting up his face. “You think?” 

“Yeah, I… I don’t know why.” 

“Oh, ok.” That’s… unexpected. Philip knows that his host isn’t bad to look at, and he knows that some of the reasoning behind piercings is for attractiveness. He’s studied the face that he now calls his in the mirror a thousand times, he sees the body that he now inhabits every day and as far as 21st century guys in their late twenties go, it’s really not bad. Of course, there are the track marks and the occasional (lately more frequent) shadows under his eyes, stubble if it’s been a particularly rough few days (Trevor’s newly almost-permanent presence helps with that, even if he doesn’t know it), but hey, if Trevor’s standing here right now he knows he’s got something going for him. But the look in the engineer’s eyes when they meet Philip’s again makes him feel like a damn artwork. 

Trevor’s grin broadens, and before Philip can even begin to reconcile what that’s doing to him Trevor’s lips are on his once more and he’s being pulled hard against him, skin to skin, heart to heart, Trevor’s hands roaming over his shoulders and his back and his waist and his ribs and his chest and Philip is moaning into the kiss like… he doesn’t even know what. 

They’re moving, almost tripping over each other and it’s a miracle either of them can keep their balance, but then Trevor’s knees hit the edge of the bed and they’re half falling onto it, a little uncoordinated but does that really matter when Trevor is still pulling Philip close, smiling even as his tongue dances alongside Philip’s? He’s all too aware of where his body is, where his leg presses between Trevor’s and his arm is locked, holding his weight off the other man. 

Trevor, however, has both hands free. Gooseflesh prickles across Philip’s chest and stomach as he trails his hands over his body, electricity sparking when his fingers skirt the waistband of his pants. He feels Trevor smile again, and his breath hitches in his throat. Shit, he’s never going to be able to kiss anyone else again. He doesn’t even want to kiss anyone else. Ever. 

“Do you want this?” Trevor murmurs against his lips, the tips of his fingers just dipping below his waistband and oh fuck he hadn’t realised just how badly he wanted that. 

Philip nods, then groans when Trevor palms him because even through his pants his hand is a million times better than his own. The other guy curses, does it again, and Philip’s teeth dig into his bottom lip. His eyes are dark and sincere, flicking between Philip’s own and where his fingers are curling gently around his clothed cock. 

“Can I?” Trevor asks. Philip has never nodded faster. He’s not even entirely sure what Trevor’s getting at, but he’s happy to let him touch him however he wants, wherever he wants, and he trusts him completely. Of course he already knew that — you kind of have to trust your team, after all — but he’s only just realising that he’s trusted Trevor as more than a team member for quite some time. Probably right alongside everything else that’s become more than a team member with Trevor. 

Philip isn’t wasting time philosophising, his attention fixed firmly on Trevor’s hand which is back at his pants and oh that’s what he meant. He helps out, shoving his pants down and off with less grace than he’d like, underwear following suit. The air is cool on his hot skin, and for a moment he feels oddly exposed. Then Trevor is pushing at his hip, tongue darting over his lips again and there’s almost an urgency to his movements. 

“C’mon, just— Hold on a second—” he says, still attempting to manoeuvre Philip. 

He almost laughs at his eagerness. “Trev, give me a second, man. What’re you tryna do?” 

Trevor pauses, his thumb running in a tiny arc over Philip’s hip bone — he’s not sure if he’s even doing it consciously. “Swap.” He nods to the mattress, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Maybe it is and Philip’s just lagging behind. 

“Oh, ok.” He shrugs, half climbing and half rolling sideways. “You could’ve just said that.” 

“Yeah, I know, I…” He sighs, rubs a hand over his forehead. “I keep getting caught up. Sorry.” 

Trevor getting caught up in him? In Philip? He doesn’t quite know how to respond to that, so he just shrugs again. “I’m that irresistible, huh?” 

The look Trevor shoots him is anything but joking. “You have no idea.” 

Philip opens his mouth, shuts it, shakes his head in awe. Who would have thought? “C’mere,” he tells Trevor softly, and the gravity is lifted as he smiles and practically bounces down beside him, pressing his lips to Philip’s. They’re getting better at this. Not that they were bad, of course, but they fall into the easy rhythm of each other much more quickly now. There’s no fumbling or searching or exploring, it’s familiar and Philip never wants that to end. 

Trevor’s hand is resting on Philip’s chest, warm and firm and now Philip is sure he can feel how hard his heart is beating. He stretches up, chasing Trevor as the other guy pulls away, but he can only do so much. Trevor smiles and gives him another quick kiss, almost chaste, the kind that Philip definitely doesn’t imagine he’d give him when their day to day paths cross in the garage. When he leaves to get food. When he comes back again. 

But that thought is wiped away before Philip’s mind can snag on it, because Trevor is spitting into his palm and wrapping his fingers around Philip’s dick, gentle and slick and warm and Philip curses softly. It’s almost almost perfect. 

“Like this?” Trevor asks, eyes fixed on his face. 

Philip swallows. His voice sounds odd even to his own ears, husky and strangled. “Uh, little harder.” 

Trevor squeezes, and it’s all Philip can do not to fall apart right there as his grip tightens and his hand moves. “This?” 

He feels the breath catch in his throat. “Yeah. Fuck Trev, that’s perfect.” And it is. It really is. There’s only so much his mind can come up with, he thinks as he takes in Trevor’s strong arm and large hand moving rhythmically over him, feels the heat of his body where it presses against his own and listens to Trevor’s breathing and soft hum of appreciation in response to his own moan. No matter what the update lets him see, no matter what he manages to dream up by himself, it won’t compare to this. 

Trevor is leaning closer, and Philip shivers as his breath hushes over the skin of his shoulder, his neck, then practically gasps as Trevor kisses the hollow under his jaw. He makes to turn his head, meet the other guy half way, but Trevor doesn’t let him. He kisses his jaw again, nudging him away and Philip just lets him. He even turns his face, just a little, but Trevor notices and his chuckle sends molten heat shooting straight down his spine. Trevor’s lips are moving, up over the muscle of his neck, tongue darting out to taste his skin. Philip gets it now, and then Trevor is whispering “this ok?” and he’s nodding (how could it not be?). 

“Fuck,” he breathes as Trevor sucks at the spot, and Philip really gets it. It’s not like hickeys are foreign to him, but this is something else altogether. Trevor’s hand is still moving firmly on his cock, maybe a little slower than he himself would go but damn is it good, and now he’s working his way down Philip’s neck to his chest. The tiny burst of almost-pain followed by the soft heat of Trevor’s tongue has Philip arching towards him, hips jutting shamelessly into his hand as he does his best to stop the embarrassingly desperate sounds he’s on the verge of making from escaping him. 

“Philip,” Trevor murmurs to his clavicle. 

“Hm?” Philip answers, lifting his head enough to meet his gaze. He half wishes he didn’t, another blazing hot spark of pure need rushing through him.

Trevor either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. He presses his lips to Philip’s skin yet again, gentle and oddly tender given that he’s still jerking him off, looking at him through his lashes (Philip wonders if he’s doing that deliberately. If he knows what it’s doing to him). “You don’t have to be quiet,” he says softly, and there’s another kiss. Lower this time, on his pectoral.

“I’m— I’m not—” Philip breaks off in a rush of air when he feels Trevor’s teeth graze his skin. 

“Not what?” 

Philip doesn’t even know what he’d been getting at, but it sure isn’t important. “Doesn’t matter,” he breathes. 

“You sure?” 

“Mhm.” Then, as Trevor’s thumb slides over the sensitive head of his cock, “Fucking hell, Trev.” 

“Is that—” 

“Yes. Yes, oh my— Fuck—” 

Trevor’s mouth has found his nipple. Maybe it’s a little weird, but Philip is hardly in any condition to be thinkin about that. Trevor’s tongue is flicking over the ring cautiously, gently, and it feels really good. Better than it has any right to.

“Ok?” Trevor asks, kissing the sensitive spot. 

“Yeah.” Philip swallows, bites down on a moan and then remembers Trevor’s words. You don’t have to be quiet. 

This time, when Trevor’s hand tightens and moves over his aching cock, he groans, and feels Trevor’s body shudder against his. Philip brings his hand up to run across Trevor’s strong shoulders, down over his spine and back up again. He hums, and his hand speeds up every so slightly. 

“Oh fuck,” Philip moans, “fuck, Trev, keep doing that.” 

“Yeah, don’t worry.” Trevor’s voice is low and rough, his chuckle little more than a breath of air. “I’m not… I’m not stopping.” The engineer raises his head, his teeth digging into his bottom lip as he studies Philip’s face like he’s trying to memorise it. Philip is torn between holding his gaze and looking away, heat coiling low inside him, and again he jerks in Trevor’s hand. Trevor laughs again, moving hard and fast and if he keeps that up Philip isn’t sure he’ll last another minute. 

“Trev,” he gasps, gripping his shoulder hard enough that he almost feels bad. “Fuck, fuck.” Yeah. Philip’s really articulate when he chooses to be. He wants Trevor inside him, wants to be inside Trevor. He doesn’t care where, exactly, he just knows that he needs to be closer, deeper, needs to feel their bodies blur into one, but right now he isn’t spending particularly long dissecting that thought. He’s got time. 

“‘Salright,” Trevor murmurs, as if he knows exactly what Philip’s thinking. “I got you, man.” 

Philip feels himself tremble and tip, bliss rolling up through his spine. He might be saying Trevor’s name, might be cursing, or the sounds might be just that; wordless and primal and torn from deep within him. Trevor works him through the high, and as the electricity coursing through Philip cools to static, his hand slows and finally withdraws to rest on his stomach. They don’t speak for a moment, their breathing and the ticking of the clock the only sounds in the room. Philip doesn’t look down, he knows his stomach is a mess, and chooses instead to turn towards Trevor. 

The engineer grins, then drops his eyes pointedly to Philip’s stomach. He feels his cheeks heat, but before he can say or do anything Trevor is bending and sliding down the mattress and Philip thinks he knows what he’s about to do but he doesn’t know what he thinks about what Trevor is about to do. Then his tongue is flicking over Philip’s abdomen and his skin is twitching, a small sound that’s half shock and half pleasure catching in his throat. Problem solved, he supposes. 

“Alright?” Trevor asks as he withdraws. 

Philip just nods, pushing himself to sit up. Trevor smiles and leans closer, his lips soft and gentle against Philip’s. This kiss is almost chaste, reassurance and a kind of confirmation (of what, Philip isn’t sure) all at once. He’s only too happy to reciprocate, his body pleasantly warm and heavy and buzzing with Trevor, Trevor, Trevor, whose chest is pressing against his own. 

Philip pulls him closer, hands sliding over the smooth muscle of his arms and shoulders, cupping the back of his neck as he slips his tongue into Trevor’s mouth. He can taste himself on the other guy’s tongue, a thought that has his brain spinning excitedly out of control and his stomach launching into an olympic level acrobatics routine. Does Trevor like the warm saltiness still clinging to his tongue? Is that what Trevor would taste like? God, Philip wants to find that out. 

Gently, he shifts and nudges at Trevor’s shoulder until he gets the message (faster than Philip had earlier) and lets him push him onto the mattress. His legs fall apart easily when Philip pushes his own between them, and when he moves and his thigh comes into contact with Trevor’s crotch he practically arches off the bed. Philip stifles a laugh. 

“Something funny?” Trevor asks, eyebrow raised when he ceases his assault on his mouth to look at him. But he’s smiling. Flushed, eyes dark and shining, lips swollen and pink and still parted as he breathes hard, but smiling. Philip can feel his brain going into overdrive to store that image perfectly. 

“No,” Philip shrugs, letting his eyes trail lower over Trevor’s torso (the guy has actual abs, which Philip is going to be thinking about for a long time). 

“No? What’s that look for?” 

He debates it for a moment, then, “I’m memorising.” 

Trevor frowns. “Memorising what?” 

Philip presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, “You.” He pushes his leg firmly in between Trevor’s, basking in the breathy little moan it draws from him, “That.” 

“Fuck, Philip,” he whispers as Philip moves his hand down his side to his hip, across the faint V under his belly button to skirt the waistband of his pants (why the fuck is he still wearing pants?). Philip isn’t even sure if he means to do it, but Trevor’s grinding against his leg and looking up at him like he’s the only thing he’s ever wanted. He thinks he might just cum again, right here right now. 

“Can I?” he asks, already dipping his fingers below the line of fabric. 

“Yeah, yeah sure.” Trevor seems almost surprised by the suggestion, as if it’s the last thing he expected. 

Philip pauses, frowns. “You sure?” 

This time, Trevor’s voice is firmer. “I’m sure, Philip.” 

Philip nods, breath hitching in his throat. Trevor’s eyes are fixed on his hands, but he can’t look away from the engineer’s face. He gets Trevor’s pants undone, pulls them down, finally tears his gaze from Trevor’s flushed cheeks and wide eyes and parted lips and— 

“Jesus, Trev.” There’s a sizeable wet spot on Trevor’s underpants, the outline of his cock clear and hard and fuck, the dude is big. Philip’s mouth waters.

