#“and how ill suited you are to normalcy”

[its-ate-oclock-somewhere]

do you believe you could change me, the way I've changed you?

[embbarnes]

Honey Badger. | Worst L.H.

summary: You use Logan’s mask to keep him close.

warnings: Smut | 18+ MDNI | Slight pining | Masturbation | Orgasm Denial | Cunnilingus | Swearing | Dirty talk

a/n: I haven't written anything for Logan in a couple months, I had an old blog for him but I haven't posted there in a while and won't be posting there anymore. I don't know if I'll write him a lot on here since this is a Bucky focused blog, but I might if it's well received. Unedited, will edit out/fix mistakes later. ;; wc: 5.5k

You weren't sure what it was.

Maybe it was Wade's stupid joke that he kept pressing on. He wouldn't let the comment die, teasing Logan as much as possible about his mask. Those blowjob handles made Logan look like the 'perfect sex toy,' Wade would say.

Then his mouth would get him three adamantium claws through his skull.

It only took him a few minutes to regenerate the damage to his brain, even though Logan was convinced he never healed his stupid mind.

You never teased Logan about it, you just didn't, it wasn't something you felt like riling him up about.

But the thought stuck in the back of your mind.

You wondered how it would feel to have his face buried between your legs, your hands tugging on those wings and pulling him even closer, feeling his tongue and rough stubble scratching your -

"Hey," Logan rose his arm from where it rested on the back of the couch and lightly tapped the back of your head, looking at you from his spot beside you on the couch. You blinked, snapping out of your train of thought and looking over at him, his eyebrow rose slightly as he observed you with an odd expression. "I asked you somethin'."

"Oh...sorry," you apologized, clearing your throat with a slight cough. "I was just...lost in thought." You waved your hand a bit, trying to push those inappropriate thoughts down. You liked him, a lot. But your relationship wasn't romantic, it was more like casual friends. Which hurt, but you didn't have the balls to let him know how you felt. Everything just felt worse when Logan seemed to regard you with a slight fondness that both thrilled and tormented you.

Wade was tolerated in Logan's eyes, even though the pair were pretty close despite Logan's repetitive denial about their relationship. Sometimes, he did what he could to avoid Wade entirely, because he just couldn't handle the man's incessant chatter and irreverent humor. The vulgarity got on his nerves after a while.

You desperately wanted to be with Logan, but the weight of his traumatic past and his obvious wariness towards romantic entanglements held you back from broaching the subject. You wondered if Logan had picked up on your feelings despite your efforts to remain indifferent, but with his enhanced senses and two centuries of life experience, you wouldn't be surprised if he had.

The thought that he might be able to detect your physical responses to his presence - the quickening of your pulse, the flush of your skin, the subtle changes in your scent - was mortifying. But, Logan's silence on the matter provided a small measure of comfort, allowing you to maintain the illusion of normalcy in your interactions.

If he had known, he kept his mouth shut.

You had been helping him in the task of cleaning his suit, you offered after seeing the state it was in. Once pristine and immaculate, the suit had endured a gauntlet of abuse when Wade grabbed him from his world and the duo decided to confront Cassandra. Their ill-advised and unnecessary altercations during their, as Wade would put it ‘bonding trip,’ had inflicted significant damage upon his attire. The suit had been unblemished, but now bore the unmistakable marks of their reckless fighting, riddled with an assortment of unsightly holes and ragged tears.

Your gaze lingered on the vibrant yellow suit sprawled across your lap, Logan remained seated beside you, his brow furrowed. "Ya nearly impaled yourself with that needle," he remarked, gesturing towards your hands with a slight nod of his head. Logan had been observing you intently as you thoroughly stitched a particularly nasty gash in his suit, not out of worry, but he was very particular with the thing and how it looked on him.

Your movements were normally very precise, but they had become increasingly erratic and shaky as you went about fixing his suit. Your steady hand that guided the needle through the fabric now wavered, your focus clearly compromised by the gradual intrusion of less than innocent thoughts of Logan’s tongue buried in your pussy, it had taken over your mind and distracted you completely like an invasive parasite.

"Impaled is an exaggeration..." You mumbled back, continuing to fix the hole in the softer fabric. You desperately tried to ignore the fact that your underwear felt especially damp, but it was getting harder to do that with his musky scent of cigars and auburn alcohol in your nose. It made you throb, you wanted to smell him closer, to breathe in his body as you both laid tangled together, nose pressing against his muscular neck while his arms kept you flush to him.

"Not from what I saw, darlin'." Logan grunted, his eyes averting back to the tv. You swallowed thickly, focusing back on the task at hand to get this done as quickly as possible so you could go take care of yourself in the bedroom. It was driving you crazy, and you kept shifting on the cushion, each little movement sending a jolt through your clit as your poor bud swelled in your panties and commanded attention.

Your work paid off, you had successfully tended to his suit and you held it up to ensure you had gotten each tear fixed and buffed out some parts of the harder armor that were on the suit. It looked as new as it could, navy and yellow shining in the dim lighting of the apartment, and you held it up for Logan's final inspection. He took a swig of the bottle of beer he had been drinking, the sweaty glass dripped onto his lap and his Adam's apple bobbed while he swallowed a mouthful of alcohol.

Logan pulled the bottle from his mouth, his tongue darted out to lick the droplet from his bottom lip while his eyes scrutinized every single inch of his suit. You held it steady, waiting for his incoming verdict.

"S'good." He stated gruffly, which was probably the most you were going to get from him. It was a relief, because you were desperate to get to your bedroom. Your legs trembled as you set his suit down over the arm of the couch. Logan watched your shaky movements, figuring you had only been a little unsteady after holding up his suit. It wasn't light after all, so he didn't think twice about it.

You finally made it to the safety of your bedroom, shutting the door and falling back onto your bed, breathing hard as you tried to fiddle with your pants and underwear. They peeled from your core, hot and wet, your panties were soaked with your embarrassing arousal.

'God damnit Logan...' You had to focus on getting out an orgasm or you were sure you'd go crazy. Your fingers brushed your sensitive clit, a soft moan breathlessly escaped through your parted lips and you fisted the sheets with your other hand. You were so sensitive, but you had been edged and teased just from his fucking presence.

Were you insane?

You laid on your bed, legs shamelessly falling open as your fingers worked your body. You teased your tender pearl, slow circles around her as you imagined it were Logan's tongue, feeling her throb beneath the pad of your index. You took a steady, deep breath, the anticipation building as you carefully aided your body to an impending orgasm.

It wouldn't take much, you could already feel that glorious wave building as your finger carefully massaged your clit. Right up until you felt your body release, you heard a knock on your door that made your body seize up. You let out a frustrated and surprised grunt, your finger tearing away from your core as you listened. Nothing, but another knock.

Frustrated, you sat up and quickly threw on some sweats, not bothering with underwear because as soon as you got rid of whomever was here to bother you, you'd make yourself cum like you had been wanting for the past hour and a half.

"Wade, I swear to god, you always knock at the worst times!" You pulled your door open, meeting a broad chest and an unamused looking honey badger.

"Do I look like that idiot?" Logan asked, his eyes flicking inside your room, then back to your face. They narrowed slightly, his nostrils flared as he took a breath. Oh god. Did he smell you? He could smell the hint of addictive compounds in rubbing alcohol when he's desperate enough for a fix, you were sure he could smell the obvious arousal coating your inner thighs.

"He always...knocks. Weirdly. Guess he got the memo from NTW not to come into a girl's room without knocking first." You crossed your arms, shifting your weight, now a bit flushed that he had come in during your self pleasure and how you had been so sexually frustrated you practically shouted in his face.

"Yeah, well...shoulda known better than to just waltz into their room, huh?" Logan scoffed a little under his breath, then looked at his hand. "I forgot to give this to ya. Mind buffin' it out too?" He handed you his mask, which wasn't nearly as beat up as his suit was. You felt your heart quicken and your core continue to throb from the edging and denial you had faced. Despite your frustration, you couldn't say no to him, especially when he looked a little apologetic for asking you to clean something else of his.

Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.

You took the mask from his hands, inspecting it before turning to sit back on your bed. "You can come in...this won't take very long. I just have to buff it out, like you said." You grabbed a cloth from your bedside table and some compound you used on your own suit and sat crisscrossed. You had the mask in your lap as you began to carefully buff the scratches from it.

Logan stepped in slowly, like he were entering a new domain or stepping through a portal to a world he hadn't seen before. His foot gently nudged the door and closed it behind him, his eyes began a careful exploration of your bedroom, drinking in every detail with an almost reverent curiosity.

As he advanced towards you, his eyes began a careful exploration of your bedroom, drinking in every detail with an almost reverent curiosity. His gaze swept over the collection of trinkets adorning your shelves, each one a tiny glimpse into your personality and interests. He noted the color palette that dominated the room, absorbing the hues that you had chosen to surround yourself with daily.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as his attention was caught by a rather grumpy-looking stuffed turtle, nestled comfortably among the pillows on your bed. The juxtaposition of its stern expression against the softness of its surroundings amused him, the frown etched onto its little face stood out amongst its soft body.

Logan's eyes inevitably fell down on the lace underwear you had hastily discarded on the floor earlier. The delicate fabric stood out against the carpet, and he couldn't help but notice the very obvious patch that stained them.

Your room was enveloped in a delicate blend of lavender and cinnamon, the scents wafted through the air, intertwining with the undeniable scent of your obvious arousal. The combination was intoxicating, causing Logan's nose to twitch involuntarily as his body reacted instinctively to your scent, his cock stirring to life within the confines of his pants as he processed the sensory information.

Logan was not dumb. He knew what you were doing before he knocked on the door, hell he could smell your cunt from down the hall. Part of him hadn’t wanted to barge in and make you clean his mask, but there was a deeper desire that wanted to see if you’d actually do it. Clearing his throat, he offered you an out, his voice slightly husky as he spoke. "I can come back if you need a break." His eyes, dark with barely concealed want, locked onto your form as you continued to work diligently on his mask.

Your hands moved back and forth, buffing one of the intricate wings with practiced precision, your breasts swaying in your tank top and making things so much harder for him to keep his composure. At the sound of his voice, your gaze lifted from his mask, meeting his intense stare. A small shrug of your shoulders accompanied your reply, your tone casual despite the charged atmosphere. "It's okay, I'm almost done with this." Your fingers never ceased their movements, but the slight tremor in your hands betrayed your affected nonchalance.

"There," you handed him the mask with a satisfied smile, "All done and ready for action." Logan carefully took the mask from your outstretched hands and examined it, his eyes scanning every detail. As always it was perfect, meeting his high standards. He slipped it on briefly, testing its vision and functionality. The mask settled perfectly on his face, as if it were a second skin.