Trevor doesn’t seem to know what to say to that (which is doing things for Philip that he doesn’t want to even begin to address), but it doesn’t matter. Philip eases his underwear off, and, softly and with plenty of opportunity for Trevor to stop him, wraps his fingers around his length. 

“This ok?” he asks, watching Trevor’s face carefully. 

“Yeah—” Trevor’s voice cracks, and he tries again. “Yeah, that’s… that’s good.” 

“This?” Philip moves his hand, ignoring the little thrill that goes through him as his fingers come into contact with the moisture already gathered on Trevor’s tip. 

“Yeah.” 

“How about this?” Philip squeezes, watching Trevor’s teeth sink into his bottom lip and his head fall back as he whispers something that sounds like a “yes”, and holy shit has he got a jawline. He’d almost be jealous if he wasn’t so caught up admiring Trevor like this. If he wasn’t so far gone on him. If he wasn’t busy sliding down Trevor’s body, his face now level with his hand. 

“This?” 

“F—fuck,” Trevor gasps as Philip licks the tip of his dick, head whipping up to stare at him. 

He pauses, waiting. “Ok?” 

“Yeah, yeah that’s… that’s fine.” Trevor’s throat moves as he swallows. “You don’t have to, though.” 

“I want to,” he shrugs. “Do you want me to?” 

Trevor nods fast enough that in any other situation it would be comical, and Philip can’t help but smile. He bends, places a soft kiss at the junction of Trevor’s hip, then licks him again. 

Trevor moans, his hand drifting up to wind through Philip’s hair. 

Philip just smiles and flicks his tongue over the sensitive slit. 

“Stop teasing,” Trevor whispers. 

“I’m not.” 

“You are,” he protests. “It’s not fair.” 

“Fine,” Philip shrugs, and before Trevor can say anything else he’s opening his mouth, relaxing his tongue and taking Trevor as deep as he can. 

“Oh fuck,” he says, his fingers tightening momentarily in Philip’s hair. “Oh, you— Jesus.” 

The room could collapse right now and Philip wouldn’t notice. His senses are narrowed and focussed to the hot weight of Trevor’s cock in his mouth, the smell of his sweat and skin and his own spit (not pleasant, not exactly, but addictive nonetheless), his half stifled moan and the faint saltiness of precum. His hand works what doesn’t fit in his mouth, slow and firm and sliding easily with his makeshift spit-lube. His tongue swirls around Trevor’s cock, mapping every curve and ridge and vein. 

Philip raises his eyes as he hollows his cheeks and sucks, relishing the almost-whine that slips from Trevor. Again, he sees the engineer as he had been on the couch — chest heaving, gleaming with a light sheen of sweat, head tipped back and eyes closed. But this is better, because this Trevor — his Trevor — is already looking down at him, biting his lip, the unfairly defined muscles of his stomach tense and moving in time with his rapid breathing. A groan reverberates through his chest, and it’s all Philip can do not to smile. 

“Wish you could see yourself,” Trevor whispers, the hand that isn’t tangled in Philip’s hair twisting the sheets. 

In lieu of speech, he raises an eyebrow. 

“You’re a fucking wet dream, Philip,” he pants, and that is not what he expected to hear. It catches him off guard enough that he falters, his own surprised half moan making Trevor’s hips stutter up against his hand. His mouth. 

“Shit, sorry,” he says quickly, but Philip is shaking his head. Don’t worry. It’s ok. He gives what he thinks is a reassuring suck, his free hand settling on Trevor’s hip — as if he’d be able to do anything if he decided to face fuck him. As if he’d want to. 

Trevor curses again, softly, his eyes not leaving Philip’s face. He’s trying to be gentle, Philip can tell, and he feels something inside him melt because of course he would. Even as he whispers “fuck” like that and moans like that he’s still trying not to hurt him — as if he ever could. Philip doesn’t even know if he’d really care at this point. 

“Hm?” He doesn’t stop, moisture pricking behind his eyes as he relaxes his throat even further and practically swallows Trevor’s dick. His hand is sliding so easily now, slick and a bit messy and maybe it should be gross but nothing is gross with Trevor, who was licking Philip’s cum off his stomach just before and has seen him at his worst and has clasped his shoulder and pushed him through. He moves faster, a little harder, and Trevor’s hips buck up again. Before he can apologise, Philip’s thumb moves in a tiny arc over his hip. He hopes Trevor understands. 

“Fuck, fuck, yes,” he gasps. “Please, Philip, I—” 

He can’t stop himself from moaning, an embarrassingly desperate sound. He could listen to Trevor forever, feel him like this forever, replay the movement of his body and the rough crack of his voice and the delicious tension of his fingers still gripping his hair until the Earth stops spinning. He wants to, future be damned. It’s a feedback loop, Trevor’s body jolting towards him as he tips his head back, Philip’s own need surging hot inside him, and he’s gripping Trevor tighter and taking him deeper, revelling in Trevor’s moans and gasps. 

“Hold on,” he says suddenly, and Philip freezes.

“You alright?” he asks, withdrawing with a wet “pop,” his hand still resting on Trevor’s hip. 

He nods quickly, his hand slipping from Philip’s hair to rest against his jaw. “Yeah, I’m fine. Better than fine.” 

“Ok,” he frowns, “then what’s…?” 

“Do you…” He pauses, thinks, swallows. Tries again. “Do you want to go… further?” 

Philip feels his heartbeat quicken, mind racing with the possibilities. He’s never taken that particular step, but if he wants to with anyone, it’s Trevor. And hell yes he wants to, wants to go as far as is humanly possible and never come back. He’s seen so many variations of further now, he can’t pick what this could possibly be, and not knowing is oddly thrilling. 

“We don’t have to,” Trevor is adding hastily, his hand sliding down to clasp Philip’s shoulder. “It’s ok if you don’t—” 

“I do,” Philip interrupts. “I really, really do, Trev.” 

Trevor nods, shuffles backwards before pushing himself to his knees. Philip follows suit, steadying himself against Trevor’s shoulder. His hair is falling into his face now that Trevor’s not holding it back, and he half wishes he had an elastic band with him. Even if Trevor seems to like putting his hands in it. 

“It’s hot when you do that,” the engineer says as Philip pushes his hair out of his face. 

He arches an eyebrow. “I think you’re biassed.” 

“Maybe a little,” he shrugs, “but I’m not wrong.” 

Philip really needs to learn how to respond to this kind of thing, because at some point simply kissing Trevor isn’t going to be sufficient. But it’s working for now, so he’s got time. Trevor hums softly when he pushes closer, his skin hot in all the places it’s touching Philip’s. Philip cups Trevor’s neck gently but firmly, his tongue sliding easily between Trevor’s parted lips and he wonders if Trevor can still taste himself in Philip’s mouth the way Philip can. He shifts, electric heat surging through him when he feels Trevor’s hardness press against his hip, blood rushing downwards in sympathy. 

Trevor moans, grinding lightly against Philip, the kisses rapidly descending into something too messy to be called a kiss at all by any stringent definition. It’s more like Philip licking into Trevor’s mouth, Trevor licking into his, a whirl of tongues and teeth and lips that somehow has Philip moaning too, striving to get closer to Trevor in any way he can. He knows exactly what he wants now, and, as if Trevor is reading his mind, his hand is sliding down his side and around his hip to rest on his ass. 

“Is—?” 

“Mhm.” Philip gasps as Trevor squeezes, just gently, but God he wants his hands everywhere. If Trevor touches every inch of his skin, he thinks, it still won’t be enough. But damn, this is a good start. 

“Turn around,” Trevor murmurs against his lips, drawing back enough to make eye contact with Philip. 

He doesn’t waste time, as much as it pains him to break away, but when Trevor’s voice is that low, that husky, that raw with want, it’s worth it. Trevor’s hand doesn’t leave his hip, half guiding him as he faces the headboard. 

“Holy shit,” Trevor says, and Philip glances over his shoulder to see the other guy’s eyes locked on the tattoo sprawling across his shoulder blades. “I didn’t know there was more.” 

“Uh, yeah,” he laughs. “Neither did I at first.” He shivers as Trevor runs his hand across the inked skin, tracing the points and whorls of the design. He’d actually forgotten about it, as he does most of the time (until he has to do a double take when he catches sight of it in the mirror), but something about the awe and fascination tingeing Trevor’s expression makes him think that that’s not going to be a problem in the future. 

“Fucking hot,” he proclaims, bending to kiss right between Philip’s shoulder blades. He does it again at Philip’s sigh, then again, then lower. He traces the line of his spine with kisses, fingers curling over his hip, and Philip’s not sure who it is who moves close enough that Trevor’s erection presses against him. Either way, it doesn’t matter because Philip is definitely the one who pushes further back against him, and Trevor is the one who pulls him to do it again. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, because now that he’s feeling the hot hardness and the size of him against his ass, Philip isn’t sure if the spit still coating Trevor’s dick — copious though it may be — will actually be enough. 

“You alright?” Trevor asks. 

“Yeah.” 

“Philip.” Trevor rubs his shoulder, gentle but insistent. “Why’re you so tense?” 

Philip sighs, rolls his shoulders, forces them to relax. This is Trevor, who is not going to hurt him, and who he trusts with his life. More than his life. “I’m fine,” he says, “I just… haven’t done this bit before. And you’re kinda big.” 

Trevor chuckles at that, shuffling around so he can see Philip’s face. “That’s ok,” he assures him. “We don’t have to—” 

“I want to.” 

“Then I’ll go slow.” 

That… is actually really reassuring. The tension leaks from Philip, and he offers Trevor a smile. “Ok. Thanks.” 

“You’ll tell me if you wanna stop, yeah?” 

Philip just nods, then Trevor is moving again and he has to twist over his shoulder to catch his smile. He leans into Trevor’s touch as the engineer’s hand skims his arm, his shoulder, his back, up his side and down again to his ass. They move together, slowly and carefully, and Philip feels the last vestiges of his nervousness slide away. 

“Can I?” Trevor asks, fingers slipping lower. His voice is soft, but Philip doesn’t miss the way his breath catches when he nods. Trevor’s fingers are wet with spit, and when he pushes one inside Philip there's only a little resistance. “Ok?” 

Philip nods. It’s an odd sensation, and he isn’t entirely sure if he likes it yet, but he trusts Trevor. He makes himself relax, focusses on Trevor’s free hand where it rests on his hip because he knows he likes that, and lets him move. He doesn’t mind it, he decides, especially when Trevor bends and kisses his shoulder. There’s a bit of pressure, a slight burn and stretch, and now there are two fingers inside him. 

“Ok?” Trevor asks again, and again Philip nods. He’s starting to think that he might like this, and Trevor’s still going slow but now his fingers are curled and yeah, Philip likes this. 

“Yeah,” he says. “That’s good.” 

“You sure?” Trevor whispers against his skin, and this time when he pushes into Philip it really is good.

“Mhm,” he breathes, teeth digging into his bottom lip. Almost involuntarily he rocks his hips back onto Trevor’s hand, and feels the other guy smile. 

“Alright.” He continues for a moment, and Philip’s more than happy with that, but then when his fingers withdraw they go all the way and Philip actually misses the feeling. Misses Trevor inside him, even if it’s just his fingers. He hears Trevor spit, another sound he’s all too familiar with, then something bigger than a finger is poking him and his heart skips a beat. 

“Ready?” Trevor asks. 

Philip swallows and nods for what feels like the millionth time today. “Yeah.” 

Trevor pauses. “Ok, bend over a bit? And maybe…” He pauses, then, “Do you wanna, uh, hold onto something?” 

That’s probably not intended to turn Philip on this much, but it does. He does as Trevor says and leans forward, bracing his hands on the wall, spreading his legs when he feels the pressure of Trevor’s hand between his thighs. “Like this?” he asks. 

Trevor’s voice is husky when he answers. “Yeah, perfect.” Then he’s pushing gently into Philip, who presses his lips together because Trevor feels bigger than he looks. It’s not really painful, and he’s going slow, and the spit lube helps, but it’s still more than his fingers and Philip can’t help the way his breath catches in his throat. 

“I’m alright,” he assures Trevor before he can ask. 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah, just… gimme a second.” 

“Tell me when.” 

Half of Philip wants to turn around and kiss Trevor for that, the other half wants to shove himself backwards and just take it from there. But he’s got enough of his brain left in his head to know that that would be a terrible idea, so he breathes deeply and waits until the faint burn fades and all that’s left is the pleasant stretch and fullness. “Ok,” he says after a moment, “you can, uh, keep going.” 

He half expects Trevor to do just that and push deeper, but instead he feels him pull out. He spits again, and this time the slide is easier, softer, further. Trevor curses softly, does it again, and now they have a rhythm. It’s slow and measured, careful, and Philip finds that it’s easy to relax into the movement of their bodies, to let Trevor rock into him and just brace against the wall — which is not even bracing anymore, more like stabilising. 

“Fuck, you feel good,” Trevor murmurs, the words sending Philip’s mind spinning. 