"You know," you commented as you began tidying up your workspace, setting the polishing rag and compound away in their designated spots in the bedside drawer, "The wings on that mask are actually pretty durable. I assumed they’d be more finicky with how they’re structured." You paused, a thought crossing your mind, and added with a hint of exasperation, "Is that why Wade constantly makes that joke about blowjobs?"

The comment elicited a deep, prolonged groan from Logan, his face contorting into a pronounced scowl. "He's a goddamn idiot," he muttered, his voice tinged with a combination of annoyance and resignation. "Always finding ways to turn everything into some kind of ridiculous joke."

"I have to admit, though," you replied with a casual shrug of your shoulders, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of your mouth, "His jokes do have a certain charm to them. And the one about your mask was pretty funny." You paused briefly, considering your words carefully before continuing, "I mean, I don't personally have the anatomy to fully appreciate the joke from that perspective, but...you know. I can certainly see the appeal on a conceptual level." You hadn't expected Logan to react to your comment, assuming he'd brush it off as he often did with such topics.

To your surprise, however, he did respond. He turned his gaze towards you, his eyes narrowing slightly as he huffed, briefly averting before fixing back on you with an intense stare once more.

"Is that the real reason behind you about soakin’ the couch earlier?" Logan asked, his voice low and husky, something darker dominated his tone. “You were dripping on the way back here, weren’t you? I could smell ya loud and clear the entire time those pretty hands of yours scrubbed away at my suit.”

You were taken aback and shocked when he spoke up, your eyes widening in disbelief as you struggled to process his words. With each syllable that fell from his lips, you felt an intense warmth creeping up your neck and spreading across your cheeks, painting them a vibrant shade of crimson. Your ears felt hot as your heart picked up rapidly.

His deep, resonant tone reverberated through your body, sending delicious shivers down your spine and intensifying the ache between your thighs, where your already sensitized clit throbbed with an urgent, almost painful need. The poor, neglected bud pulsed eagerly, silently pleading for the sweet relief of touch, desperate for even the slightest caress to ease its torment.

Logan approached the edge of your bed, his piercing gaze fixed upon you as he drew nearer. The mask he wore only served to heighten his already intimidating appearance, the deadly smirk appearing as his lips upturned and exposed his teeth. Sometimes you were certain he had sharper canines than normal, but you never really studied his teeth for long to notice a prominent difference.

You drank in the sight of him as his larger body loomed over you, your imagination running wild with filthy images and thoughts. His muscular form holding your legs open as his face nestled snugly between your soft, inviting thighs as he completely ravaged your body...

"Am I right?" He asked, his voice a husky whisper with a hint of playfulness, a subtle tease that made your heart race. His knee slowly rose up onto the bed, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight as he leaned his entire body over yours. The warmth radiating from him was intoxicating, drawing you in like a moth to a flame.

Instinctively, you found yourself laying back, your head sinking into the soft pillow beneath you, his body commanding you without the need of words. Logan's figure loomed above, his presence both thrilling and intimidating as he stared down at you through his mask. His powerful arms moved to plant themselves on either side of your head, effectively trapping you. The defined muscles in his forearms flexed as he supported his weight, so much bigger than yours, you wanted to bite his bicep so badly.

His head tilted slightly to the side, eyes roaming over your form with an intensity that made you feel utterly exposed. The way he looked at you, it was as if he was committing every detail to memory, savoring this moment of having you beneath him. "What do you want, darlin'..." he drawled, his voice thick with desire, the question hanging in the air between you.

You swallowed thickly, feeling your throat constrict as if all the air had been sucked out of the room. Words have abandoned you, leaving you unable to speak with the turmoil of emotions swirling within. Logan's proximity was overwhelming, his masculine scent enveloping you, clouding your senses. That scent that made you so, utterly horny earlier that you had to come to your room and shamelessly play with yourself.

You have never been this close to him, at least not in this context. Sitting on the couch beside him, him standing close to you during missions or shielding you from harm, that was different from this…

The air between you crackled with an electric charge, years of unspoken desire finally bubbling to the surface. Your breath came in short, shallow gasps as Logan made his advance, his movements slow and deliberate, giving you ample opportunity to voice any reservations.

Logan's calloused hands found their way to the waistband of your sweatpants with a gentleness that belied his rugged exterior. His fingers hooked into the fabric, the slight pressure against your skin sending jolts of anticipation through your body. He paused, giving you plenty of time to voice any hesitation or desire not to continue this, if you had any. When no protest came, he took it as tacit approval.

Slowly, he began to remove your sweatpants. The fabric whispered against your skin as he dragged them down your legs, the cool air causing goosebumps to rise along your thighs.

Logan grinned slightly as the sweatpants came down far enough to reveal your bare sex, your pussy swollen and slightly reddened from your previous self-pleasure, your hand had rubbed her so teasingly that your clit was as swollen as a ripe berry. A low, appreciative chuckle escaped his lips as he took in the sight before him. "No underwear, huh?" he remarked, his voice a mix of amusement and desire. "That desperate? I must've interrupted you rubbin' yourself..." His words trailed off as his gaze roamed over your body, a hint of pride in his tone as he added, "You're that horny for me, hm?"

With a final tug, he removed the sweats completely from your legs, carelessly tossing them behind him. Logan's lips curled into a teasing smirk as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin. "Y'know," he murmured, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, "You could've just...asked for my help."

"S-shut up, don't act like you would've actually helped me with this," you stammered out, your voice quivering with embarrassment and obvious doubt at his words. The deep blush that crept across your cheeks darkened as you averted your gaze, unable to meet his intense stare. You felt a wave of vulnerability wash over you, almost bordering on humiliation, as he unabashedly gazed at your most intimate area. Your cunt was visibly swollen as blood continued to rush into the blushed, delicate folds.

He let out a low, knowing chuckle that made you want to grab him and shove him into your pussy already. "Oh, but I would have," he replied, his voice husky with desire. "I smell this pretty thing all the time, you know. It takes every ounce of self-control I have not to grab you and take you right where you stand." He leaned over you just a bit more to make you squirm un the comforter, "I've wanted to taste you for even longer."

Logan gently spread you open, his touch sending electric jolts through your body. His eyes darkened with lust as he gazed upon your ripe bud, practically begging for his attention. He couldn't help but notice how increasingly damp you became as he leaned closer, his warm breath ghosting over your sensitive skin.

"If you could...smell me...then why didn't you do something before, huh?" you whined quietly, your voice barely above a whisper but held a hint of a challenge. You bit your lower lip, frustration building within you. Your breath hitched involuntarily in your throat as he hovered so close, his face mere inches from your core. You could feel his bot breath warming your pussy, so, so close…

"I wanted to see how long you could resist." He reasoned simply, a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. His gaze swept over your form, taking in your desperation. "A game of chicken. See which one of us breaks down first." His words struck a chord deep within you, causing your stomach to clench uncomfortably. You felt annoyance at his tone, which seemed to border on condescension. Logan was clearly entertained with your current state, and considering you had already been pushing yourself to the brink through self-imposed edging and denial, you weren't in the mood for his attitude.

Fuck. You've lost.

Without warning, you reached out and grasped the back of his head and pushed downward, forcing his face towards your aching core. The sudden action caught him off guard, so his neck muscles were weak and moldable to your gesture. Initially his lips and tongue fumbled, searching for that elusive sweet spot that would send sparks of pleasure coursing through your body.

However, Logan was nothing if not adaptable.

He quickly regained his composure, adjusting his position to better accommodate your forceful guidance. His lips parted, and his tongue emerged, warm and eager. He dragged it along your sensitive flesh, tracing a long, deliberately slow stripe up your slit, sending a jolt of sensation through your already overstimulated nerves.

A soft, yearning moan escaped your lips as his tongue finally drew over your sensitive clit. The sensation shot electric waves of pleasure through you, causing your head to sink deeper into the plush pillow you laid on. Your fingers instinctively sought out the wings of his mask, gripping them tightly as you pulled him closer, desperate for more of his touch.

Logan's mouth pressed firmly against your cunt, eliciting a deep chuckle from him at your obvious enthusiasm. He quickly interpreted your obvious desires, his lips enveloping that needy, throbbing bud with practiced ease.

Logan's ministrations began with a gentle suction, his lips creating a pulsing rhythm that sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body. His skilled tongue danced inside his mouth, teasing and caressing your clit with expert precision. He alternated between swirling motions and intricate figure eights, the tip of his oral muscle exploring every sensitive nerve ending. Your hips responded of their own accord, bucking and thrusting against his face without any reservations.

Each movement he made only encouraged your body's instinctive response, creating a feedback loop of escalating pleasure. He continued to draw out movements from you. Between your ragged breaths and delicate whimpers, you managed to find your voice, "Logan...oh my god...just like that." Your parted lips released a symphony of soft moans and desperate cries as he continued his relentless, delicious assault on your sweet, aching clit, his mouth playing you like an instrument he knew by heart.

His tongue delved deeper, gliding between your folds and discovering your entrance, which was already weeping with glistening arousal for him. His tongue penetrated you without another second, his nose gently nudged your swollen, thoroughly suckled clit with each deliberate thrust of his skilled tongue.

Logan savored your essence on his palate, emitting a low, appreciative groan as he tasted your arousal, fully aware of just how desperately you had yearned for him during the few hours you had spent together earlier that day. His large hands grabbed your thighs, squeezing them and holding your legs farther open as he gained better access to you. "You taste like honey darlin'..." He groaned, muffled inside your puffy lips. "All for me. This is mine, you hear me?"

Your fingers remained firmly entwined in his mask, tugging at the wings with increasing urgency as you began grinding yourself against his face, seeking more of that delicious friction. "Stop talking and suck!" You demanded, your voice shaky as your body visibly shook with frustration at his teasing words, giving your clit just enough stimulation, but not nearly pushing you close to climax. The rough texture of his stubble against your inner thighs provided extra sensory stimulation, adding more stimulation to your body and mind. Your moans were pornographic as mewls filled the air while you tugged and bucked against him with growing fervor.

Logan growled against you, knowing you were needy, otherwise he would have teased you much more than this and wouldn't have let you get away with talking like such a brat. His face and chin became thoroughly coated in your flowing juices, your much-needed and long-awaited climax rapidly approaching. You could feel that tight knot forming in your gut, the warmth spreading through your legs and to your toes as the heat in your belly began to grow.

"Eager fuckin' thing..." Logan growled against your heated flesh, his voice a low rumble of desire. He punctuated his words with a searing kiss to your slick folds before once again attaching himself to your clit with the intensity and determination of a man possessed, his mouth working tirelessly to bring you to your orgasm.

"Lo...Logan," you warned breathlessly, your voice quivering with anticipation. Greedily, even with your feeble protest, you had no intention of allowing him to retreat. Your leg wrapped tightly around his broad shoulder, effectively anchoring him in place. You used him with unbridled passion, your body responding to his ministrations like a finely tuned instrument.

Logan seemed to revel in your assertiveness and wasn’t bothered by your increasing roughness whatsoever. You could feel the curve of his lips against your sensitive skin, a smirk that spoke volumes about his enjoyment of your pleasure. He willingly let you have control, allowing you to dictate the pace and pressure that you so desperately craved.

"I'm close!" You gasped your words, barely coherent as waves of pleasure threatened to overwhelm you and pull you under like sirens calling you to the edge of ecstasy. "Oh god, I'm going to..." The sentence hung unfinished in the air, your ability to form coherent thoughts rapidly diminishing.

Your head fell back once more, an eager, satisfying, almost pained cry escaping your lips as your climax finally crashed over you. It felt as though every nerve ending in your body had suddenly come alive. Your muscles tensed rapidly, your back arching dramatically off the surface beneath you. Your hips, acting on pure instinct, drove forward, pressing urgently against Logan's face as if trying to prolong the pleasure for as long as possible.

The intensity of your orgasm was overwhelming, having ruined your incoming one prior, this one felt much more intense. It felt as though liquid fire was coursing through your veins, setting every cell in your body ablaze with pleasure that seemed to short-circuit your brain.

You were in complete, blissful disorientation.

Your leg fell limply to the side and off his shoulder as he slowly withdrew from your cunt with a sloppy popping sound. His lips glistened with the evidence of your orgasm, they curved into a satisfied smile as he savored the taste of you. Logan slowly crawled over your body, dragging himself to hover once again, his eyes drinking in every inch of your flushed skin and disheveled appearance.

"Pretty girl," he murmured, his voice a low, husky whisper in a now quieted room, no longer filled with your audible filth and desperation. He lowered himself closer, his face now hovering mere inches above yours. You could feel the warmth of his breath ghosting across your lips, heightening your anticipation. He grazed his lips against yours before pressing them down more firmly, sealing them together.

The kiss was a bit hesitant on his end, not because he didn't want to kiss you, but his face was still pretty much slick with your essence. His body thrummed with the urge to flip you over, to bury himself deep within you, railing his cock in and out of that slick cunt he just tasted and chase the heights of ecstasy together.

But there was that flicker of doubt in his mind that had been holding him back from forming a stronger bond with you, and he wondered if you felt the same way. The possibility of forming a deeper connection with you both thrilled and terrified him, causing him to hesitate as he tried to gauge your intentions and reactions to him. There was so much to be said, memories flashing across his mind of loss and heartache, the overwhelming pain of losing those he loved in the past almost overwhelmed him before he was brought back down to earth.

Your hand gently came up, reaching for his mask with a tender touch. You carefully pulled it off, revealing the rest of his face beneath. Your fingers immediately sought out his short hair, tangling themselves in the soft strands. You leaned in, kissing him back with a mixture of passion and gratitude. Your eyes fluttered closed, savoring the moment. A soft hum escaped your lips, vibrating against his as you tasted the unique combination of yourself and him. The kiss lingered, neither of you wanting to break the connection once it was made.

After several seconds, you reluctantly pulled back with a soft smile playing on your lips, your expression still dazed from the intensity of the moment. Your hands glided over the top of his head, your fingers playfully toying with the little tufts of hair that stood up, slightly mussed from the mask. The tiny kitty ears were adorable to you, and you carefully formed them to their little points once again.

Your eyes met his in the comfortable quiet of the room, conveying more than any verbal exchange could hope to capture. The look you shared was filled with soft, gentle expressions, relief and giddiness, tired happiness.

Logan let the tip of his nose trace a delicate path over the curve of your own, his breath warm against your skin. His trailed his nose slowly, deliberately, to the spot between your eyes, where he paused for a moment, as if savoring the closeness.

His lips then replaced his nose, placing another kiss, this one soft and lingering against your skin. It was a gentle action, one that took you by surprise with its tenderness, but filled you with a comforting warmth that spread from the point of contact throughout your body. Your heightened emotional state felt so tender as he showed you a side of himself that few others ever got to see. Logan’s rough exterior and guarded nature fading for the moment to allow himself this, putting all his wariness away to savor you.

While you were busy basking in the glow, his eyes were drawn to what laid beside your head. That stuffed turtle, its shell a soft, soothing pine green and its body a gentle, earthy slate brown, adorned with intricate, unique stitching and delicate embroidery that lovingly traced the contours of its body and defined its endearing facial features.

Prominent, exaggerated eyebrows were stitched in a comically furrowed manner, giving the toy an air of perpetual concern or deep thought. Below them, a carefully sewn black frown curved downwards, completing the turtle's amusingly grumpy expression. Its face seemed to lock eyes with him, its unwavering stare intense as Logan remained on top of your half naked body.

Slowly, he reached out with his free hand and turned the turtle around, no longer feeling watched by its grumpy stare and judged by its frown.

Thanks for reading - em 🌿

Dividers by @/strangergraphics | Images found on Pinterest

[cerosin-bis]

Hello Cerosin :]

I have several questions, if I may.

1. How are you?

2. Has Nikto always been bad at taking care of himself or is that a result of the torture?

3. how does Krueger handle rejection, if he's interested in someone?

4. In your fic "Anger Management" (btw I love both your arts and writings!) Nikto hugged Krueger tight, before Krueger fucked him. It says "it's conflicting for Nikto" what does that mean? Would Nikto like to have a normal relationship with someone? Like, does he want/need a certain tenderness but knows Krueger probably isn't able to show it?

Thank you for your time and all your great works for this ship! It literally wouldn't exist without you and I mean it in a good way!

Have a good one and be safe :]c

Hi hello! 1. I'm doing mostly fine! Thank you for asking 🥺 I hope you're well, anon!

2. I think Nikto never really practiced "self-care" due to both his education (or lack thereof...) and his personality. However it's noticeably worse since his torture and the development of his mental illnesses/conditions because he now barely even thinks of basic human needs.

3. Good question. I think he'd be very frustrated because it's RARE, but be able to move on very quickly. Orrrr he would try extra hard (which ultimately does succeed but at very high costs with dire consequences. this would have happened with Nikto, but didn't need to because these two were doused in gasoline to begin with imo.)

4th answer regarding Nikto, Krueger and intimacy under the cut bc this got long.

(And thank you so much. I don't want to be presumptous as to say I ~invented~ the ship because there were like 3 fics when I posted Remanence already, but feeling like I was able to set its foundations in art and then consistently over the past years is unbelievable when I see where it is today.)

4. Thank you so much for letting me know you like both my art and my fics!! I feel like I never say it enough, I'm incredibly grateful people are reading all the shit I put out, let alone let me know they liked it. 😭

So, in my headcanon, Nikto craves intimacy in very very short and specific "windows", but he has a conflicted relationship with it as a concept.

Krueger can display tenderness/intimacy without a second thought if he knows it's needed by the context (and this is one), but his affectivity is abnormally... dulled? if I may say. Krueger's emotions are genuine... but extremely dampened. So it suits Nikto, because it's "as if" there were no feelings (there are. but it's beyond gestures, it's whatever they have. the codependency and violent devotion, the wordless communication... Tenderness is a rare occurrence in this whole frame - an occurrence that Nikto likes, but would rather not acknowledge, if this makes any sense.

In my headcanon, again, Nikto wouldn't be able to have a normal relationship with anyone. Normalcy repels and scares him, and even if it wasn't the case... Without extensive therapy, which he will likely never want to get, he has too many issues regarding emotions, attachment, jealousy and violence. (I want to stress this again, this is just my specific and personal hc of the character)

[jeanstapleton]

thinking abt how in 6x5 klinger might have legitimately been wondering if he were trans, like beyond headcanons/subtext, bc to be lgbt back then Was synonymous with mental illness, & all of his questions were in that vein. also thinking abt my tumblrina "comrades in arms but with klingcahy" idea & how they'd handle a kiss as one man who's gay & fully aware of it, & another man who's only just now realizing he might be different

instead of margaret & hawk demonstrating a new surgery technique its klinger & mulcahy making a supply run & all the other stuff happens except klinger is paralyzed by fear when the bombs fall, & mulcahy goes over to "unfreeze" it with an embrace. klinger, trying not to have a meltdown, tells him that if hes going to die hes at least happy hes with mulcahy

again, like margaret & hawk, they awkwardly realize theyre literally pressed up against one another, but then klinger rolls out of the way with him when he realizes the ceiling's about to fall on them, & oooooooops now klinger's on top of him & theyre face to face awawawawa

mulcahy does a killing eve & leans up for a tentative kiss, eyes open. he doesnt know what else to do & he likes klinger so much he might as well give in to impulse this one time if they're about to die

klinger expects to be angry, disgusted, but the first thing he feels before anything else is flattery. he doesn't even associate it with gayness bc priests give kisses for all sorts of occasions, so this must be a thanks or a blessing or something. then his stomach prickles, in a good way, & he doesnt know how to feel about that. but mulcahy's nose-to-nose with him, and his expression is wide-eyed & unreadable, & all klinger's impulse is telling him is "well if you liked it then try it again", and he kisses him back. its also partially to smother doubt. mulcahy closes his eyes that time, & klinger follows suit

after the episode cuts back, klinger is curled up in the same spot, having fallen asleep in mulcahy's arms, but when he wakes up, mulcahy, distraught, has moved away to huddle up in a corner. he tells klinger to stay away from him.

klinger feels insulted at first, but he knows theres more to it. he approaches, asking whats up. when he doesn't get an answer, he starts joking about the two of them surviving the bombing, when mulcahy interrupts, saying he shouldn't have kissed klinger, and that hes not supposed to "be like this".

he confesses he joined the priesthood to try & cure himself, figuring the only path towards happiness was to be like everyone else. he hates that he "forced himself" on klinger, and thinks himself disgusting.

klinger is heartbroken for him. mulcahy is the closest thing he has to a best friend in the camp, someone who's always been kind & understanding with his eccentricities, & that love is, in the moment, superceding whatever hangups he has about queerness. klinger reminds him that he kissed back, and that he doesn't feel his boundaries were infringed upon, since it was in the heat of the moment. he then straight up asks mulcahy if hes queer, & after a while mulcahy nods.

klinger sighs, & figures he was already halfway there with his crossdressing, so he has no qualms with it. in the back of his mind he still equates his attraction to women to having a foot in normalcy, but it clashes with the implication that mulcahy is not normal, & he loves him too much to degrade him like that. its something he silently struggles with for a while, even after the ordeal's over. all he knows is that mulcahy is important to him, & that he saved him with that hug, & that he loves him even more for that. he promises to keep his secret.

[visionofvoid]

Always - CS55

Summary: “right person, always.”

Warnings: heartbreak, sad carlos, mention of terminal illness/death

Pairings: carlos sainz x oc

Word Count: 660

He was all hers when the season was over. 

He was all hers when he wanted to get away. 