“So do you,” he replies and revels in the tightening of Trevor’s hand on his hip. This time, when Trevor thrusts into him, he does push back and meets him halfway, something between a gasp and groan falling from his lips. 

“Alright?” Trevor slows just a little, concern clear in his voice. 

Philip thinks he might melt on the spot, but instead he smiles. “I’m fine, Trev. you don’t have to be so… careful.” 

“You sure? Cause I don’t mind. I said I'd go slow.” 

“Well…” Philip pauses, glances over his shoulder. “Can you go a bit harder?”

“Yeah,” Trevor answers, and maybe it’s Philip’s imagination but he sounds a bit breathless. “Sure. Tell me what feels good.” 

Then he’s moving again, pushing deeper than before, and Philip is telling him that that feels good and Trevor is doing it again. It’s not much faster, but it’s somehow more, and Trevor’s gripping his hip damn hard now. Philip hopes he’ll have bruises. 

“Fuck, Trev,” he moans, arching into it, dimly aware of the bedframe squeaking faintly. “Fuck, that’s— that’s fucking great.” 

“Yeah? Not too — ah — fast?” 

“No,” Philip assures him. Then, “Faster?” 

“Shit, ok.” Trevor speeds up, and now he’s hitting something deep inside Philip that has him stumbling over Trevor’s name and pulsing with need. Before he can do anything about that Trevor’s strong arm is sliding around his torso, pulling him back against his chest and his hand is wrapping around Philip’s dick for the second time today as he continues to rearrange his guts. Philip knows he isn’t going to last long. 

“Fucking hell, Trev,” he gasps, because that’s really all he can do. He’s surrounded by Trevor, the engineer’s mouth warm and wet on the skin of his shoulder, his hand firm — just how Philip likes it — around his cock, Trevor’s own cock stroking what feels like every inch of his insides, his warm chest damp with sweat and pressed to Philip’s back. If he died right now he’d go out with a smile on his face, because he’s pretty sure it doesn’t get better than this. 

“Oh God,” Trevor groans. “You feel like fucking Heaven, you know that? You’re Heaven.” 

Philip didn’t know that, but he probably could have guessed from the desperation of Trevor’s combined fist and hips. He feels the words against his shoulder, feels Trevor’s warm breath stirring his hair and it must be all that damned football because he hasn’t faltered once. Philip can’t wait to make him. “You’re talking,” he manages, but any impact it might have had is lost in the unsteadiness of his voice. Maybe he’s still sensitive from his earlier orgasm, maybe it’s just that this is so much more intense, but he can already feel the tight coil of pleasure building low inside him. 

“Yeah, I’m — fuck, Philip — I’m talking.” He gives a particularly hard thrust, and it’s all Philip can do not to collapse right then and there. Trevor is going to be the death of him, and he’s going to say thank you when it happens. 

“Don’t stop,” he pleads — fucking pleads. “Shit, Trev, don’t stop.” 

“‘M not,” Trevor pants. “Don’t worry, I’m not fucking stopping.” And he isn’t. If anything, he’s going harder. “I’m— shit, fuck, fuck, Philip I’m gonna— Philip, where do I—?” 

Oh, is all Philip can think. “In me,” he blurts, because protocol 4 isn’t going to be a problem and this is the 21st century. 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah, I’m sure. Fuck, Trevor I’m so— I’m gonna—” 

Trevor is groaning deeply, spilling hot and thick inside Philip and with that, white hot bliss explodes through his body. He’s dimly aware of Trevor’s chest heaving against his back, his own name being chanted like a prayer, an incantation, and Philip’s never loved the sound of it more than he does right now. Right now it really is his name, and he knows he’s never coming back from this, and that he doesn’t want to. He thinks he says Trevor’s, too, over and over and punctuated with curses, but how is he supposed to do anything else when it feels like this? 

Trevor’s movements slow eventually until they stop altogether, the only sound in the room their ragged breathing and the rustle of the sheets and Trevor pulls out and flops onto the mattress. Philip mourns the loss of the feeling of fullness for a moment as he adjusts to the sudden emptiness, forcing his arms to unlock and relax, his legs to shift — he hadn’t realised they were shaking, but now that he has he can’t stop it — and collapses next to Trevor. 

“God, Philip,” he whispers to the ceiling, then raises his head and smiles. 

“You alright?” Philip asks. Idly, he traces a circle over Trevor’s heart. 

“I am so alright,” he sighs, breathes a laugh, turns to lie on his stomach and looks at Philip over the muscle of his arm. “You?” 

Philip smiles too, his whole body heavy and satisfied. “So alright,” he echoes softly, and if he wasn’t so completely boneless he’d lean over, press his lips to Trevor’s, soft and careful. Instead, he stretches out alongside Trevor. He can feel his cum leaking out of him, and the rational part of his brain says that’s gross and he should clean it up — along with the mess on his stomach. The irrational part of his brain that had his heart speeding up when he watched Trevor lick him clean earlier says it’s hot. Either way, Philip is not getting out of this bed any time soon. 

“What?” 

He blinks, jerks out of his thoughts. Trevor is frowning, still turned towards him and close enough that when Philip extends his pinkie finger it meets warm skin. “Nothing,” he says. Then, because he’s not brave enough to say what he really means, “Do you wanna stay?” 

The wrinkle disappears from between Trevor’s brows and he pretends to think. “Do I wanna get up, get dressed, walk up the loft stairs and try to go to sleep by myself while I know you’re down here?” He scoffs like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and maybe to him it is. But he still asks, “Do you want me to?” 

“I just want you,” Philip breathes. It doesn’t quite sound right and he’s not even sure if it’s really what he wants to say, but it’s close enough.

“You just had me.” 

“No,” he sighs, “I mean this. I want this.”

“Oh.” Trevor’s face softens. “Right. Well, you’ve got it, Philip.” Slowly, he wriggles his hand close enough to lace his fingers with Philip’s and pulls their hands towards himself, lips brushing his knuckles. Philip thinks his heart is going to burst, and since when is he such a sap? Must be something about Trevor that makes his brain fly out the window. 

He slips his hand from Trevor’s to run it down the curve of his spine like he’d wished he could this morning, mapping every vertebrae as if the world is depending on it. And maybe his is. He watches the smooth motion of muscle and bone and ligaments and skin as Trevor shifts infinitesimally closer, mesmerised by the simultaneous complexity and simplicity of the movement. The dying light cascades over Trevor’s back and neck, glancing off his hair, pooling on his cheek, catching on his eyelashes as he blinks and suddenly he understands artists. 

Philip has always appreciated art in a practical sense (if there is one), as a historian, admired the richness and depth of the maker’s mark on the world, their cry to be seen and remembered. But in that moment Philip understands the need to capture and render, share, immortalise. For the first time, he doesn’t know if his memory is enough to hold Trevor as he is now, smiling softly and extending his arm, his own hand sliding over Philip's torso. He blinks and the feeling fades enough that he can move to accommodate the engineer as he shuffles across the space between them and drapes his body over Philip’s, lips pressing oh so gently to his pulse point before he lays his head over his heart. Philip knows he’ll never be able to capture this, and for a moment he wonders if how much is lost is equal to how much is preserved. If it’s greater. If it’s less. He swallows, turns and kisses Trevor’s temple, decides it doesn’t matter. He has this now, and he is determined to take it for all that it’s worth. 

“Memorising?” 

“What?” 

Trevor shrugs, shifting closer still. “Are you memorising me again?” 

Philip can’t begin to explain, but Trevor’s on the right track so just smiles and says, “yeah,” sliding his arm around his shoulders and holding him close. 

“Me too.” The engineer's body jerks with a soft chuckle, but he presses against Philip anyway, his breathing deep and even and his arm heavy across Philip’s chest. Then, “Can’t believe you’ve just been walking around with this.”

Philip cranes his neck, looking down at where Trevor is staring at his chest. Or rather, his piercing. He almost laughs because of course that’s what Trevor’s stuck on. 

“Doing missions with a ring through your nipple,” he goes on. “I can’t believe I didn’t know.”

“That’d be a weird conversation,” he snorts. “‘Hey Trev, wanna see this random bit of metal through my fucking nipple?’” Because Philip is aware that it’s weird, and that’s part of the reason he hadn’t exactly shown it off. Not that he would have had any excuse to, or wanted to, but still. 

Trevor tsks. “Yeah, but… I don’t know. Does it hurt?” 

“Uh… no?” He thinks for a minute, frowns. “Sometimes, a little. Sometimes I forget it’s there and it gets stuck on stuff.” 

“Jesus. 21st century, man, I’m telling you.” 

“Yeah. I know.”

There’s a beat of silence, then Trevor’s lips are pressing against his chest and he’s whispering, “I still think it’s hot as fuck,” and Philip, despite himself, is smiling. Whatever he sees in other timelines, and whatever else happens, he’s glad he exists here and now. He’s glad he woke up, and he’s glad he’ll wake up tomorrow — and this time it won’t be to an illusion.

Note: guys I'll be real for a sec I have no idea if this is any good. It feels ok right up until butt stuff gets involved so maybe this is a sign that gay porn specifically isn't my calling and I should just stick to YN shit (which is so sad cause I wanna write destiel smut and I wanna write more about these two silly little dudes). I wrote this originally where Philip just sucked Trevor off and they called it a day but it just genuinely did not feel right and it would not leave me alone and it just kept playing out in my head (something) like this so I wrote it and I'm not feeling the itch anymore but what I am feeling is really unsure. Any feedback at all would be so so appreciated (I feel like that ant with the bindle)

[mariaofdoranelle]

Look at Us Now — Ch. 4

Fic Masterlist

I couldn’t wait until Thursday to post under a prompt for Aelin Week, so be ready for a surprise by then hehe

P.S. this chapter is my baby be nice to it

Edit: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ONE OF MY FAVORITE PEOPLE IN THIS HELLSITE ILY @aelinchocolatelover [plays parabéns da xuxa softly in the background] ❤️💛💕💓❤️

Warnings: light NSFW, language, swords, let me know if I missed something

Word count: 6,1k (Oops!… I did it again)

The only sound Aelin could hear was their heavy breaths and the AC running.

Rowan was draped over the couch by her side, head tilted up and naked as the day he was born. The way his pecs flexed and glistened because of his post-orgasm heavy breathing and sweat was absolutely maddening.

Aelin’s fingertips were about to become calloused from the amount of times she ran them over his rock-hard abs.

It became a routine, pretending she was leaving base like everyone else at the end of the day, then turning around when no one would notice. She didn’t know if Rowan was always waiting for her or if he just enjoyed working until late. Aelin didn’t care. What mattered is that he was always at his office right after her classes were done, and she would always take advantage of it.

Aelin darted a glance at the watch Rowan kept on his wall. It was almost 11 pm.

She should’ve gone home to rest after having classes until nine, but Aelin was attached to this office like a magnet. Or to the man who stayed here. Rowan always had her so lost in his current Aelin often forgot she has a boyfriend waiting for her most days. Dorian didn’t seem to mind, though. With them having an open relationship, he was never lonely.

Around the third time Aelin came to Rowan’s office, there was a drawer with a lock and condoms inside. A short while after, he brought a small, but extra comfy couch, perfect for a post-orgasmic haze.

Aelin didn’t mind having sex on desks and walls for 10 weeks if it was with Rowan, but she liked this additional little touch.

It would be still the best sex she’s ever had, Aelin thought.

She hummed in delight, thinking about the way he tore her apart minutes ago in this couch.

Rowan lazily turned his head, making his gaze fall on her. What’re you thinking? His curious green eyes seemed to ask her.

“We still have time for a round three.”

He chuckled. “Insatiable.”

That single word sent a spark through her spine. Aelin had never been shy in bed, but things with Rowan were different. More intense. Something about him made her absolutely unleashed between these four walls, like wind spreading a wildfire.

They didn’t talk much, though. Too hungry for each other in the beginning and too tired from the day in the end, the only time they’d talk was between rounds.

“You’re not gonna wish me good luck?”

Every recruit needs to do a physical test by the end of their basic training, and Aelin’s would be tomorrow morning.

“You don’t need it.”

She grinned. “Because you trained me so well?”

Rowan did that thing where he tried not to smile, but the left corner of his lip tilted up anyway. “I think that goes without saying.”

“I disagree.” Aelin bit her lip, eyes full of mischief.

“Is that so?”

She nodded. “I need more cardio.”

Rowan said nothing, but his eyes sparkled with the challenge. He got up from the couch, then laid on the ground for a second before bending his knees and elbows to raise his shoulders and hips.

In less than 10 seconds, the bastard got into a perfect yoga wheel pose.

“Show off,” Aelin grunted. His grin was so smug she wanted to punch it.

“Hop on.”

Aelin’s eyes widened. “You want me to ride your dick like this?”

“You said you needed cardio.”

The squat work she’d have to do fuck him like this. With nothing around for her to support herself. After fourteen hours of boot camp and two orgasms.

“Absolutely not!” She shrieked.

One look at her face was enough for Rowan to chuckle, the echos of his amusement not stopping while he smoothly landed on the floor.