He was all her when family and friends were too much and he needed love from someone else. 

He was her greatest kept secret but also his biggest heartbreak. 

She was all his when the reality of his job, his name became all too much.

She was warmth, she was comfort, she was normalcy, she was home. 

“Maybe in another life.” Seemed to be the best way to describe their relationship. It would never work, it would never see the light of day beyond her tiny one bedroom apartment. He cherished the memories they shared from showing her how to cook his favourite dishes that reminded him of her youth to the two of them dancing around in her plant covered living room to the sound of Taylor Swift’s Wildest Dreams.

He listened as she sung off key along with the words. He loved the life she was so full of, wanting to be a reason for her to laugh, to love, to smile at.

He wanted to promise her the world. 

He wanted to watch her grow old, tell their children stories of their youth, their very own love story. 

He wanted to buy her everything she could ever desire; a beautiful sapphire ring, a house with more rooms than she could count and a greenhouse in the yard for her to continue growing all the plants she owned and more.

He wanted to watch her walk down the aisle, their families and friends being present when they became one entity. 

“Promise me, Carlos.” 

“I promise.”

He would always keep her promises. He would kill himself if he ever broke one. 

He remembered all the promises he kept. Promise me you’ll win the race, promise me you’ll take me to see this movie or that restaurant, promise me you love me, promise me you’ll move on. 

He wasn’t too sure how he could move on. He wasn’t too sure he wanted to move on. 

Carlos loved her with every ounce of his being. 

Carlos loved her more than racing, loved her more than the red suit he wore, more than paella his father made, more than the first warm sun after a cold winter, more than life itself. 

He could only visit so much throughout the season, it was one of his biggest regrets. He should have taken the year off, to spend as much time with her before it all started going downhill. 

She was always beautiful to him, no matter what. From when her long, brown wavy locks turned into a bald head, from her gorgeous voluptuous shape to her frail skin and bone. He would love her no matter what she looked like, she was always his greatest love.

He clutched on her hand, the soft melody of the first song they ever danced to playing in the background. Tears welled in his eyes as she looked down at him, her body sitting up against the pillows. 

��Carlos,” Her voice sounded so far away yet she was never closer in this moment. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her but knew this would be one of the last chances he had. “Remember me in a nice dress.” Her breath was so frail. “Remember me in the sunsets.” He felt her squeeze his hand, though it was incredibly weak. 

“I will.” A single tear dropped, rolling down his cheek. She gave a weak knowing smile. “I wish there was more time.” 

“I enjoyed all the time we shared, Carlos. Promise me, Carlos. Promise me you will fall in love, marry a beautiful girl, give her the world. Promise me.” He didn’t want to marry another, he wanted her. Her always. It would always be her. 

“I promise.” He did anyway. No matter what, he would never break a promise. 

“It’s time, Carlos. Right time, right person, always.”

[kitzuneplayz]

Description:

He's always watching you. Question is, are you willing to face him if it means facing your mistakes? 

After an accident that renders you without your home and your voice, your magic-bound parents pack you and your brother into a wagon and take you back to your homeland. Arshmuria is a desolate and snowy kingdom where the sun is uncommon and visitors even more so. It's the perfect place to hide. To lay low until your mind heals. As time passes, you rebuild your shattered sense of normalcy, and even manage to make a friend. It all seems too good to be true. And just as you suspected, it is. He followed you there. With his arrival, the life you worked so hard to build starts to crumble at your feet. Your brother suddenly falls ill, you begin to have strange visions when you sleep, and the Queen is kidnapped by a rouge magic user resulting in a kingdom wide witch hunt with you in the center. But when the people you’ve grown to care about begin to fall prey to his rage, that’s when you realize that it may be time to make a choice. The past is an enemy that will always find you, no matter how far you run. Will you face it and reach for the destiny that is rightfully yours? Or will you break and help the very thing you were running from plunge the world into darkness. Close your eyes, plug your nose, and make a wish.

Snowflakes and Wishes is a free to play interactive fiction game where choices matter affect which route you end up with in the story. The finished product will contain the following...

Multiple Endings! I just said that.

6 romancable LI as well as 5 poly routes!

 A customizable MC! You may choose your gender, pronouns, race, appearance, familiar, and more! 

 Fight scenes and battles! You are a magic wielder after all.  

 A huge fantastical world for you to explore!

 Many unique characters to meet and befriend(or the opposite?) Be careful though. Some characters will help you and some characters will hurt you. 

 Your very own kingdom to save(or help destroy...) 

 Some good old character building trauma! :D

The finished version of Snowflakes & Wishes will be rated 18+ and will not be suited for all audiences. Tigger warnings may include...

Implied and/or described sexual content

References to self harm and suicide

Body Horror

Implied and/or referenced Rape/Non-Con

References to Drinking and/or Drug Use

Inappropriate language

Read at your own risk. This is my very first IF so there will be mistakes in coding. I am also dyslexic, so sometimes words are difficult. If you find any coding or grammatical/spelling errors in the game pls let me know!

Demo: N/A

Ro’s: https://www.tumblr.com/kitzuneplayz

Blog: https://www.tumblr.com/kitzuneplayz

Itch.Io: https://fluffydoe.itch.io/snowflakes-wishes

[my-gf-is-kazuichi-soda]

I admit, a lot of Nagito's actual mental illness traits went over my head when I played the game, and up until now. If I've talked about him in an ableist way before, I'm sorry (and I'll delete/reword any post with something like that if you point it out to me, none of them come to mind atm but I feel like I may have said something like this in the past). I honestly thought he was just a manipulative jerk acting a certain way "for funsies" and if I've called him "crazy" or anything like that, it was in a place I probably should have used the word "asshole" instead, but even that's not a real fix to the issue. Frontotemporal dementia. I only learned what that means today. I'm glad I wasn't planning on having Nagito have much of a presence in my fanfic anyway.

I had to ignore the parts of that post about Danganronpa 3 because I'm still playing it, but one part I read...I didn't notice that Kokichi was wearing a straight jacket. I thought it was just a white suit.

I never would have expected Danganronpa to have a canonically mentally ill villain after the mess with Toko. Like I've said before, I love playing with ideas of this franchise and I love Kazuichi a lot and I like a lot of other characters too (mostly from Danganronpa 2, for now that is my very favorite), but Danganronpa is a poorly written series full of missed potential (/derogatory) and it's honestly mostly sex jokes and murder (/affectionate). Writers can use it as a sandbox and people can get some laughs from it.

I'm wondering if anyone has made a post about Danganronpa's ableism with Kazuichi. The autistic-coded character misunderstanding social scenarios, being constantly called "dumb" and "annoying," showing an ability and willingness to change when told to stop doing something but nobody actually wants to tell her to stop doing the "annoying" thing that they'd rather mock her for, not to mention the lesson she has to learn through all of this. Having faith in yourself is a good lesson, and Kazuichi did need to learn some humbling (they actually could have done way more on this for her), but they really said her biggest problem was that she needed to believe in herself more when she's been pushing herself to being "normal" (and failing at it, because normalcy is stupid and hurts everyone) and making herself miserable in the process?? She deserved to have a character arc where she doesn't have to act like a "punkass" anymore because she feels safer to be herself around her friends, and where she gets a look she's actually happy with (my trans headcanon doesn't have to be canon for this to work, it's just my interpretation out of many ways they could have done this arc for her). It felt like she had a little bit of vulnerability at the end, but too little too late in my opinion. I had a hard time believing most of these guys were her friends in the end, especially Fuyuhiko and Sonia -not saying these charaters needed to be her friends, their feelings were valid, just that Danganronpa's entire "everyone is friends by the end" thing can feel a bit forced at times just to get a happy ending through (I would not be feeling like this if they convinced me in the writing that the characters were believable as friends). Although at least this group felt like an actual group, the first game was way worse at the "everyone is friends at the end" thing! (You're really telling me everyone is friends with Byakuya and Toko after all of that?! It actually made me laugh with the whiplash of how out-of-nowhere-cheesy that was compared to the mood before they met up with the others.)

Too tired to rant any more. I hope my points came across?

Edit: maybe I'm too tired but I'm feeling self conscious about my wording and I'm not 100% sure if their treatment of Kazuichi is ableist exactly, but it felt uncomfortable for me. Maybe using "ableist" for that part was extreme? I'll get back to you on that in a bit

[subject-2-change]

Getting personal because this hit me hard:

I was engaged a couple years ago. It ended for other reasons, but it should have ended with one of the last things he said to me in person.

I have lived my whole life with flight benefits (my dad is a pilot) and I was about to go on my last trip to visit my mom before losing them (an age thing). The night before my last flight out, he asked how I was doing. "Depressed and having a crisis." "Aw, I'm sorry love." And he continued on with what he was doing wile I cried on the couch.

The next day, he was driving me to the airport. It was raining and I was down. He asked what was wrong. I explained that this is a whole lifestyle change for me. "You just have to buy a ticket like anyone else now." That isn't financially viable. I have friends across the country and I can't just go to see them. My mother has a chronic illness and I can't fly off to help her. I have lived my ENTIRE life like this.

It felt like having my wings clipped. It didn't seem hard to grasp, but he was insistent that this is normal. "Just because it's changing to normalcy doesn't make it easy." "I had no idea you were feeling his way. Why didn't you tell me?" "I told you point blank last night when you asked." When he asked. But he didn't ask to listen. He asked because that's what he thought he was supposed to do.

I told him that it hurt me he wasn't paying attention, especially when he inquired in the first place. Even now he wasn't understanding me, though I was communicating clearly. We were pulling up to the departures area and he says, "well you say a lot of things. I just can't listen to all of it."

That's when it hit me. If my fiance wasn't listening, when would any man? He wasn't forgetting things because I spoke so much. He was willfully ignoring me. He just said so. It was the crux of our issues for the last year or so that I couldn't put my finger on. When I talked too much, he would redirect my energy to my best friend because he "couldn't follow everything" and she was better suited to this type of conversation. I ideate a LOT. It was one of his favorite things about me. As long as he didn't have to listen to all of it, I guess.

I realized I was slowly quieting myself more and more to not be a bother. I felt bad for taking up space. For talking too much. Not anymore.

"You say a lot of things. I just can't listen to all of it." Something broke in me in the best way. I became selfish with my thoughts. I dominate conversations. I got louder. If someone isn't listening, I will call them out. If they don't want to engage, that's fine, but I walk away. I'm not going to hang around to be silent when I want to speak.

I listen just as much as I speak. I soak in every word the people around me say. For all the women, minorities, or even men with toxic upbringings. People who were told to be quiet about x, or that they are too into y, that they are loud or domineering or annoying with their thoughts and interests. That they don't have anything of value to say.

The quiet doesn't make me feel uncomfortable. I know a lot of people feel awkward with silence in conversations. But, God, I hope we all never shut up.

there's this video you've probably seen already where a woman is shaking in front of a microphone and delicately tries to ask - how can i make my husband listen to me, i've tried everything, i don't want to seem ungrateful and the other man laughs - the problem is that you married a man, we're only listening 25% of the time and we only understand 5% of that! and the audience laughs and the woman laughs and you just sat there, phone in your hand, letting the sound of it echo

and the thing is that people make think-pieces about it (isn't this one of them) and satire versions and "flipping the script" which is good and fun but at the end of the day, there's some truth in that man's response about men-not-listening. and you have tried to language that feeling for years, this sense that you can only take up 33% of a conversation before others view it as being "dominating".

it's not that they aren't listening, it's that the action they're taking is purposefully silencing. it's different. you accidentally-don't-listen a lot; just because the world is loud and you're distracted. you don't mean anything by it. and the truth is that the man who spoke is relying on that to be true of you; the way it's true of everyone. but there is a different undertone to his kind of not-listening. what he means is they don't respect you and you shouldn't expect them to. there is a difference between oh shit i forgot to take the trash out and why didn't you remind me to do it, just like there is a difference between i didn't realize you wanted to go out this weekend and why do you expect me to plan things why can't you just tell me where we're going.

and the thing is that it isn't just him, and it's actually not just because of your gender - your skin, your class status, your weight, their ableism - it happens often. so often it feels like a tightness around your throat and a weight in your stomach. you're not even "really" allowed to be upset about it, because to them it's a joke. and they laugh. and you know exactly the amount of work that goes into every conversation. how you have to work to condense down your thoughts into intelligent, crisp soundbites; worried someone will try to swoop in and cut you off. and there's this sense from everyone else - oh stop being so sensitive, are you really upset just because they weren't listening and you don't know how to say the way that feels when it happens constantly.

there's that video of the science summit where a woman in the audience finally says let her speak please! and the whole crowd bursts into applause and the man leading the summit holds up his hands and bows his head and says oops, sorry! like what he did was awkward and embarrassing, a little social gaffe that happens easily. later in your meetings, you're asked to take notes, and you don't say anything, you just hear let her speak please! ringing in your head and know that you'll never be brave enough for that kind of thing. and besides. think of all the people who agree this was a one-off, he just got excited and all of the people who say one man is not indicative of all of society

at the dinner table you're talking about someone you don't like and how he's not good to his girlfriend and how she always has to remind him to put the effort in and before him, she was glowing with curiosity and passion but now she just seems... tired, unhappy. that he likes the way she burns out; she stays home and takes care of him and their 2 kids. and your father sniffs and says that men take a while to learn those kinds of things. and you just stare at him and think about your childhood and are like - no wonder i turned out like this

and you want to say - there's no fucking secret school or mystic form of communication. i was not sent to Rearing a Child University. i did not graduate from Getting Chores Done College. i ask questions and i listen and i pay attention, because that's basic fucking human decency. it stems from respect, and how i respect others and their agency. i clean the house because someone should clean. not because it comes "naturally".

hell, you had to google "how to boil an egg" the other day, just because you usually make them scrambled. you can never remember which of the 2 bathroom cleaners make chlorine gas, only that two of them definitely do. you've accidentally bleached your clothes. it took you like 3 years of self-teaching before you figured out how to actually cook things correctly - for that whole time, you burnt or undercooked everything. but you did teach yourself; just like you taught yourself how to listen with empathy. just like how you taught yourself to think before you speak. to be kind first, to be better at communicating. it seemed like a good thing, an adult thing.

the joke the man in the video makes is that women say i'm fine! when they are not fine. and you think about the 150 conversations that happened around that; about how she probably has had so many arguments with her husband. how she said i'm upset you don't take me anywhere and he got mad at her because of course i do, you made me go to that stupid restaurant like last week and she probably said that's not what i'm saying and he said now i'm supposed to be psychic or something and she said no of course not and he said how am i supposed to know what to do when you don't even like everything and she said i do like things and he said well how am i supposed to win? and her pastor probably told her to be more grateful because they do things at all, even if she has to plan them and her mom probably told her that's just how men are honey and she probably cried over her journal, trying to figure out why the fuck she "has everything" and is still so bitterly, horribly unhappy

and how, in your life, for so many reasons, you looked down the barrel of another argument; of explaining yourself and being vulnerable and begging for help again. how many times you just said i'm fine because it was better than doing that again; it was better than wringing yourself out when it's literally easier to just pretend. because he wasn't going to listen. your father wasn't going to be better and your boyfriend wasn't going to be better and your boss wasn't going to be more respectful.

and you sit in front of a video of a woman shaking, looking horrible and guilt-wrought that she's even asking this question. and you know; deep in your heart - that's you. in a different life, you are her. you've stood in her spot. and you had to listen while someone else cackled - why would we bother to notice when you talk?

[life22force]

Benefits of weightloss surgery

In obese patients who have failed long-term weight loss initiatives, bariatric surgery can result in sustainable weight loss. There are various bariatric procedures available. The two most popular surgeries are sleeve gastrectomy and gastric bypass. By reducing the stomach's capacity to store food, bariatric surgery helps people eat less and feel full far faster than they would otherwise. The absorption of calories is also restricted by several bariatric surgeries. If you're a candidate, your doctor can help you decide which choice will suit you the best.

Your quality of life can be enhanced in a variety of ways by weight loss surgery. Before surgery, you stop feeling constantly hungry, and you might stop thinking about eating as much. You start to feel more energized when you drop a large amount of weight, and your daily activities no longer leave you out of breath.

 You could start to feel proud of how you look and feel just a few months following surgery when you start to fit into smaller apparel and this the main benefits of weight loss surgery. You could find more outside interests as your focus on eating reduces. Self-consciousness may gradually give way to sentiments of self-assurance and restraint.

      In addition to assisting you in losing weight and keeping it off, bariatric surgery significantly reduces or cures the majority of health issues caused by obesity. When you start losing weight, you can usually reduce or discontinue your medication for these various diseases. 

Surprisingly, many diabetics notice that their glucose levels return to normalcy a few days after surgery. It is crucial to remember, though, that bariatric surgical treatment isn't always a magic elixir for weight reduction. It is a device for use alongside a food regimen and workout to attain a more fit life. Surgery isn't always an alternative to a healthful lifestyle; rather, it lets in a food regimen and workout to virtually work.

  The remaining measures of bariatric surgical treatment are how a lot of weight is lost, how lengthy the weight reduction lasts, the development of your fitness and best of life, and safety. There is research that suggests losing extra weight can help treat or perhaps cure other serious medical illnesses like metabolic syndrome, gallbladder disease, and pregnancy issues.

       The blessings of weight loss bariatric surgery increase to intellectual health. Patients can be much less susceptible to tension and depression, and much more likely to pursue life-nice activities. Though in lots of instances the blessings of bariatric surgical operation outweigh the risks, there are a few matters to preserve in thoughts concerning those procedures.

 Not anyone loses as a good deal weight as she or he would really like and, with out modifications in eating regimen and exercising following surgical operation, a few early losses is probably reversed over time. In some instances, ulcers, dietary shortfalls, and different bad aspect results have resulted, occasionally requiring rehospitalization and new procedures.

 There are numerous different bariatric surgeries. Based on the medical approach that guides them, they can be categorised into three groups: blocking procedures, restricted procedures, and mixed procedures. Blocking techniques affect both the size of the stomach and food absorption. Restrictive practises reduce stomach size, making people feel satisfied with less food. Mixed strategies combine blocking and restricting methods while also changing the amounts of the gut hormones that control hunger.

[quietlyimplode]

Prompt: Tony realising that his technology was used on Natasha. (Thanks friend, this prompt matched with another one).

an: this has been taken from a WIP that I started ages ago and moulded into the prompt. Warnings for discussions of child experimentation (child abuse), red room, child illness and weapons. (Bwf2022, 1.7k)

the world I live in

Tony thinks he’s being sneaky. His suit is scratchy, and he can feel the bow tie knot on his neck as he ducks his head, avoiding eye contact.

Russia is cold, and he’s thankful for the coat that hangs over his shoulders, the banquet in its closing stages, he decided it’s time to move.

The real reason he’s here, undercover, is that he thinks someone is replicating his tech.

The warning had come from one of Obadiah’s subservients who had defected and since become a friend.

An informant at least. It’s not tech he ever wants to become public, or made ever again.

Sighing heavily, Tony feels the weight of all his wrongs on his shoulders and tighten the noose around his heart. He feels he’ll never be able to atone.

He hears Peppers words float in the back of his mind.

‘At least you’re trying.’

Tony’s glasses warn him of soldiers approaching, give him layout of the building and he hacks the door closest to him in seconds, letting himself in.

It’s an office if some sort, he realises as he hides himself against the back of the door, shutting it gently behind him.

Taking a deep breath, Tony schools himself, makes the layout appear as a hologram in front of him. He needs to get to the elevator at the end of the hallway. Down a level and the first door on the right seems to be the lab.

Rubbing his face, he curses Obadiah again.

Kids.

Who the fuck tests immunology nanotechnology on kids?

He hates his technology sometimes. The nanotech was supposed to be for children’s hospitals, to build the immunosuppressed back to normalcy, so they could do the things they want like go to playgrounds, be around their friends.

It was supposed to be a good thing. But like everything Tony seems to touch, it had become a weapon.

Testing on children so they never got sick. So they could be weapons.

His blood boils.

He exits the room and walks fast to the elevator, hacks it quickly and turns as it descends. He tries not to panic as his nerves rise his chest.

“Jarvis?” He questions. “How many people in the lab?”

There’s a pause.

“One sir.”

He’s confused, but pleased. One person is okay. He can handle that. Likely, he can even maybe just sedate them.

Entering the room, he sees the woman straight away, her blonde hair in contrast of the dark room.

“Hello?” He calls, not wanting to hurt her.

She turns and they both stare at each other.

His heart stops and his mouth hangs open.

“Romanoff?”

She seems as shocked as he is.

“Stark?”

She recovers quicker than he does.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

He points stupidly at the computer.

“It’s my old tech. I wanted to destroy it.”

A strange look passed across her face.

“What are you doing here?” He asks.

He steps over a body, closer to where her USB is plugged in. He types quickly, as she looks over his shoulder.

“Are you here with SHIELD?”

He continues to question her, but she doesn’t answer as she watches him carefully.

“You missed one,” she hisses.

He looks again and realises she’s right. He does it again and runs the termination program.

He holds up the usb for her and she takes it, tucking it into her breast pocket.

“It’s a muted version, if it’s for shield,” he tells her.

She shrugs.

“It’s not.”

He watches carefully as she places two clay disks on the servers with detonator switches.

“They don’t get this, again,” she says, more to herself.

He moves toward the door, and she follows linking her arm to his.

“You have an exit strategy?” She asks, ducking her body into his as they ride the elevator up.