Aelin’s shoulders relaxed in relief, but something dawned on her. Was Rowan Whitethorn teasing her?

“Not funny.” She crossed her arms. “Get back here. And stop showing off. You’re not even the yoga type!’”

“That’s prejudiced. Why am I not the yoga type?”

She squinted her eyes at him, but the bastard was still grinning. He knew she thought he wasn’t the yoga type because he’s a burly brute.

He shrugged and sat back on the couch by her side. “I go to a class on Sunday mornings. My roommate joins me when he’s not too hangover.”

I could go with you. The words were in the tip of her tongue, but Aelin held back.

She knew her place in a man’s life after fucking for 10 weeks without even being asked on a date. And she was happy with it. Rowan was an incredible fuck buddy, and she had a boyfriend already to take to yoga classes. But like Rowan’s roommate, she didn’t know if Dorian could stay a single Sunday morning without being hangover, either. Or still at a party.

Who liked yoga, anyway?

Trying to erase her own thoughts, Aelin turned to straddle Rowan in one swift motion. She did her best to not let her self-consciousness show. She had been exercising like crazy, but didn’t seem to lose any weight. In fact, she’s been feeling bloated for a while now.

Fuck, Aelin really needed to stop thinking.

Rowan began trailing kissed down her neck, making her softly moan and search with her hips for his hardened bulge.

“I want to fuck you here. No yoga shit.”

Aelin didn’t see it coming, his hand slapping her ass so hard it sent shivers through her body. The hand on her hair slid to her throat, gently squeezing it again when he commanded, “You take what I give you, and you’ll like it. You hear me?”

“Yes, sir,” Aelin whimpered, and then moaned when he slid his cock between her folds to press against her clit.

It was so good it could be a crime, the way Rowan made her feel. How he knew exactly what to say in bed and every trick to make her scream.

Right now, this was exactly what she needed.

˜˜

Aelin kept telling herself that today’s test was a given, and that she could endure worse than this. Dorian kept telling her that it’s okay to be and act nervous before her test.

Truth was, fighting him and insisting she wasn’t edgy was very effective at distracting her from the real thing. Now that her boyfriend was waiting outside while she waited for her second physical test in the Air Force, it felt a lot more real.

It consisted of two parts, some bureaucratic blood tests and tox screens and then being cleared to do the actual test.

Aelin was on a row with the other people from her class, entering the room where it was going to happen, when someone stopped her.

“Wait there. Galathynius, right?” The flat and rough voice came from Captain Salvaterre, the coordinator of her program. He frowned at the clipboard and wrote something down before looking back at her. “You’re not cleared to do the physical test. You’ll get more info via email later.”

Aelin didn’t move. Eyes widened, mind blank. What the fuck just happened?

“Bye, Galathynius,” Salvaterre dismissed her.

“Wait,” Aelin blurted, mind still short-circuiting. “What happened?”

“I don’t know. Don’t care either. The doctor didn’t clear you to do the exam, and now you’re holding up the line.”

Her eyebrows squished together. Why would the doctor do that? “Can I at least talk to them?”

“Look, I won’t let you bother the doctor just because you smoked some weed or whatever and got caught.”

“Excuse me?” Aelin hissed.

Salvaterre sighed. “Most people that fail this step do it because of the tox screen. I don’t give a fuck about what you do on your free time, just don’t bother the doctor over this shit. It’s done.”

“What? I don’t do drugs!”

He didn’t look convinced.

“I mean it.” Aelin raised an eyebrow. “I could be dying. I could die right now without knowing what’s wrong.”

Salvaterre rolled his eyes. “Fine.”

She followed his instructions to where to find the doctor, her mind racing all the time. Since it was their mistake, maybe she could reschedule the test. Sure, Aelin had been feeling tired and drained all the time, but it was because of her exhausting training. Apart from that, she knew she was on her prime. This was surely a mistake.

Aelin knocked three times at the door and went inside before the doctor could tell her to come in. If she did it fast enough, maybe there could be time for her to rejoin her class and do the test.

The doctor was a kind-looking older woman. Files, probably everyone’s exams surrounded her, but she looked calm in the middle of that chaos.

“Oh, hello, there!” She grinned. “How can I help you?”

She shook the doctor’s hand and rushed to sit on the chair in front of her. “Hi. My name’s Aelin Galathynius. I didn’t get cleared to do the physical test, so—“

“I’m on it.” She quickly found Aelin’s file and smiled when she opened it.

Aelin frowned. What was she smiling at?

”I couldn’t let you go in there, dear,” the doctor explained, “These tests are ruthless, especially when you’re new. All your exams look great, but it’s too physically straining and risky for any pregnant woman.“ She smiled. “Congratulations, by the way.”

“Wait. No. I’m going there. What in—“

Wait a fucking minute

Did she say pregnant?

Aelin cleared her throat. “There must be something wrong. You’re sure this exam isn’t someone else’s?”

The woman handed her the paper, jaw dropped. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know—“

“Holy shit,” Aelin interrupted, not really caring about anything else right now. Too stunned to remember that she was cursing at her soon-to-be workplace.

Her eyes were frozen on the same few lines.

PATIENT: AELIN ASHRYVER GALATHYNIUS

BETA HCG QUANTITATIVE

TEST VALUE: 91350 mIU/mL

P.S. POSITIVE

What the actual fuck?

Aelin just stared with a slack jaw, eyes glued to the paper.

Dorian had a vasectomy, and she only had unprotected sex once this year. Way more than once actually, but all on the same evening. Does Rowan have a vasectomy? Is he the vasectomy type?

For the first time of her life, Aelin cursed herself for not keeping good track of her period. She just marked the first day she bled on the app and forgot it existed until the next month.

Aelin snatched her phone from the purse, frantically opening the period app.

She felt the ground falling underneath her feet.

There were signs everywhere telling her period was late. Months late. The most neglected app on her phone had been trying to tell her the most important thing of her life for months.

Aelin sighed and held her head in her hands, trying to make sense of something she already knew was true. Her last period had been almost three months ago, a little before her unprotected sex with Rowan, at the very beginning of her training.

She cursed math for never lying.

Getting up, Aelin snapped a picture of the exam and gave it back to the doctor, mumbling a thick “Thanks, good morning.”

She walked that familiar path with no destination in mind. Aelin had nowhere to go now that she wasn’t doing the test. She tried to process this, but wasn’t processing nothing at all.

She was pregnant. Baby. Diapers. Cries. Big, big belly. Milk. Milk and money, actually. Babies required milk as much as they required money.

Money wasn’t an issue. At least Aelin was a doctor.

If she was keeping the baby, Aelin thought, but soon brushed it off. She wanted this. Twenty-seven isn’t too young to be a mom, right?

Fuck, she’s going to be a mom. No, not fuck. Good. This was good news. Scary too.

She also needed to move out. Uncle Orlon and Darrow never wanted kids, raising her and Aedion after Aelin’s parents died was enough on them. She didn’t want her kid to be a burden.

Her and Rowan’s. Way to go, being knocked up by a brute she barely knew.

Rowan did not look like the nurturing dad type, at least not by the way he acted around his students. Aelin cringed. Would he be too hard on her kid?

If he wanted the kid, she couldn’t forget. There was a good chance he won’t want the baby, considering that: (a) he’s a man, (b) their history, or lack thereof.

A hand wrapped around her elbow, making her jerk and go stiff.

It was just Dorian, though. Looking around, it looked like her aimless wandering led her to the room she left him in.

“That was quick,” her boyfriend said. “How was it?”

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“We need to talk,” Aelin blurted.

She pulled a confused-looking Dorian to his car until they were seated with the doors closed. She showed him the picture of the exam and waited for his answer. And waited. And waited until she was wriggling in her seat, trying to get a better look at his dumbfounded face.

“Wow,” he breathed, and turned to face her. “What are we doing about this?”

We.

That word alone almost broke her heart.

“You know it’s not yours, Dor.”

“It’s Hot Lieutenant’s?”

Aelin nodded.

He had a small, sad smile on his face. “But we’re a team, remember?”

She swallowed, chest constricting. God, this was hard. Aelin already knew what she had to do, but it didn’t make it any easy.

“We are, but this isn’t a quick fix. It’d mean no quiet time, no free time, vomit all over your expensive furniture…”

Dorian took a deep breath. “You’re breaking up with me, aren’t you?”

Aelin nodded, clamping her lips together. “You don’t want to change your entire lifestyle for a kid that isn’t even yours, Dor.”

He didn’t answer. Just nodded, resigned. They knew they weren’t the one for each other, but that didn’t mean they wanted to break up now. The situation required, though. Aelin’s relationship with Dorian was based on fun and friendship, and throwing a baby in the mix wasn’t a good fit. Besides, he didn’t want a kid. He has a vasectomy for a reason.

Dorian cradled her face with both hands, looking her deep into her eyes. “I might not be your baby daddy, but I’m going to be the best damn uncle this kid will ever have, okay? I promise.” He brushed off a few rogue tears from her face. ”I love you, Aelin. Whatever happens, you’re not alone.”

Her hands wrapped around his torso, not caring that she was dampening his designer shirt with tears. “I love you, Your Magnanimous Holiness.” She felt his chest faintly shake with what would’ve been a full laugh any other time. “You’re still my best friend.”

Dorian kissed the crown of her head. “I better be. You’ll always be my best friend, Ace.”

They stayed a long time like this, Aelin taking deep breaths while he hugged her and played with her hair. It was nice, even with the bittersweet mood that lingered.

˜˜

Aelin woke up at her actual house this Saturday morning, which was odd. She usually spent weekends at Dorian’s, and even if they decided to stay friends after the breakup, she needed time alone to think.

She was pregnant.

Her first trimester flew by, and she had missed every single sign of it. Sure, she was feeling tired and had some cramps, but these were a few of the things she was shrugging off and assuming it meant something else. But Aelin knew better now.

She had so much to figure out it was making her dizzy, so her only goal this weekend was to not freak out completely.

One thing at a time, like her old therapist taught her.

On Monday, she’d make an appointment at the OBGYN and tell Rowan. Just find him on base during lunch or after work and rip the band-aid off, no expectations.

Aelin was giving her damn best to calm her heartbeat and not think about what would happen after that.

The smell of barbecue dragged Aelin out of her room, and hopefully it’d be a good distraction from all this.

Everyone was chatting in the backyard. She didn’t know when Aedion got here, but he was sitting with Uncle Orlon and Philippa, the housekeeper, while Darrow manned the grill.

Her heart squeezed to see her family like this. She wondered how much it’d change, after Little One was here.

“There she is!” Aedion beamed. “I thought I’d only see you at dinnertime, Ace.”

“Overslept.” She shrugged, feeling her stomach getting queasy just to think of the reason she stayed in bed more than usual.

“Is Dorian coming today?” Philippa asked. “I made that berry pie he likes.”

Aelin swallowed. It’d be easier to get this over with, so she took a deep breath to calm her nerves and announced, “Dorian and I broke up.”

The uncomfortable silence and everyone looking at each other without knowing what to say didn’t last long.

“Oh, thank God.” Uncle Orlon’s shoulders dropped and he sighed in relief. Aelin gaped, mind blank for a second. When he read her expression, he continued, “What? I like the kid, but he’s too unserious for you, Fireheart.”

She sagged back in her chair. Aelin wanted to argue, but her uncle was right. She always knew Dorian wasn’t the one, even if she enjoyed their relationship.

“What did he do?” Aedion snarled, arms crossed while he carefully studied his cousin.

“He didn’t do anything.” Aelin took a deep breath, steeling herself for what she was about to drop. “We broke up because I’m pregnant.”

The only sound was her cousin squeezing his beer can with his hand until it was completely crushed, its contents spilling onto the table.

“He did what?” Aedion hissed through his teeth, and it was only then that she noticed everyone was intently looking at her, their faces somewhere between concern and something murderous.

Oh, fuck. Aelin really had a way of putting her foot in her mouth sometimes, didn’t she?

“It’s not his!” She blurted before anyone started overreacting. “Dorian’s not the father.”

“Oh, honey.” Philippa’s eyes were soft, understanding. “Did you cheat on him?”

“No. Hmm.” Aelin scratched the back of her head, feeling her whole face flush. God, this wasn’t a conversation she’d like to have in a room full of old people. “We weren’t exclusive. We could see other people while dating each other.”

Aedion didn’t seem impressed, but Orlon’s eyes were bulging out. Darrow was carefully silent.

“Is it a new kink?” Philipps wrinkled her nose. “Being cheated on.”

“It’s not like that!” Aelin groaned while holding her face with both hands.

“Honey…” Orlon took her hand, brows furrowed with concern while he struggled to say whatever he was thinking. “Do you at least know who the father is?”

“Of course I do!” She blurted, cheeks flaming as she dropped his hand. Aelin wasn’t easily embarrassed, but discussing her sex life with her great-uncle was not on her bucket list.

Everyone was silent, waiting for her to drop this piece of information.

“I haven’t told him yet. I’m not sure you know him, but promise you won’t say anything?”

Everyone nodded. She took a deep breath.

“It’s Lieutenant Whitethorn.”

“WHITETHORN?” Darrow screeched. “ROWAN WHITETHORN?”

Aelin froze. They did know him, after all.

Darrow ran inside the house and Orlon went after him, always the peacemaker. All things considered, she was thankful they didn’t have any guns, even though they could for being in the military.

“At least he’s hot,” Aedion acknowledged around a bite of garlic bread after a small stretch of silence.

Aelin groaned. “You know him too?”

“We did basic training together, and I think he went to Darrow’s section right after. Cool dude.”

“You’re not mad?” She eyed him warily.

“I’m happy for you, Ace. I will go for his head depending on what he says to you, though.” Aelin snorted. That sounded like her cousin. He continued, “But I need a cute niece or nephew to impress the ladies.”

“You are not using my kid to pick up women.”

“Not any women.” He leaned back, a lazy grin on his face. “MILFs.”

Aelin was about to say something about how disgusting her cousin was when a loud noise interrupted them.

Through the window, she could see Darrow holding a sword the military required them to have for some special ceremonies. Orlon was holding his own by the door, probably telling his husband to not threaten Rowan with it.

Considering that Rowan most likely also had a sword and definitely lived somewhere in this same village, she wouldn’t put past Darrow to find him and actually start a sword fight.

Aelin got up from her chair, ready to stop this nonsense. That’s the problem with her family, it’s full of overprotective men. They even have the medieval weapons, for Mala’s sake.

˜˜

Aelin clicked on the side button of her phone just once, to stop ringing.

“Do you want to take it? I can come back in a few,” The waitress asked.

“No need. I’ll have two of today’s specials, a diet coke and a non-alcoholic beer, please.” Aelin forced a smile.

On the table, her phone still showed a picture of Rowan and their daughter together, their smiles so big it was almost blinding. On the bottom of the screen, the choice to still take the call or refuse it altogether.

When it went off and he didn’t call again, Aelin let out a long breath.

Her relationship with Rowan got a lot more pacific after his trip to the hospital. It lasted less than two days.

Something eased inside Aelin’s chest when her cousin stomped inside the restaurant while looking for her. Aedion had many skills, but he had never been exactly a graceful person, Aelin mused with a small smile when he accidentally bumped his hip against one table.

They were on their lunch break, and while meeting at the restaurant nearby was nice, doing it for the third time this week was not in Aelin’s plans. At least not when she could eat for free at the Air Force’s mess hall.

But she would never deny lunch to her hurting cousin. Besides, Elide texted her saying they were serving fish today, and it wasn’t good. The food at the mess hall was a box full of surprises. It could be anywhere between unbelievably good and absolute shit.

“I see you’re still avoiding Kyllian,” she prompted.

Aedion didn’t answer, and he was saved by the waitress coming with their drinks. He and his now ex-boyfriend had been on a rough patch these last few months, and Kyllian being called upon to relocate to Mistward was their last straw. Apparently, Aelin would be helping her cousin avoid his ex at base until he moved.

“Seriously, Ace? This tastes like shit.” Aedion grimaced at his non-alcoholic beer.

“I’m not letting you get back at work drunk. And it’s on me today.” Aelin eyed her cousin warily. “Only because you look terrible.”

That damn ringtone started playing again. Her phone was on the table, so both Ashryver cousins stared at the picture of Rowan and Maisie. She pressed the side button again.

“You’re not gonna answer that?” Aedion asked.

Aelin squared her shoulders. “I’m already answering that, by silently telling him to give me space and respect my boundaries.”

“It could be important.”

“It’s really not.”

Aedion rolled his eyes and swiftly snatched her phone from the table. “Hey, man. What’s up?”

He hummed and nodded for a few seconds, then turned to Aelin. “Rowan wants to know what you packed for Maisie’s lunch today. He called in the morning to remind you she had a tummy ache yesterday, but you didn’t answer.”

Aelin ground her teeth together. Like she wouldn’t remember her own daughter was sick. What kind of mom did he think she was?

“Tell him to fuck off,” Aelin spit out.

Aedion sighed. “She told you to fuck off, man.”

Her cousin hummed again, then his eyes lit up and he perked up. “That’s so cool! Wait a second.”

He asked Aelin, “Did you read his texts about soccer classes?”

She gripped her diet coke with a little too much force, trying not to snap at her cousin. Aedion winced before Aelin even opened her mouth, reading her too well.

“I don’t think she wants to talk to you right now, man.” A pause. “Speaking about soccer, do you wanna watch the game on Sunday?” Aedion frowned and leaned back on the chair. “Come on, man, you have to. You know I’m on a post-breakup slump.”

Whatever Rowan told him made Aedion gape. He turned to Aelin. “You didn’t tell him Kyllian and I broke up?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not friends with Rowan, Aed. We only talk about Maisie.”

Aedion sighed, said goodbye and promised to text him about Sunday’s game.

After he gave her the phone back, her cousin said, “I don’t know what happens between you and Rowan that makes your relationship so bad.”

Aelin ground her teeth together, refusing to answer.

He wouldn’t have it, though. “He’s a good man. An even better dad. Your family loves him. For someone who got pregnant out of a hookup, you did pretty great, Ace.”

“Can we change the subject?”

He drew in a long breath and let it go. Anyone close to her knew The Rowan Conversation was absolutely fruitless.

“I vote for soccer.”

Oh, great. He stopped talking about her least favorite subject of all time, introducing this week’s least favorite subject.

“Thank God you’re not her parent, then.”

”Ouch.” Aedion held a hand against his chest in mock-offense. “I’ll be a great dad.”

She snorted. “You’ll be a pain in your kids’ ass.”

“Take it back!” He exclaimed, gaping.

“Don’t you dare forget how you scared away every boyfriend I had in high school!”

“I was saving your sorry ass from those assholes, that is.”

This time, Aelin gave him a full laugh. She was kind of a dipshit magnet during her teenage years, her cousin wasn’t completely wrong about that.

He continued, “I think Rowan is the only guy you dated that I actually like.” Well, that was a way to sober up the nice mood she just got in. Aelin glared at her cousin. Knowing what she was about to say, Aedion rolled his eyes and held his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay, you two never dated. Whatever helps you sleep at night.” A pause. “I promise I’ll drop this, but I’m curious. Is there anything wrong with soccer practice, or you’re just picking a fight?”

“I don’t pick fights for no reason.”

Aedion raised an eyebrow. She frowned at him.

She did not. All of her fights with Rowan were absolutely unavoidable.

Aelin shrugged. “Soccer’s lame.”

“Stop lying.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re not crazy about it, but you like soccer.”

Aelin wanted to punch that know-it-all expression out of his face.

He didn’t move, waiting for her answer.

She squinted her eyes at him.

He looked absolutely unimpressed, keeping eye contact until he won that battle of wills.

“Fine,” Aelin grumbled as she roller her eyes and sagged in her seat.

“And?”

“I’m too cool to be a soccer mom.”

Aedion barked a laugh, head tilted up before he looked her in the eye again. “You’re joking, right?”

“I’m really not. Have you seen those soccer mom tiktoks?” This wasn’t nearly as funny as her cousin thought.

“You’re okay with putting your body through excruciating pain and cleaning explosive diarrhea, but you draw the line at becoming a soccer mom?”

“Yes.”

He guffawed again, now drawing the attention of the people from the surrounding tables. Aelin just sat there, trying not to smile at her cousin’s dramatic reaction and waiting for him to come back.

Her grin widened when the waitress came with their lunch before she got hangry. Aedion could be absolutely insufferable sometimes, but he deserved good company.

Aelin cleared her throat. “Did you buy a new washing machine?”

His broke down this week, and Philippa kept complaining about Aedion’s lack of laundry skills over and over after the one time he washed his clothes at Orlon’s, two days ago.

“Nope, I’m trying to fix it again tomorrow.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Like when you ‘fixed’ your ceiling fan and now it only works with the lights on?”

He stuffed his mouth with food and refused to answer.

Aelin continued, “You need to stop finding random things in your house to fix and find another boyfriend. Or girlfriend, whatever. You’re pathetic when you’re single.”

“YoU’rE pATHeThIc wHeN yOu’RE sinGLe,” Aedion mimicked with a high-pitched voice.

She rolled her eyes and set an alarm for when her lunchtime would need to end. It might be an Ashryver thing, but it was really easy to lose track of time when she had so many things to bicker about with her cousin.

˜˜

The floor was so shiny Aelin could barely believe most of the people inside this building were kids.

It better be, she thought when she remembered the price tag that came with it. Maisie better go straight to college after finishing preschool, because it was really hard to believe Aelin and Rowan were paying that much for their kid to learn letters and count to 20.

She took a deep breath. Aelin would pay as much as she could if it meant her daughter wouldn’t be yelled at. This was better than the Air Force school, even if was a much longer drive from home.

After last week’s incident, Uncle Orlon told them to file a formal complaint and let him deal with the rest. By the look on his face, Lieutenant Valg would not go unpunished, and this was enough. Aelin couldn’t do anything more without facing consequences because of her rank, so now she wanted to focus on the present. Which now meant Maisie’s teacher, that she was about to meet.

She heard hurried footsteps on one side of the hall and thanked Mala it was Rowan.

He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not too late, am I?”

Her eyes zeroed on what he was wearing, though.

“Seriously? You didn’t even change out of the uniform?”

“I don’t have a whole team of co-workers ready to cover for me,” Rowan sneered.

Yes, he did. He swapped schedules with Fenrys all the time.

Aelin rolled her eyes. “It’s not like your job is hard.”

“Excuse me?” He snarled.

“And you don’t even do it well! There’s so many ways to torture a eighteen-year-old, and you choose push-ups? Seriously?”

They heard a loud throat clearing and whipped towards the sound. It was a brunette holding a binder, wearing a long dress and sneakers.

“You’re Maisie’s parents, right?” She shook both of their hands. “I’m Borte Arcas, her teacher.”

It was like Aelin’s whole face was lighting on fire. Of all the ways this introduction could’ve gone, being caught mid-fight was not one she hoped for.

They didn’t get the chance to properly meet the teacher the day they enrolled Maisie here, this Monday, because her daughter was only supposed to get to know the school. But when Mais saw her cousin through the class’ window, she walked in without asking and decided she was staying. Just like that. Later that day, the teacher sent an email introducing herself, leaving her phone number if they needed anything, and inviting both of them to meet on Friday, after she got to know Maisie a little better.

And there they were, sitting side by side in a large office while Ms. Arcas turned the AC on in front of them.

“Do you need anything?” She asked. “Water, coffee, cappuccino…”

“A cappuccino would be great.” Aelin gave her a small smile.

The teacher turned to Rowan. “You?”

“Just water, thanks.”

After everything was settled, Ms. Arcas spent some time getting to know them before discussing Maisie. She was getting more comfortable with the class each day, loved story time, took part in group games. It was good for the ego, hearing the teacher talk about her daughter this way. Not that Aelin didn’t know already that her daughter is awesome, but her chest was bursting with pride right now.

Mais was only a little behind on reading compared to her classmates, but Ms. Arcas said this isn’t a big concern yet because every kid has their own timing.

She closed the binder with Maisie’s info. “There’s only two more things I wanted to discuss...” she bit her lip. “This week, during one activity, Maisie said that her favorite drink is wine.”

“What?” Aelin blurted, feeling her cheeks redden and Rowan’s shocked gaze on her. “It’s not! It’s…” one deep, long breath followed by a nervous smile. She was going to kill her daughter.

“Sometimes Maisie sees me drinking wine. Not every day, and not too much, really. Just a glass.” She grimaced. “Maybe two. Anyway.”

Aelin scratched the back of her head, wondering if she was digging a hole for herself. She didn’t care about what people thought of her wine habits, but wanted to make a good impression on Maisie’s teacher.

She continued, “Sometimes she asks to drink too, it ends with huge meltdown, so one day I gave her grape juice and told her it’s wine. She loves it. We sip together.”

Rowan’s head whipped towards her, eyes wide. “You lie to her?”

“You give her fruit and tell it’s dessert,” Aelin argued.

The teacher cleared her throat again. Loudly.

“Sorry,” they mumbled under their breaths.

Ms. Arcas looked at her watch. “I just need her to not influence other kids to drink ‘wine’. The last thing I wanted to talk about before we wrap this up…” she took some sheets of paper from the binder and spread them on the desk between them.

“Maisie seems pretty fond of drawing.”

“Especially on my walls,” Rowan said between a small smile. 

The teacher nodded. “Have you tried to analyze them?”

Aelin frowned. “We do that thing where we comment on them so she feels seen.”

“That’s really good.” Ms. Arcas nodded, brows furrowed. “But some drawing of her really brought to my attention—”

“Is this her riding a dog?” Aelin took one sheet of paper from the table to examine it closer.

Rowan scooted closer, frowning. “I think it’s a unicorn. Look at the horn.”

Aelin sighed affectionately, heart warming just to see her daughter’s drawing. “She does have an artist’s soul, doesn’t she?”