“I have a very fast car?”

Natasha laughs.

“That’ll do.”

.

It wasn’t for shield, he realises, as Jarvis hacks the database of missions. Something he told Fury he wouldn’t do, but given the shock of seeing her as made him curious, and well. He doesn’t do well with curiosity.

He offers her a flight home and she takes it, perhaps preferring the comforts of a private jet than economy.

“Why?” He asks, three hours in.

She looks up like she knew the question was coming.

He stares at her and she looks like she’s going to lie.

“It’s important,” she shrugs, “for me.”

He doesn’t want to ask.

“Why?”

There’s an hour of silence as she doesn’t answer his question.

She hands him the USB.

“I didn’t realize, how far back your technology went. How much was tested,” she pauses.

“I was one of the ones they tested it on.”

The sentence drops and it’s like all the air is gone from the room.

He doesn’t know what to say, and she is clearly uncomfortable with the revelation. She excuses herself and sits in the unmanned cockpit, leaving him to his thoughts.

It takes him a while but he knows it’s now or never to continue to talk about it.

“How?” He asks, encroaching on her space. God she looks small, he things as she brings her knees to her chin, curling in a ball on the oversized chair.

“A series of unfortunate events,” she mutters.

But he pushes harder. If he can understand what, and why and how, maybe he can make sure it doesn’t happen again.

He opens his mouth but she silences him with a look.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

He perhaps understands why, it’s not a natural thing to have your immunity played with and subjected to testing… the more he thinks of her words the more curious he is.

“I was the one they tested it on,” she’d said, but who was they? And how was it tested.

He looks over to her curiously, and there’s a faraway stare in her eyes. The dazed look is accompanied by a shallowness of breath and he throws a blanket over to her, concerned.

“Get some rest,” he decides to tell her, “we’ll land in an hour.”

.

Natasha knows it’s not the end of this; that like her, he’s going to keep pushing until he gets an answer. Get some rest, he said but all she can think is that he’s going to be digging.

She sighs, feeling guilty that said anything in the first place. Then he wouldn’t feel bad about the unknown uses of his technology.

Dragging herself up, she goes to sit next to him in the cockpit and sinks into the chair.

“You can’t tell anyone,” she opens.

In all reality it likely doesn’t matter if he does; and this might be an unfair thing to say, making him keep it to himself.

“Do you want to pinky swear on it?” He asks, and Natasha realizes she’s been quiet for a while.

She didn’t mean to lose her train of thought.

“Do you know about the Red Room?”

There’s a look of shock, then pity as dominos fall into place for Tony.

Natasha’s age, gender, bits of her upbringing she’s alluded to.

The last emotion she thinks is rage.

“You?” He asks.

“Me,” she nods to confirm.

“How did the Red Room use my technology on you?” He asks, his face careful now.

She thinks it’s curiosity that is his overriding feeling.

“They did experiments,” her words now are careful.

He lets her talk, or not talk, as the case may be as she looks into the darkening sky.

“When your nanotechnology was in it’s early stages, they would inject us, the nanoadjuvants would carry immunomodulatory properties used to deliver vaccine antigens for every disease they could think of,” she pauses.

“Sometimes, it made us sick.”

Tony looks murderous.

She ignores it.

It’s inert rage and there’s nothing he can do now.

“Some died?” he asks, voice low.

She thinks of Ruthie and Aaliyah, the disease that made them seize until they died, or Savannah as she was coughing in the bed, crying for her mother.

“Some died,” she confirms.

He doesn’t say anything. What can he say?

“It was a long time ago,” she clarifies.

It’s not his fault. He didn’t sell it to the Russians. She doubts that he even knew.

The plane lowers its descent, and Natasha is thankful that this flight is almost over.

The silence is heavy.

“You couldn’t have known.”

Tony stares straight ahead, shell shocked and sad.

“Even if you had of know,” she tries, “you couldn’t have done anything about it.”

He swallows hard, and she finds herself interested in his emotions. If anyone tries to tell her that Tony is an unfeeling automaton, she thinks she’d hit them.

He feels deeper than most, likely knows the power he holds with all his weaponry and money.

And he carries it all on his own shoulders.

The plane lowers again, the flight almost over; she plans to meet Clint and Maria later, wonders if she should invite him to come with them.

“What are you doing later?” she asks, feeling generous.

“You knew that it was my technology that killed your… you knew and you didn’t tell me? Didn’t want to get revenge?” He doesn’t look at her.

“You’re still my friend?”

Her heart stutters.

“Yeah Shell Head, I’m still your friend.”

He nods.

“Can I… what can I do?”

She shrugs.

“The Red Room is gone, Clint and I made sure of that. Hopefully it won’t ever be used again.”

The plane touches down.

Natasha gathers her things, and thanks him for the lift.

She feels like she’s leaving him in a depression, in trauma, and she doesn’t like it.

“Will you be okay?” she asks.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “I won’t tell anyone.”

His head is bowed.

“It’s not your fault,” she emphasises.

“Still,” he says.

They stand at the door in a limbo of apologies.

“I’ll see you round Tony,” she tells him.

Parting ways, she leaves him, hoping he won’t dwell in the past.

.

[solicuttle]

A Normal Confession

Saiki tries to give you chocolates -- the normal way.

-----

Word Count: 1.0k

Warnings: None (?)

Characters: Saiki Kusuo

-----

Watching Satou get rejected should be sad. But it’s not sad, its clearly the epitome of normalcy in the making: the average boy confesses to his class idol (who can not compare to Teruhashi) and promptly gets rejected. A “Sorry, I’ve never thought of you in this way” should be disheartening, but to Saiki it’s perfect, beautiful. While it is depressing that Satou’s class idol can’t see the loveliness in being plain, Saiki can. Satou’s confession was mundane; store bought chocolates and a note in spirit of Valentine’s Day. It’s how a background character should confess their affections.

For Saiki to shake off the curse that is his disastrous life, he too must undergo this ritual. Minus the discouraging rejection of course, but still boring and mundane in a sense Saiki wishes he could be. Not to say that Satou’s confession wasn’t special. It’s everything a person could want in a run-of-the-mill confession. But when you’re surrounded by weirdos like Nendou and Kaidou, all you see is chaos.

Yet you come in without the chaos those two bring. You’re the refreshing part of Saiki’s life; whenever he sees you, he can sigh in relief and relax around you. Your smile lights up his day because when you smile shenanigans don’t ensue. Your laugh is comparable to Satou’s – not that you’re ordinary but that you don’t give him a splitting headache (most of the time). Kaidou and Nendou are terrible influences on you, and Saiki would much rather limit any of your interactions (Saiki can’t have them disturb you, can he?).  

When did it begin? When did Saiki stop looking towards you for peace and quiet, and start looking at you because he could? When did it all change? Time is lost to Saiki. After all he can repeat this year and fall in love with you all over again.

What is more ordinary yet beautiful than confessing on Valentine’s day? Absolutely nothing. You deserve a nice, peaceful confession with chocolates and a letter. How would you react to the letter? It’d be a lie to say Saiki hasn’t asked how you feel about him (through Kaidou, of course). For once, his powers had been a bit useful if not once again unethical. Saiki knows you feel the same way. It doesn’t diminish your right to the perfect but ordinary confession that Saiki will give you.

After all, what sort of confession begins with “I read your mind and we both feel the same way, let’s date?”. None that won’t draw attention to Saiki. And he can’t have that.

Saiki’s prepared. In between battling Kusuke, he’s written the letter. It’s on A4 paper, written in clean ink. The words are plain but are directly related to you – just the way a normal confession should be. Saiki folded it neatly – almost too neatly, he had to crease it a little bit – and placed it into a peach-colored envelope. The letter’s perfect.

The problems begin with the chocolate.

The chocolate is simply put, hard. Not because it’s hard to afford. Saiki’s donned on the 100-yen man suit way too many times to not have the money to buy you the chocolate. It should be easy.

The first major problem begins with the ordinary chocolate Saiki buys from the store downtown. It’s neatly wrapped in its packaging, waiting to be placed with your envelope until it’s not. Saiki doesn’t know what happened. He blinked and there was a chocolate bar in his mouth. It did not make sense. Perhaps this was a plot from Kusuke but Saiki can’t give you a half-eaten chocolate. With a definitely reluctant face, he sadly eats the rest of the chocolate. It hits Saiki when he’s done tearfully gobbling the chocolate that he could’ve reverted it. Drat.

“Hey pal, is the chocolate really good?” The second problem comes with Nendou appearing like a parasite. No matter how hard Saiki tires, he can’t shake off the leech that is Nendou. Saiki would teleport if not for the crowded area. He could teleport in front of Nendou and the poor boy wouldn’t even notice.

“Leave me alone.” Nendou does not leave Saiki alone, which leads to the third major problem. This time, Saiki buys a chocolate flower. It’s a bit on the “fancy” side and Saiki’s wallet feels a lot lighter but you should love these chocolates—

And Nendou takes a bite. “Thanks for buying me the chocolate buddy!” if it wasn’t for the fact that a miscalculated punch could kill Nendou, Saiki would’ve hit him. Saiki can’t revert the chocolate flowers as they were made fresh. He can’t hand you flour and eggs and hope for the best.

Shaking off Nendou proves to be impossible. The fourth problem comes in the form of the Valentine-themed coffee jelly. One – the price is insanely high when it’s the exact same ingredients inside. Saiki knows, he’s read the label twice. Two – he still buys it. Three – as much as he cares for you the coffee-jelly still ends up padding his belly. Sorry. It was delicious, though.

The fifth problem comes with the stores closing. No more store-bought chocolates. At least in Japan. Perhaps Saiki could’ve apported some of the chocolates into his hand but he has nothing of value on him.

While he could ask his mother to make chocolates, its not ordinary at all to bring homemade chocolates for Valentine’s day. Perhaps a relationship between you and him was ill-fated, destined to never happen.

At least, that’s what Saiki thinks until you hand him a chocolate with an envelope of your own attached to it. “It’s for you!” Is what you say, “I really like you Saiki”. While this isn’t how Saiki envisioned things to happen, what sort of person would he be to refuse? He doesn’t refuse. He takes your chocolate and bites it – it’s the exact same chocolate that caused the whole sequence of problems. It’s as delicious as he remembers.

“Thank you. I like you too.”  Saiki will just have to offer you something for White Day. Maybe he’ll give you the letter then, too.

[rotshop]

get prankt this isn't an angst fic lol ,,

ANYWAY ,, i realized earlier that i could've just been calling 'auditor reader' employer reader this whole time and then i had a funny silly goofy little idea and now we r here,,,lol,,, ill proof read this later but i did this in one go no breaks so . help.