Rowan smiled. “She’s a little Picasso.”

Ms. Arcas watched their interruption with a polite smile before continuing, “You know, kids draw about what they see, so sometimes the drawings tell us a lot about what’s going on inside their heads. So I brought these she made this week…” the teacher reorganized the drawings, placing most of them back in a pile and putting another few in evidence.

“These are…” Aelin tilted her head. The sticky figures looked a bit scary in them, but she couldn’t quite place what was wrong with them.

“Every time Maisie draws you two together, you seem angry. This one, for example,” Ms. Arcas explained while showing them, “You both have your mouths open, hands up. And do you see how big you two look? You’re taking most of the page, while Maisie herself looks very tiny here in the corner.” 

Aelin felt like time stopped, her entire world freezing and narrowing down to that drawing.

It couldn’t be.

Maisie knew that she and Rowan weren’t friends, but she wouldn’t have picked up that much, right?

“As you can see, this hostile environment is a recurrent theme. I talked about it with Maisie, though is not uncommon to see kids drawing such things,“ the teacher went on, “But I think this might be a reason to that delay in her reading skills we talked about.”

“You told us it’s normal,” Aelin insisted, defeated yet defensive.

“It is for some kids, but it also could be related,” she softly explained.

“So, you mean…” Rowan looked down, furrowing. He rubbed his likely sweaty hands against the front of his pants before looking back at the teacher. “I’m not sure I’m following.”

She gave him a weak smile before confirming, “I’m just letting you know that Maisie is aware of your hostility towards each other, and it may be affecting her performance at school.”

TAG LIST

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[frostedpuffs]

Adrien swallowed as the thought dawned on him a second time. Ladybug was in his room.  She walked toward his couch. His eyes followed her, magnetized. Ladybug was in his room. It was late at night, everyone else was asleep, and Ladybug was in his room. 

the atmosphere becomes less and less platonic for every second they spend together

[tripthelightfandomtastic]

Can we start off wild Wednesday with something soft for Sam? Maybe a first kiss with him or him cuddling you first thing in the morning?

Hmm, I love a cuddle and a first kiss, so why not both? I like the thought of staying up too late and just spending the night at Sam's place. The weather that night was bad, and it was far too late to get home without having Sam trying to stay awake so he could know when you got home safe, so you stayed. You've always been close, and after a night of drinking with a group of friends, and giggling in bed over dumb things (I mean the couch is way less comfortable and it's a big enough bed for two) somehow you didn't expect nor did you fight the feeling of Sam's arms wrapping around your waist in the middle of the night. Your heart skips a beat for a moment as his large hands pull you effortlessly closer to him. Your back flushed against his nearly had your mind running laps of what was going on, but it was so easy and comfortable. Why move? So you ease into his touch.

You spend the rest of the night in Sam's arms. At first the idea of cuddling so intimately with Sam was confusing to you, but you couldn't deny the way his soft breath down your neck made you feel, the way his little sounds he made in his sleep felt in your ear as you dozed off. Sam was incredibly attractive, but you had hardly ever seen this side to him. But you really like it.

The morning comes too soon as it always does after a rowdy night with friends, and your eyes are too tired to open. You can tell from your position that you've moved since last night's spooning, but now what? You can feel Sam's hands on your waist, he's got you close as you feel Sam's soft breathing against your cheek, the warmth of his own bare skin under your palm. You run your thumb over his soft skin, it must be his chest. Sam moves in his sleep and his legs are tangled up in your own. You can picture it now, you're sleeping in his arms facing your best friend, his face so close to your own.

You peak only for a moment before your eyes strain too hard from the drinks you had last night. But you burn what you just saw into your brain, Sam's eyes gently closed, his lips parted so sweetly, pink and inviting, his hair perfectly laid against the pillow in waves all while his evergreen tan is warmed by the sunlight. His long lashes resting against his cheekbones is what you loved the most from your peak at him. He looks so soft and vulnerable and gentle this way. Sam could be all of those things when he wanted to be, but this was different. You can't help but let your hands explore, sleepily they run over his chest, over his shoulder, down to his waist, your nails softly grazing as you study him in your minds eye.

Sam stirs awake, but your tired mind doesn't alert you. He takes you in as he lays tired on the bed, puzzled with this position you two have found yourselves in, but not turned off by it in the least. His eyes study your face, the pink tint in your cheeks the color of your lush lips and the way your bedhead hair is illuminated by the morning sun. He feels your hand slowly and softly explore his bare torso. Goosebumps emerge as you caress his body this way. He can't help but move closer to you.

Like two magnets drawn together, you move closer, the lines of friendship blurred as he moves to be closer to you and you him. You both know you're half awake here in the others embrace, but it doesn't matter. Sam's nose moves against yours, breathing in your natural scent, it's intoxicating how it floats in the air. His hands on your waist surround your middle, pulling you close and you can't help but move closer, not wanting to fight the gorgeous feeling of his arms around you, making you feel so small and safe.

It feels so right. So warm and true. You can't help but lean in closer, your eyes opening only to gaze at his perfect lips, parted and lush. His gaze dances over your own face, watching your lips as they're only a breath a way. No words are spoken as your hand runs up Sam's neck to his face, your thumb running over the gentle skin of his lips. Entranced by the feeling of them, so tender beneath your touch. Your hand retreats to his hair, feeling the tresses that snake through your fingers.

It's like time stops. Who's to say who moved first? In all honesty, it was a mutual agreement, silently made between you. Slow to move until the gap closes for good. His lips are soft and sweet, a sigh from him against your lips makes you melt. It doesn't matter what this kiss means right now, it doesn't have to mean anything. All that matters is his hands touching you and his lips against yours. He's pressed close to your lips, you breathe him in through your nose, letting him fill up your senses. You open your mouth to him, his tongue gently runs along your bottom lip, and softly along your own tongue.

You sigh into his open mouth, your lips against his own. His hands are holding you tightly to his front, your fingers pulling at his hair. One last gentle kiss until you pull away, finally opening your eyes and looking into those warm brown eyes of Sam's, hooded from his dreams and sleep. His hand caresses your side, neither one wanting to address what just transpired. No reason to question it. So you don't. Sam pulls you in closer so your head rests against his bare chest. You hear the quickened pitterpatter of his heart, you smile to yourself as you both drift back off to sleep. Unseen to you is Sam's own smile, grinning like an idiot for having finally kissed his best friend.

[billieblackwclls]

day of the call, early night, their place. with ; gabriel gallo — @carrved

the door behind her just closes, shoes barely had the time to come off that she makes her presence known, bag falling into its usual spot, ready to go at a moment's notice. " question for you, lover. " no need of a hello to even confirm his own presence, the aura in the room enough for her to recognize when he is or isn't taking up a space he fills so well. there is a magnetism he commands anywhere he stands, slouches or lays. one that still leaves her impressed, no matter the years used to its orbit. the day had been long, evening longer. depending on his answer, the night could stretch the longest.

" actually, maybe a little game. guess who disrupted the middle of a settlement meeting ? " finding him on their couch, it's overly easy to walk a path behind it. easier to let her hands fall on his shoulders, trailing down his arms as she's leaning in, lips to his ear to whisper some more hints to guide him through a possible answer. " it was the weirdest phone call i've ever received, topping any of your drunken ones. " holed up in her office the whole day, she didn't have the time to assess the wide spread of this incident.

but she did not actually intend to play anything, honeyed demeanor and sultry voice contrasting the much more solemn subject of the inquiry. " i trust you did not, in fact, give out my personal number to one late giovanni moretti ? " of course, she would be upset if he had, death of a man aside. it made no sense for that line to ring at the time it did, much less who the speaker tried to impersonate, as he had been retrieved from the river mere days ago. she knows gabe to be far more intelligent than a lot of people make him, trusts he keeps her as an ace up his sleeve and not displayed into his casual hand. still, he is the fastest link to the late head moretti, it's more than fair of her to ask. she simply hopes she was not part of his gang leader's little black book.

[karuvapatta]

Hey look, it’s another instalment of that Jon/Elias fic I never planned to write, because I want them to be soft and they just keep fighting.

Part 1 | Part 2

***

Jon cannot rest.

On his way home, he glances upwards, only to see the familiar grey eyes in the face of the woman opposite him. The train lurches; the woman blinks. Jon must have imagined it, because her eyes are dark, almost as dark as his own. And she notices him staring, because she stands up and moves further down the car, very blatantly avoiding Jon.

He cannot blame her.

Back in his flat, he drops his briefcase and collapses onto his own (much less comfortable) couch. He fixes himself a cup of tea that isn’t nearly as nice as the tea Martin makes for him. He stands up, and paces, and then sits back down again, only to bury his face in his hands.

There is a pile of old magazines on his coffee table. He breathes in, sharply, because the man on the cover is watching him—

He isn’t, of course. Jon rolls up the magazine just in case, and then stuffs it in the bin.

There aren’t many pictures in his flat, thankfully. Not even of his grandmother, which he feels vaguely guilty about. But not as guilty as he does now, as he retrieves duct tape from his cupboard and carefully, deliberately tapes it over every eye he can see. CDs. DVDs. A paint-by-numbers painting of owls, which was supposed to help with his anxiety. Even the little ghost magnet on his fridge that Georgie gave him at some point.

It's stupid. It’s really, really stupid. But it makes him feel better, lessens the prickling sensation on the back of his neck.

He goes to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face and then looks up, startled to see his own reflection. Is there grey in his eyes, to match the grey in his hair? Can Elias even do that? Spy on Jon through Jon’s very eyes, without alerting him to his presence?

There must be limits to his abilities, and it’s maddening that Jon doesn’t know them. If he understood more, he could protect himself better. Protect Tim and Martin and Sasha, too.

Tim shoved him away as soon as they left Elias’s office. Whatever it was that Elias forced him to see, Jon couldn’t even begin to guess. But he shouldn’t have let Tim go, either. He offered to walk him home, at the very least, but it only brought back unpleasant memories of when he used to stalk Tim; an unforgivable breech of privacy. Tim angrily rebuffed his offer.

Jon would have to face him tomorrow. Find some way to apologize. Even though he was running out of excuses for his own inadequacy. There’s only so many times a man can apologize, after all, before it all rings hollow.

He takes the mirror off the wall. Just in case.

***

Next week, Elias is busy. Something about the board of directors, Rosie says apologetically; meetings to have, reports to give, budgets to submit for acceptance. It’s mundane to the point of grotesque.

Jon requests a meeting anyway, and isn’t granted one until next Wednesday. His heart is in his throat, the way it tends to be when he enters Elias’s office lately. It’s thankfully late in the day, the Institute being almost deserted. He wonders if Elias scheduled it that way on purpose, so that they can be alone.

If so, he is almost glad.

“Elias,” he says. And then, because nothing in his life makes sense anymore, he follows up with: “I hope everything went well with the board meetings.”

“Quite so,” Elias says. “Even if we had the exact same bloody conversation hundreds of thousands of times. You’d think Peter would get bored of it by now.”

He runs a hand through his hair, messing up its neat, stylish lines. It’s strange to see Elias in any state of disarray; he looks disconcertingly human right now. He seems to almost forget about Jon’s presence, before he looks up.

“Come on in, Archivist. Lock the door.”

Jon does so. There is something final about the click of the lock; he almost shudders at the sound.

“Any particular reason?” he asks, belatedly.

“It’s been a long week. I don’t want any of your annoying assistants pestering me today.”

“They wouldn’t do that if you hadn’t—”

“What? Assaulted your precious virtue?”

Jon is blushing. He must be, because he feels the warmth in his cheeks. But he refuses to back down. Not with Elias smirking at him the way he is right now, leaning back in his fancy chair. Jon takes the opposite seat and folds his hands in his lap; his mind helpfully brings back the memories of his job interview; the day he signed the contract and unknowingly pledged himself to the Institute and the Beholding for the rest of his life; the day Elias offered him the promotion.

Knowing what he knows now, he wishes he could have refused at any of these occasions. He could have told Elias “No” at any point. But—in truth, he isn’t sure he could have. He might have walked away, but he’d spend the rest of his life wondering.

“You were listening, then,” he says.

“Yes,” Elias says simply.

“Is this why you hurt Tim?”

Elias’s sharp laugh cuts through the silence. Jon fidgets in his seat.

“No. But he annoyed me.”

“You can’t do this sort of thing just because someone annoys you, Elias!” Jon snaps.

Tim still isn’t quite all right. He pretends to be, but Jon’s been watching him too carefully, and too long, to miss the obvious signs. And he knows that his watchful concern is driving Tim insane, but he still can’t bring himself to stop.

“Why not?” Elias asks, with an infuriating little smile.

Jon struggles for an appropriate response, but all he can come up with is: “It isn’t right.”

“And who is to decide what is or isn’t “right”, Jon? You? Me? An impartial and uncaring God? Because I can assure you, the Eye loved that particular display. Or could you not feel it?”

“Whatever it is your God wants from you—”

“Our God, Archivist. Do not ever forget that.”

Jon bites back a sharp retort. He has little to gain by challenging Elias’s delusions—

“Do you need any further proofs?” Elias asks calmly. “Because I can provide them. In abundance.”

“Get out of my head,” Jon seethes.

“Learn to stop me,” Elias says. “Make it difficult, at the very least.”

“Tell me how.”

“Why would I give you answers it took more than one lifetime to procure?” Elias asks. “You have to work for these things, Jon. Otherwise they have no meaning.”

Jon forces himself to breathe evenly. He didn’t ask for this; he doesn’t need to know. He can ignore the gnawing hunger that’s consuming him; that has already consumed Elias. The Eye demands a hefty price for its gifts, and Jon isn’t willing to pay it. He must remember that.

“Let them go,” he says, as calm as he can manage. “Tim and Martin and Sasha. They shouldn’t be here.”

“They are bound by the same contract as you are,” Elias says.

“They didn’t know. None of us knew.”

“Yes, it is frustrating, isn’t it?” Elias smiles. “Ignorance. Uncertainty. Doubt. Wouldn’t you rather be rid of them, Jon?”

He doesn’t bother denying. What would be the point? Elias can see right through him already. But there are lines Jon cannot cross. And there’s some comfort in knowing his own limits; he wonders if Elias has any such compunctions. Knowing that about him would be an immensely valuable asset.

It is hard to imagine. Harder to imagine still that he might come to know Elias so intimately, and what that knowledge might do to him. How well can you know another person, Jon wonders, before it changes something irrevocably and fundamentally about your own self?

“Elias,” he tries again, in a softer voice. “Please. Let them go. I don’t want to see them hurt.”

“You’ve made that abundantly clear,” Elias says. “So what is it you can offer me in exchange, Archivist?”

And Jon laughs. He can’t help it. His shoulders tremble with the effort of holding it back, before he gives up entirely, and dissolves into giggles, wiping more than one tear from his eyes. His thoughts are such a complete and utter mess that not even Elias can read them right now, if his puzzled frown is any indication.

“Something funny?”

“I was just thinking about what Tim had said,” Jon says.

Elias isn’t pleased, he can tell as much from the frown on his face. Jon is half-heartedly expecting him to take out his anger on Jon himself – he tries to prepare himself for a barrage of horrifying images that Elias might want to push into his mind. What shape would they take? It is unsettling to consider, but some detached part of himself can’t help but wonder what Elias thinks Jon’s worst nightmare is. If that’s even how it works, of course.

“I’m not going to do that, Jon,” Elias says.

“Why not?” Jon asks. Yet again Elias is picking through his thoughts as if it was his right to do so. Yet again he shows absolutely no regard for other people’s privacy. It’s maddening, and Jon wants very badly to stop him, but since he doesn’t know how, he just thinks the word: Bastard as clearly as he can, and hopes it makes its way through their mental link.

“There is no reason to,” Elias says. “It’s just that, you see… considering how well-suited you are for your role, and how quickly you are adapting to it, I find the idea that my interest in you is purely sexual to be unacceptable and downright insulting.”

That—Jon doesn’t quite know what to make of that. What does one make of that?

“You think I’m good at my job?” he asks. Clarity, he needs clarity.

“Yes, Jon. I knew you would be. This is why I picked you.”

“Oh.”

Jon looks at the floor. Elias isn’t looking at him, either, his gaze focused somewhere on the ceiling.

“But—” No, he can’t bring himself to ask. You do want to have sex with me? Hangs at the tip of his tongue, caught in a limbo of shame and mortification. People don’t ask questions like that. Do they? For them this is just—perfectly natural. They don’t need to be told these things.

He should have dated more. He should have tried, actually tried, to get the experience he is so utterly lacking. Maybe then he might have a frame of reference for how to talk to Elias, or how to act in this situation. What is he even going to do?

Tim should be here. Or Sasha, or Martin. He still wants to keep them as far away from the supernatural as possible, still needs to keep them safe – and he can do it, really, he can do his own research, it will only take more time without Sasha’s technical skills or Tim’s charisma, without their combined dedication and efforts. He can—he must learn to handle it all alone. There’s no other way to proceed, it’s too dangerous otherwise. But – in this particular situation, with this particular subject, Jon could really use some bloody assistance right about now…

“Jon. You’re spiralling.”

“Hm?”

He looks down at his hands, twisted in his lap. He unclenches them carefully, and tries to wipe the sweat on his trousers without making it too obvious that this is what he’s doing.

Elias is smiling at him, that inexplicable, infuriating little smile that spells out that Elias knows he is the smartest person in the room, and is very much enjoying it. And oh, how Jon aches to wipe it off; to finally, finally see Elias Bouchard trip on his own ego and admit he isn’t as perfect as he likes to pretend.

After a long silence, Elias finally decides to take pity on him, and Jon hates him for it.

“Yes. I would rather like to have sex with you. But I am aware this isn’t something you would be interested in, it is irrelevant to the greater work we are trying to accomplish, and forcing you into it might negatively impact your ability to follow my orders. So I decided not to pursue the matter.”

“Negatively impact—? Oh, fuck you!”

Elias shrugs. “You wanted a clear answer.”

“I’m—you’re unbelievable.”

“It’s not my fault that the truth isn’t what you wanted it to be, Archivist.”

Elias is enjoying himself, still. And Jon wants to punch him. It would solve nothing, and create more trouble than it’s worth, but oh, he really, really wants to do it.

[bruisekiid]

     I’m sitting on the sectional in Katie’s basement. I sink way down when I curl up in the corner, relishing that shrinking feeling. She gave me a roll of toilet paper from the downstairs bathroom for my nose and I’m holding it loosely in my left hand, my brain all fuzzy and floating somewhere above my head. She’s always too busy to see me lately, so I took a bunch of cold medicine and pretended I was a lot less sick than I actually was just so I didn’t have to cancel. 

     She’s sitting on the brick mantle, shuffling through her records and talking about her new twenty-three-year-old boyfriend. His name is Nick or something and I hate him. Her hair is tied back and bursts out from the elastic like the head of a broom. It’s grown a lot since she let me cut it in my bedroom in February; bobbing and swaying while she tells me a story about him letting her drive his truck last weekend. I only just turned sixteen, so I know she’s not old enough to be driving his truck. She says he taught her, it’s a manual. It’s really hard. I scowl into a lump of tissues so she can’t see. 

     I tell her that’s cool but I don’t mean it, picking at the little pills of fuzz on the upholstery. She can definitely tell that I’m sick of hearing about Nick or Something, so she stops talking. And then I’m mad at myself for being a bad friend because I miss her voice. 

     I tell her actually I’m seeing someone now, too. I say seeing someone because it sounds grown-up enough for her to care about. She makes a hmm sound. Yeah, I say, she’s a girl actually. She says she already knew that. And that she’s happy for me, she adds after. I tell her about my girlfriend and how she always brings me a clementine to school because she’s worried that I don’t ever cash the checks my parents send for lunch. Katie’s eyes are paler than usual, but it could just be how dark it is in the basement. 

     That’s good, she says. It’s good she cares. 

     We watch The Wolf of Wall Street because everyone’s talking about it but it’s way too long and Leo’s face is freaking me out on account of all the cold medicine I took. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to get out of it. She laughs at the scene where he’s dragging himself across the driveway because his legs won’t work anymore and I start to feel claustrophobic, so I focus on the cracks between the wood paneling on the walls behind the TV.  

     We watch the rest of the movie in silence, her feet tucked underneath her on the opposite end of the couch. The air kind of feels like when you put the wrong ends of two magnets together—like if the couch was a mile long she’d still sit all the way by the other armrest. 

     I wonder if Nick or Something picks Katie up in his manual truck when she leaves school early. I wonder if he buys her lunch. She looks really thin and tall these days. 

     I clench my fist around the roll of toilet paper, wishing it was a clementine.

[iironwreath]

Viper's Wine [Ulysses]

Ellendri tasked Ulysses with closing The Icy Anvil after a busy night. The vacant dining hall became ghostly, the fireplace crackling in its throes instead of roaring at its peak. She drained the dregs of barrels out back, picked up scraps left as tips on the tables, and made her way back to the bar to wipe it down and swab glasses to a shine.

Drudgery somehow bested working as Aldous’ apprentice—at least here she was appreciated and thanked by her boss, and what she did didn’t require inordinate amounts of reading.  The people of Port Zoon were innovative, even if a bit shady. She felt a bit less like an outsider than at any of her previous homes.

A creak of the kitchen door interrupted the stillness. Uly glanced over her shoulder, expecting Ellendri, but it was Dicentra. She wore a nightgown and a woollen, green shawl crossed overtop, one arm extended to hold the door. She smiled and entered, sidling around to the opposite side of the counter.

“You’re working late,” Di observed.

“I always work late.”

“Later than usual,” Di corrected. She swung herself onto a stool, flipping her hair as she went.

“Bar’s closed, ma’am,” Uly said with a grin.

Di fake-pouted, couching her fingers under her chin and batting her eyes. “You can’t make an exception?”

“What’ll it be?”

“I’m really craving some Viper’s Wine, but I don’t think they serve that here.”

“Never heard of it,” Uly confirmed. “And I don’t trust myself to go out and find a viper to milk, if it involves real snakes."

"Asmodeus' Gold?"

"Definitely don't have that. I could try and make something that fits the name—or I could just give you wine.”

“Wine would be lovely.”

Uly procured a glass, a fresh bottle of wine, and poured. Once passed to Di, they pulled out a shot glass and poured themselves a finger of whiskey. Di lifted her drink towards. Uly answered, their glasses singing together. 

Dicentra sipped as Ulysses gulped the shot; it burned and settled over her in a warm haze. She set about cleaning and returning it to its shelf. 

“Pain bothering you?” Uly asked, folding a cloth and hanging it under the bar.

Di swirled a nail around the open circle of the glass and looked away. “Can’t a girl just enjoy some wine?”

“Sure. But you know there are other ways to kill pain that don’t involve booze, right?”

“That had better be a rhetorical question. Those other ways are mostly no fun, that’s why.” She brought the wine to her cheek and tilted her head like they were embracing. “Wine is a most faithful lover.”

Uly propped their elbows on the counter. “You’re insane.”

“And you chose to live with me.”

“I haven’t lived with anyone sane so far, I don’t think it’s in the cards for me.”

“I like it here,” Dicentra said. She slid her wine to the side, removing the smallest barrier between them, and pinched the stem between two fingers. “I mean…what we’ve made. A little domestic bliss.”

“I do too. I know you want to reach Port Damali, but maybe, once you’re healed…we could stay a bit longer.”

“Just because?”

“To save up some funds,” Uly clarified. “But…yeah. Also just because.”

Di smiled at the suggestion. Her lips—naked of their usual makeup—drew Uly’s eyes. Di’s entire being—bereft of presentation, just her core self—had a magnetism that called to Uly. She leaned into her arms, lowering herself slowly across the counter. Di’s eyes widened, then shuttered half-closed. She mirrored Uly, inching forward to the tip of her stool, chest braced against wood. 

Ulysses stopped when she realized what she was doing. She didn’t pull away—just stopped, hovering over the bar, their faces close, tilted, ready. Her blood made a downpour in her ears.

Di also stopped. “Does it still scare you?” she whispered. Uly could count her individual lashes, could admire the intricate weave of muscle that made up her irises. 

“No,” Uly said, and discovered she meant it. “I remember you saying it was a choice. I hope you choose not to hurt me.”

She closed the distance, covering Di’s lips with her own. Her insides aligned, like a clock tower striking noon. Her being cried yes, at last —and they blended together, kissing as soft as clement ocean waves lapping against the beach. Di’s fingers tiptoed over Uly’s hand, then locked gently around her wrist, thumb stroking the swell of bone.

A kiss with Di was as glorious as expected. Di matched her stroke for stroke, never demanding more, only meeting her halfway and reciprocating what was given in perfect harmony. But there was a channel of emotion attached to it for Uly—it wasn’t just the physical. It plunged far, far deeper than anything Ulysses had ever experienced. Would it be as perfect if she didn’t feel that way? She had no way of knowing. She’d never been in love before. 

Ulysses broke the kiss by lowering her chin, stunned. She wasn’t surprised that she survived, but startled, for the first time in ages, how grateful she was to be living in the moment; how Di had made life a gift.

Di turned Uly’s hand over, tracing the curves of her palm and its branching veins. “Ulysses.” She sighed her name. “You like me…for me, right? You’re not just attracted to what I am?”

“Yeah, I do." Uly placed a finger under her chin. “Without a doubt.”

Di smiled sincerely. “I might ask you what you like about me just to verify that.”

“I think I can handle a little interrogation.”

Di dragged Uly in for a second helping.

[flames-memory]

Monday

Went to Star dancers, meet Max. We walked around, explored a little. BC had to go get yelled at by Eliza, I Guess that went well. Eliza said I could come, but I always worry I'll monopolize BC. I don't want to be greedy, it's hard not to want to be with her all the time. She has this whole life, and I'm still figuring it all out. She's bringing me in, and I'm feeling less hesitant. But yeah, I let them have some time, and went and her Max.