I might continue this later so!! consider this a sort of 'introduction' if u will,,

note ; auditor uses he / she / they pronouns in this bc ive decided im just going to push my propaganda onto all of you <333 also Hank uses he / they / xe

tw ; dissociation, dereality, some light body horror

Bloody Management

"This is out of your jurisdiction. You've wasted enough time here," you seethed dryly, staring down at the shorter being. "You've made no progress and have only proved your operation to be a strain on our relations and resources."

"Out of MY jurisdiction? YOU'VE never even been there before! You think you can just storm in and suddenly kick me out of my own work?" Auditor shot back, hands slamming down on the mahogany desk in front of her.

"Yes, actually, I do," you snapped, eyes narrowing. "I think you're forgetting just who you're speaking to. You've let this drag on for far too long and your ego has grown in tandem with its pointlessness."

Sighing, you leaned back in your chair, pinching the bridge of your nose as you continued. "Look, I understand. You put effort and thought into this little pet project of yours, but the results have all proven zilch. You fucked up, that's fine, but you can't keep meddling with this reality in hopes something will suddenly work again! All you're doing is tearing and poking holes the rest of us will have to deal with later."

"If you just gave me a little more time I could-"

"We've been giving you time. We've given you more time than we've ever given any project like yours," you gave a desperate look, "It's over. You tried and we tried, there's nothing that can be done. If you just worked with us then we could help you."

There was a long silence as they faltered, hands falling into their lap as their gaze followed, landing on the floor.

"And what happens to my Nevada?"

"We'll try and clean it up again. Return it to..some sort of normalcy," you hummed, "Though, with some of those tears in the fabric it'll take a bit longer than anticipated. That..clown, is proving to be rather difficult."

You paused, grin finding it's way onto your face.

"It's been tricky, if you will."

"Not the time."

You gave a 'tsk' in response, shrugging lightly, "I don't regret it."

"You'll be going back to our depths, effective immediately. While this project was a failure, we're still curious to see if there's anything else that can be done in a different time and place."

"And what about you? Are you going to sit all pretty in this fake office for the rest of eternity?" She questioned sarcastically, eyes dragging up to meet yours.

"God, I wish. I mean, seriously, you have no idea how nice it is to have some peace and quiet after dealing with that fuckin' office."

With a dry snicker and -presumably- an eye roll, they finally stood accepting their defeat.

"I presume I'll be seeing you?"

"If your little posse doesn't cause me too much trouble, yes."

"Have fun with that, I do hope it's as grueling as possible," he hummed, turning and striding towards the door to nothing.

"Thanks, was nice seeing you too."

The door peering to the void shuts soundlessly.

.

.

.

"Was the pun really that bad?.."

---

"What do you mean they're just neutral suddenly? It's not like they all just suddenly unionized or sum' shit! There's gotta be something going on," Deimos groaned, irritation dragging onto him and clinging desperately.

"Well- What do you want me to say! I'm just as confused as you are," Sanford huffed back over comms, making a vague gesture with no audience.

Hank stood in the other room, staring down at the few agents that were on their knees with their hands held tight behind their heads. They'd made no attempt to attack Sanford and xem, simply staring in a bit of surprise when the two'd busted in. It'd completely thrown the raid off, leaving them both in a state of stunned confusion. The agent that they'd asked about the sudden change in demeanor just gave some shaky shrug, stammering out that they'd all received an order to not attack under any circumstances from some unknown contact. 'They really just listen to anyone then?..'

It was hard to believe, hard to find any reason or meaning in that lead to any conclusive endings. Which, had lead to a small dispute going nowhere and fast. Hank only picked up on little parts of it, the words being muffled and distorted through the wall. Xe didn't really have much interest in getting a clearer reading of it though, it didn't sound like it meant much.

"Look, I'm just going to try and look for any documents or actual recordings of this apparent 'ghost order,' alright?..." A pause. "Deimos? Are you there? Shit- Of course the line dies now of all times."

The line wasn't dead. It was somewhere else, some-when else.

---

The ground felt cold.

.

.

No, was it warm?

Wait- No no no, it wasn't warm..

.

.

.

Was it even the ground?

.

.

Did it even matter?

.

Deimos could fuzzily recall it. Arguing with Sanford over the line. The points he made exactly didn't seem to ring through the fog of confusion and numb in his mind. Something about the Auditor, the agents, blah bla..something.

He'd been making to say something else when he'd seen it, something off in the corner of his eye. It wasn't anything huge, if you asked him he wouldn't even be able to tell you what it was. There was something wrong, but there wasn't. The ground was cold, but it was warm.

Something was wrong.

Everything is fine.

He'd turned around, looking around for whatever in his vision wasn't right.

That's rude to say, you know.

He'd never found it, something reaching from the depths to grab him.

You're making me sound awfully cruel.

With a groan, he picked himself up off the ground to observe his surroundings. White and black stretched infinitely around him, the 'ground' underneath him was the deepest of not-color while the 'sky' was its blinding twin. A building stood in front of him, a mix of ivory and ink twisted to form its structure. The door faced him, standing tall and straight as a soldier in spite of how tilted and off the world felt.

Before he could even really register it, something was pulling him up off the floor. There were no hands or strings physically attached, nothing sticking from him to drag into the infinite beyond his comprehension, no no. It was something quiet, a ghost or a whisper in his mind that pulled him through the ocean and to shore. The door grew larger- closer. His mind grew blanker. His hand twisted the knob.

Color flooded into his vision finally, the room in front of him coated in it graciously. The floors were a velvet carpeting, a wine red that felt of lavish and glitzy. The walls were lined in bookshelves, each filled to the brim with titles somewhere between poetry and latin white noise where imagination fell. At the head of the room stood a desk, polished mahogany standing tall and still, frozen indefinitely in time. Behind it, you.

Me.

Once again, he was pulled forward. Each step fell in front of the other, unsure of weight behind them and noise that followed suite. He felt half there. Half of a man and half of a void. It was..something.

Not pleasant, not bad.

The ground wasn't cold, wasn't warm.

It just was.

He finds himself meeting your gaze as he plops down into one of the seats in front of you. He finds his neck straining and bowing under phantom limbs that aren't there. He finds his eyes training on yours which stare back pointedly, finds himself between hot and cold. He finds himself sitting down before you as he watches from the window.

There's no window in the room.

"You must be so confused."

Your voice is in front of him, right? That's where you are, so your voice should be coming from there. It isn't though. It's around him somewhere. Even as you tilt your head to the side the noise of your own voice doesn't seem to follow it.

"Don't think too much on this all, alright?"

You mutter something. 'These grunts really weren't made for this- to be here. I'm surprised he even woke up.'

Someone nods in agreement.

"Wh..who are you?"

Is that his voice? It is. It has to be, it fell from his own mouth. He barely even felt it move. Is it his mouth? It has to be.

You pause for a moment, seemingly caught off guard. He doesn't know if its because he spoke or because of what he asked. Nobody clarifies.

"Why don't you call me [name]? That'll be easiest for you. I do apologize for dragging you here rather than appearing there," you hum, leaning forward on your desk. "I just wanted to make sure we had the utmost privacy."

I wanted to make sure you wouldn't be able to forget.

"Now, Deimos," is that his name? "I need to tell you something, I have to work on restoring things for you, so I can't deliver this message to everyone myself in the most..effective of ways. You won't mind filling your friends in for me, right?"

He doesn't answer. He can't. His tongue is lead and his mouth is stuck shut, if he opens it will surely be left that way for the rest of infinity- for the rest of this place, this time. Someone says yes in his voice.

"Good. Now, try to listen carefully..."

---

He wakes up on sand. He's sitting up quickly, stilted as his mind finds his body. His tongue is lighter, teeth separated once more as his jaws are their own entities again. The cliff is still under him, wind passing by him peacefully. The horizon stretches infinite.

The ground is warm, there's no mistaking it.

"Deimos? Are you there?"

He pauses briefly.

"I need to tell you guys something."

[thatsassyhufflepuff]

Stronger Than Blood Chapter 39: Felicity

Summary: Hufflepuff witch Felicity Zabini struggles to find normalcy as she enters into her 6th year at Hogwarts, reeling from her father’s sudden death and her mother’s quick remarriage into the Zabini family. If only she had known that discovering Draco Malfoy falling apart in the bathroom would spiral into so mucbh more.

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: none

A/N: Once again I’d recommend putting the French into a translator. :)

Ao3

I didn’t see Hannah again for the rest of the day. Granted, I knew she was still spending the night with Deli, but still. I missed my best friend.

“You don’t think she’s avoiding me, do you?” I asked Draco as we stepped into the 8th year common room after classes had ended for the day. The Slytherin sighed, placing his hands on my shoulders and leveling his gray gaze with mine.

“Of course she isn’t, Felicity.” He squeezed my shoulders briefly. “Who would want to avoid you?”

I stared at him. “You did. On multiple occasions.”

Draco casted his eyes upward. “We’ve already established that I’m a git, Fliss. Myself excluded, then…” He looked down at me again, his expression softening a twinge. “Try not to overthink it. She’s watching her sister, remember?”

“I know, but–”

“Enough.” The boy took my face into his hands, pressing his forehead to mine. “Everything is fine, Felicity.” His thumbs trailed over my cheekbones softly.

“Promise?” I squeezed my eyes shut.

“I promise.” Draco kissed my forehead firmly before releasing all of me but one hand, lifting it to his lips, kissing the tips of my fingers gently. White-hot sparks danced up and down my spine at the sweet gesture.

“Thanks,” I smiled up at him as he dropped my hand, rocking back on his heels. He flashed me a crooked grin.

“Pour toi? Toujours.” The Slytherin leaned down to brush his lips over mine. “Goodnight, Fliss.”

“I don’t speak French!” I called as he traipsed down the corridor to his room. I lurched forward and grabbed his sleeve, stopping him. “What’d you say?”

He winked. “Wouldn’t you like to know? Bonne nuit, belle sorcière.” Draco pulled out of my grasp and opened his door, shutting it behind him with a gentle click.

Stupid. Bloody—

“You suit one another.” A voice said from behind me. I yelped and turned.

“Oh, Hermione! It’s only you.” I blew out a breath. The Gryffindor gave me a kind smile.

“Sorry for startling you.”

“It’s fine; I was just thinking of what kind of flowers Draco would prefer on his casket.” I rolled my eyes. “Gods, he’s infuriating sometimes! No wonder you punched him in Third Year.”

Hermione laughed.

“Yet you love him anyway,” she observed in her matter-of-fact way. I sat down across from the Gryffindor witch who, to no one’s surprise, had stacks of books and parchment surrounding her.

“I do,” I felt my cheeks heat with a blush. “Even when he’s being an insufferable git.”

“Most men are good at that,” Hermione replied as she resumed scribbling something on the parchment in front of her. “Harry and Ron have been going on about installing George’s new Listening Ear in the common room so they can spy on you and Draco.”

“I beg your pardon?”