BC snuck in, and we caught up with her. She ran a DDR tournament! It was so fun! Max kicked my ass, then Rita kicked his ass, and we cheered for the rest. Might have to get him some kind of little trophy.

I had to go, head out to work, but before I left...

Got a hug from them both. Omg... Here's where you skip ahead a little cuz... That was the best. Having both of them close, feeling their arms around me? Just so time, imma stay right there forever. I wanted to kiss them both, but, no. That's not how this works, and there no time for all that anyway. Still, best hug ever.

Ok skip to here, lol

I didn't get a chance to see BC before I feel asleep. Damn tired, for some reason. Even slept late, didn't make it in to the Black Cat till a little late. No BC, she was busy. Max did show up, and we had a nice time, dancing and joking. We're going to build a pillow fort lol. He has a pillow that says DTF (down to fluff) lol he's so adorable. We said hi to Stormy, Eliza, Sebastian, Andres, and Billy.

I kept hearing BC' s name. Mostly in tandem to DJ' omg, and specifically, at Billy's grand opening. Even when she's not there, she's there, and everyone misses her.

I took Max to see the new place... And told him the truth about the other place. He was glad I'm not doing that anymore, too. I guess they're right. I was lucky I never ran into anyone who lived there, it worse. I was never really worried about it. I was careful.

We took a stroll around the porch, the island is so serene. He peeked around and we deleted in the living room, and curled on the couch. He was sweet, and romantic, and we kissed... A lot. It feels nice to be cuddled up with him.

BC is so overwhelming. What I feel for her is so overwhelming. Burns me up, fills me up, draws me like magnet, I have no real say, I love her.

Max is more hesitant to move first. He makes me feel like he welcomes me, me urge to hug him and touch him, and he clearly likes it. I know there's an ex, and I wonder if he might be taking things slow. Burned before and all that, and here I come with more fire, and a force of nature girlfriend on to of that. It's a wonder he's willing to risk it. I hope I never make him regret it.

So much feel

At work last night, I was listening to music, and Love is Blue kind of hit a chord with me. I looked up the lyrics, and they really made me think of BC. I wrote her a copy of the lyrics, in the original French, adapted slightly for us. Had to change like one word, heh. Her eyes are green, mine are blue.

I put the song in her coat, and sent the music to her to listen to when she finds it. Love her so much....

I made a little group chat for Max, bc and me, so I can let them know when I'm around and stuff.

BC must have approved. Now I'm payrt of one with like seven people? Eight? I haven't even met them all yet, but I know who all of them are. I think. It's part off her promise, not to isolate herself from the people who want to help her. 💜

Gonna need a flow chart if I'm not going to upset someone...

Oh, and Max and I hit a cheesy photo booth!

[maximumwobblerbanditdonut]

Love Again: First Reviews

FILM REVIEW

‘Love Again’ Review: Not Even Celine Dion Can Save This Wildly Contrived Rom-Com from Its Own Sadness

The texts that Priyanka Chopra Jonas sends her dead boyfriend wind up on Sam Heughan's phone in a very bad movie about love after loss.

BY DAVID EHRLICH

MAY 4, 2023 5:08 PM

"Love Again" Sony Pictures

It’s never a great sign when the funniest part of your romantic comedy involves the female lead’s flawless boyfriend being killed by a drunk driver in the opening scene (picture Priyanka Chopra Jonas’ smiling face locked in a wide-eyed, ultra-slow-motion close-up as Keegan DeWitt’s lush and bouncy score is suddenly replaced by the Wilhelm scream of screeching tires), but in fairness to James C. Strouse’s absurd “Love Again,” this unclassifiable whatsit isn’t a traditional rom-com so much as a grief drama with a severe identity disorder.

Based on a German film called “SMS für Dich” — which sadly doesn’t mean what it sounds like — Strouse’s moribund yet almost intoxicatingly strange new movie is more or less exactly what you would expect to happen if the guy behind depressive indies like “Lonesome Jim” and “Grace Is Gone” decided to make a poppy date flick that adhered to the rhythms and logic of a Lindsay Lohan vehicle from 2006.

Yes, most of the laugh lines in “Love Again” are stale enough that even just hearing them kind of hurts your teeth, but for all of its blatant ridiculousness, this movie seldom tries to be funny. Don’t be fooled by the snarky gay best friend, the advice-giving sister, or the freak lightning storm that magically connects Chopra Jonas’ character to the world’s most chiseled music critic (Sam Heughan) through the mystical powers of their Sony mobile phones: “Love Again” might be possessed by the spirit of a rom-com, but it’s as deadly serious as a Celine Dion power ballad.

Celine Dion… what a totally random point of comparison, right? WRONG! The Quebecois singer — who seems to be something of a magnet for batshit movies that hinge on her life story, uses this once as a chance to reflect on her own lost love — proves crucial to this mixed-up tale about two strangers teaching each other how their hearts might go on.

Rob Burns (Heughan) is no stranger to the power of love, specifically its power to crush you into a million tiny pieces. His work has been suffering as of late, and while that seems to be explained by the fact that he’s clearly never listened to a single piece of music in his entire life (the character’s entire personality is that he watches Knicks games alone on his couch with a basketball in his lap), his editor seems to believe that it’s because Rob was recently dumped just a week before his wedding.

Rob’s lucky that he looks like a Scottish Tom Brady, and luckier still that he’s been assigned to write about Dion’s first American tour in 10 years. Not only is Rob so bad at his job that the singer (playing herself) take a personal interest in his incompetence, but — in the aftermath of some purple lightning above Manhattan — the work phone he’s given to record his interview starts receiving the voluminous text messages that children’s author Mira Ray (Chopra Jonas) has been sending to her dead partner as a healing exercise.

It’s been two years since the tragedy, and Mira is basically still stuck in the “hide yourself away from the world” stage of grief. She’s living in her parents’ house, the caterpillar she’s famous for drawing seems like it’s never going to turn into a butterfly, and her punchy younger sister Suzy (an effervescent Sofia Barclay) is so desperate to get Mira some Dich that she even creates a Bumble profile for her. Watching Chopra Jonas and Barclay turn to the camera and say “that’s the dating app where the girl gets to make the first move!” was enough to make me wonder if “Love Again” might not be weirdly serious for a rom-com, but rather weirdly romantic for a piece of sponsored content.

Anyway, Rob obviously becomes infatuated with the rando who’s spamming his phone with messages about how much she misses his scent, and, with the help of his bowtied co-worker Billy (Russell Tovey), even more obviously contrives a way to cross paths with her in real life. That his plan involves sitting through several dozen opera performances of “Orpheus and Eurydice” in the hopes of catching sight of his mystery crush — rather than, say, standing outside the entrance of the theater and waiting for her to walk by — epitomizes the fiercely romantic but utterly inane spirit of a film that’s far too love drunk to make sense of its sobering tone.

For a story whose third act (kind of) pivots on a random job offer from Celine Dion, “Love Again” could hardly be more predictable. From the moment that Rob endeavors to find Mira, you know that he’s going to hide the fact that he’s been getting her dead boyfriend’s texts, you know that they’ll eventually rekindle each other’s dormant romantic streak (cue: “It’s All Coming Back to Me Now”), only for Mira to discover the truth behind their meet-cute about eight seconds after they finally have sex.

Not to begrudge a rom-com its conventions, but the scene where Mira learns Rob’s secret — and then storms out of his apartment without any follow-up questions! — goes a long way towards exposing the disconnect between the heaviness of Strouse’s hand and the silliness of his plot. There’s something admirable about the sterility of his direction, which resists the easy charm that most rom-coms rely upon to pave over their plot holes, but Strouse forfeits too much of the levity that “Love Again” needs to remain light on its feet.

It doesn’t help that Chopra Jonas and Heughan have all the spark of a rusty lighter in the middle of a rainstorm, even though Chopra Jonas eases into her natural radiance once Mira begins to relax around Rob (an unmotivated turn that happens in the blink of an eye). Or that even Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert would struggle for something to hold onto amidst such oppressively forced circumstances; one problem with devoting roughly 45 minutes of a film to aerial shots of New York City is that it doesn’t leave a lot of time for the lead actors to develop their characters any deeper than they appear on the page.

It certainly doesn’t help that Dion puts the emphasis on the wrong word when she tells Rob that he has “the presence of a pair of used underwear,” as if the perfect man should boast the charisma of some freshly laundered Fruits of the Loom. But Dion’s questionable acting talents shouldn’t distract from the fact that her voice remains as commanding as ever, and — wouldn’t you know it — the first of the five new songs that she wrote for this movie’s Sony Music soundtrack is available to download now. Here’s hoping they stir up stronger emotions than the film that inspired them.

*Chopra Jonas and Heughan have all the spark of a rusty lighter in the middle of a rainstorm 😂🤣

[ddejavvu]

i cant get enough of peter being obsessed w reader’s tits— i am not ok pls exorcise this thought from my brain 😫

Today is (still) Peter Parker day! Send me some Peter stuff please :)

no you don't understand i'm obsessed. this post is 18+, minors dni.

You’re so right. He’d be absolutely obsessed. He just gets that look in his eye, different look depending on the intensity of the situation, and he’s so in love with them.

If you’re at home or there’s no one else around, you know when people will like grab someone’s ass as they walk by? He grabs your tits. It’s so gentle it’s not rude at all he just 🤲

—

You’re standing at the kitchen counter, eyes locked on your phone as it charges. Your dinner is heating up in the microwave, and you’ve already changed into your pajamas, ready for a cozy night in. Peter joins you in the kitchen, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek and squeezing one of your boobs affectionately as he passes.

It certainly gets your attention, and you raise one eyebrow at him, “Did you just squeeze my boob?”

“I hadn’t touched them for a while.” Peter grins, expression glowing with glee. You just fondly shake your head, going back to your phone and making a mental note to wear a bra less often around the house.

—

If you are in public he’ll refrain from touching them for decency’s sake but do not think that he’s not thinking about them because he is. He has boobs on the brain. Sometimes he’ll go shopping with you and specifically pick out tops that make your tits look really nice, but then he gets nervous bc he doesn’t know if you’re comfortable with showing them off as much as he was urging you to so he panics and he gets all blushy.

—

“This?” Peter holds up a low-cut shirt, plenty of room above the neckline to showcase the objects of his affection.

You shrug, adding it to the basket you had going for the changing room, “I’ll try it on.”

Peter follows you eagerly into the changing room, reminiscent of an excited puppy as he waits for you to get dressed. He even offers to hold clothes for you, hanging them back up and sorting them into keeps and put-backs.

You try on the final top, a deep emerald green with lace adorning your chest. It was paper thin, and you realized too late that the material was mesh, leaving very little to the imagination.

You turned towards Peter, who’d been hanging up a pair of jeans. He glanced up at you, eyes widening and jeans falling from his grasp, the hanger clattering against the floor of the dressing room.

“Holy shit.”

You look at him hesitantly, watching a blush rise to his cheeks, “This is.. a lot.”

“I think that’s-”

“Lingerie? Yeah, me too.”

“Okay,” Peter reasons, “in my defense, it was hung up with the other shirts.”

—

Sometimes if he comes home and he’s really tired he just (gently) body slams you onto the nearest padded surface and face-plants into them. Just his personal pillows. You usually run a hand through his hair, the other hand rubbing his back as he lets the stress from his day melt away.

—

“Hey!” You protested as Peter scooped you up, lifting you out of your chair in the kitchen and plopping you down onto the couch. You rolled your eyes as he flopped on top of you, a fond smile growing on your face as he burrowed into your shirt.

“Missed ‘em.” You barely hear Peter speak, but his words bring a smile to your lips, “Them? My boobs?”

“Mhm.” Peter nods, face only nuzzling further into your tits, “Gotta get my daily dose.”

—

And of course, sex. What kind of a Peter-boob-man enthusiast would I be if I didn’t mention the way he fixates on them during sex? It’s like he’s magnetized to them, he’s always pinching them, cupping them, squeezing them, biting them, sucking on them, pretty much anything he can do, he’s doing it.

Don’t think about him being really into tittyfucking. Don’t do it.

Okay do it.

—

Peter’s cock is achingly hard, precum already spread across the head. You keep your arms close to your sides, forcing your tits as close together as possible, giving him a perfect entrance.

Peter groans as he thrusts between your tits, your chest already sticky with precum. His hands fly up to massage your breasts, fingers toying with your nipples, pinching and tugging on them as he fucks through them. You watch his cock slide through the hole you’ve made, brain on overdrive as he gets himself off between your tits. He finishes faster than he wants to admit, covering your chest with cum as his mouth falls wide open. His hands dip down to swipe through the sticky mess on your chest, spreading it over your tits and covering your skin with it. He’s breathing heavily as he stares down at his work, dick already hardening again at the image.

—

I literally might make a part 2 of this where it’s just more boob scenarios goodbye I am a boob person myself and Peter and boobs? My loves <3 I guess lmk if you wanna see more of this 👀