She sniffed with distaste. “Ron is convinced Draco used the Imperius Curse to keep you around this long.”

“In all fairness to Ron, Draco has told me that I’m like the Imperius Curse incarnate.”

“Ah, that must be it, then.” Hermione gave me a wry smile, shaking her head. “It’s just odd.”

I tilted my head. “What is?”

“Seeing Draco like this, especially for Ron and Harry. Draco tormented them for so many years at Hogwarts–”

“I’m sorry about th–”

“It’s not your fault.” Hermione placed a hand over mine briefly. “I, for one, am simply glad to see Draco so happy. I noticed how ill he looked during our 6th Year. With the war over, though…” she shrugged. “Everyone deserves a bit of happiness after war, don’t you think?”

“Absolutely,” I hesitated. “I’m…honestly surprised that you don’t hate him, with how much he tormented you all over the years…”

The witch was quiet for a few moments. “I’d never heard the term ‘Mudblood’ until Draco called me one during Second Year.”

“I’m-“

“It’s really not your fault, Felicity. We were just kids. We’ve moved past those childish squabbles.” She smiled ruefully. “Well, most of us have, anyway. Besides,” Hermione looked back down at her parchment, scribbling something else. “Lucius Malfoy probably inspired most of the worst things about Draco’s personality. I don’t hold it against him anymore.”

I made a face. “His father is the biggest arsehole I’ve ever met in my life.”

“I’m guessing he doesn’t take too kindly to you?”

I snorted. “Definitely not.”

The witch gave me a sympathetic smile. “Are you ever afraid he will try to break you and Draco up?”

“Not as much as I used to be,” I grimaced. “Though sometimes…I just don’t want Draco to lose his family. Mainly his mum, if I’m being honest. If the family were to disown him…” I shook my head.

“I understand.” Hermione studied me with a thoughtfully grim expression on her face. “I’m sure it will all work out in the end, though. I saw the way he looks at you, the way he softens around you. You’re good for him.”

I felt my cheeks flush pink. “He’s my best friend. And honestly? He’s good for me, too.”

***

Draco never ceased to surprise me, and never quite in a good way. That day, though, he managed to pleasantly surprise me.

He had his arm slung around my shoulders as we walked down the corridor towards the Great Hall. Usually he was grumpy when it came to lunchtime, insisting upon being fed as soon as he heard even a whisper of his stomach growling. Instead, he was singing to himself lowly, almost absentmindedly:

“Everybody look left

Everybody look right.

Everywhere you look I’m

Standing in the spotlight…”

“Draco?”

He grunted.

“You’re singing.”

“What of it?”

“It’s from—Hannah!” My eyes widened as I saw my best friend slinking down the corridor ahead of us. I hurried towards her.

“Han!” I grabbed her arm, beaming down at her. “I’ve done it!”

“Oh?”

“Draco has started singing Disney music! I’ve converted him!”

She tilted her head.“Disney music?”

“You have done no such thing.” My boyfriend growled into my ear when he caught up to me. “Time for my lunch, Abbott.” Draco grabbed my arm and propelled me forward into the Great Hall. I shot Hannah an apologetic smile over my shoulder, but she had already disappeared around the corner. “Honestly, Fliss, these Disney movies of yours are going to be the death of me.”

“Oh, come off it,” I scoffed as he grabbed my hand, tugging me towards the Hufflepuff table. “Just admit that you enjoy them.”

“Do not.”

“Do too!”

“You’re wrong.”

“Am I?” I arched an eyebrow as we reached the table. “Because I’m not the one who was just singing–”

“Silencio.” Draco silenced me with a flick of his wand, smirking at me when I stomped my foot angrily. “Have a good lunch, yeah?” He kissed my forehead quickly before dashing towards the Slytherin table. Before I could go after him, I felt someone grab my wrist.

“For Merlin’s sake, Lissie,” chided Alene Felide, a Seventh Year Prefect who I’d gotten to know better only recently. “It’s a wonder you two have stayed together so long with the way you squabble.”

“Malfoy’s alright,” Roman Nightingale, her male counterpart, chimed in from across the table. “He gave me pointers on my flying during Quidditch practice yesterday.”

“Did you ask for tips on flying?” Alene frowned. Roman shrugged.

“He said he’s seen Teddy fly faster than I do.”

Teddy, overhearing this, snorted from a couple seats away. “He wasn’t wrong,” the boy mumbled into his cup of pumpkin juice. I pursed my lips, smacking the flat of my hand against the table, giving Alene and Roman a pointed look.

“Oh!” Alene hastily pulled out her wand, reversing the spell. “Sorry, Felicity.”

“I am going to kill Draco Malfoy one of these days,” I gritted my teeth. My housemates snickered.

“You say that a lot,” said Roman.

“Nearly every day,” Alene agreed.

“Is every relationship like theirs?” Teddy whined, making everyone laugh again, myself included. “If so, I don’t want one.”

I reached over to ruffle Teddy’s hair. “Not to worry, Teddy dear. Draco and I do love each other, even if it doesn’t seem like it sometimes.”

“I think they’re adorable,” chimed a new yet familiar voice, and my eyes lit up.

“Deli! How are you feeling?” I scanned the younger girl’s features. Her blonde hair was gathered in a haphazard bun at the nape of her neck. Her blue eyes, so much like Hannah’s, were a tad bit bloodshot, and there were still visible bags under her eyes, but she appeared to be in good spirits.

“Better,” Deli gave me a small smile. “The…the nightmares are starting to ease a bit.”

I reached across the table to squeeze her hand. “I’m glad, Deli. How’s Hannah holding up?”

Deli shrugged. “Fine, I guess. I think she went back to the dorms to sleep. Oh!” Her eyes brightened marginally. “She told me to tell you that she has time to catch up this weekend at Hogsmeade, if you’re free.”

My heart expanded with joy. “I’d like that! I’ll be there. Just remember to keep taking care of yourself, yeah?” I squeezed her tiny hand again.

The girl nodded, turning to chat with one of her housemates sitting nearby. It was nice to have something to look forward to, especially a weekend at Hogsmeade with my best friend.

All of my irritation forgotten, I made my way towards the Slytherin table, plopping down next to Draco, beaming.

“Guess what?”

“I see you’ve found your voice,” he answered in his signature lazy tone. I rolled my eyes.

”No thanks to you.”

“Least you shut her up for a little while,” muttered Arum Ibex, a 7th Year Prefect. “Obnoxious Puff.”

“Shut it, Ibex.” Draco snapped, grabbing the sleeve of my robes and tugging me close to his side. “You were saying, Fliss?”

“Hannah wants to meet up this weekend at Hogsmeade!”

“Lovely,” The white-blonde Slytherin took a sip of pumpkin juice. “Is my presence required?”

I snorted and leaned my head against his shoulder. “I wouldn’t dream of doing something like that.”

“Glad to hear it.” Draco placed his hand on my knee, keeping it there as he ate. “Now for Merlin’s sake, witch, you need to eat. Those Puffs wouldn’t leave you alone.”

“Just like she isn’t leaving you alone?” Arum sneered.

“One more word and you will find yourself bereft of the ability to control your bowels, Ibex.”

“Honestly, Draco.” I swiped a crisp off of his plate, popping it into my mouth. He squeezed my knee.

“Just defending what’s mine.”

My heart fluttered. His words were firm and strong, yet spoken with an easy comfortability, in the same way one would say the sky is blue.

I was his.

“Just defending what’s mine.”

Draco had never sounded so sure of me, of us. I felt my heart expand with joy.

“Thank you,” I whispered, leaning my head against his shoulder once more. Draco pressed a quick kiss to my hair.

“N'importe quoi pour toi.” Before I could ask for a translation, Draco leaned in to whisper, “Anything for you.”

Chapter 40

~~~

taglist: @beforeoursunsets @rosiehufflepuff @typewriting101

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@decaffeinatedneckeclipseshark

[lostinthewoods-kristoff]

Mitte and Kristoff get screwed in corporate hell

For the Valentine’s Day Trope Extravangza ✨ In which manic pixie dream girl!mitte shows her horrendously boring and not even remotely interested supervisor how to have a good time (and maybe they fall in love along the way)

Warning: NSFW! 

@mighty-mitte

MITTE 

The worst kept secret: Mitte was not well suited for office work. Or at least, she wished she wasn't. Apparently business casual workwear code violations, occasional tardiness, and unprofessional email sign offs aside, she was sickeningly suited to life as a receptionist. Perky, made good coffee, could charm even the most irritable of clients. And yes, it really did make her feel a bit sick. This was not supposed to be her life. She was supposed to be backpacking, or flirting her way onto some rich idiots yacht, or selling her paintings on a pier.

She was supposed to be living. But doing that was astonishingly expensive, and orphans with authority issues weren't high on the list of people employers wanted. Mitte had considered herself lucky that she'd almost entirely forgotten about her interview at Kristoff's office, prompting her to turn up straight from a lunch date, in a dress with a distractly high split up one side. The poor man was so red in the face she'd wanted to reach across the desk and loosen his tie, just so he wouldn't suffocate. 

These days she got the same idea, but mostly because she wanted to see him shirtless. (He always lifted those huge stacks of paper for the copier so effortlessly, he just had to be jacked under that ill fitting suit.) But even Mitte knew that wasn't acceptable in an office. It was hard to resist though, especially since she'd realised she was pathetically in love with the corporate idiot. 

So cliche. So inconvenient. Mitte was supposed to be saving up her paychecks and getting the hell out of town, but here she was trying to figure out how to get under Kristoff's skin instead. The fishnets hadn't worked. He'd nearly had a seizure at the sight of them, but then cut her that look he had- which had no right being sexy- that said she'd gone too far. 

So today she'd opted for a perfectly innocent shirt and pencil skirt combo to sweeten him up a bit. If the skirt was a tad short, or the tights a bit too colourful and eccentric. Well, he'd let her get away with it. Mitte leaned on the ledge of her desk as Kristoff approached, fluffing a hand through her hair, "hey boss, you had lunch yet?" She asked- knowing full well he hadn't, because she could see his desk from her post at reception- "there's a new Thai place down the street that delivers. Supposed to be good." 

KRISTOFF

Kristoff had never particularly wanted anything out of life. He had grown up in a house that was full of people, foster children running in and out and coming and going all the time - he just wanted a bit of normalcy. He had very much found that here, in a run-of-the-mill office job that was stimulating enough for him not to die of boredom, and paid just enough to allow him to still have some creature comforts, a decent savings account, and his rent at the end of every month. Maybe it was monotonous. Maybe it was boring. But that was just fine with him.

Enter: Mitte. The bubbly fun-loving receptionist who batted her eyelashes at him whenever they spoke. Kristoff had thought she was making fun of him, at first. To be honest, he still wasn’t quite sure.

He was good at his job, though. As boring as it was. And though occasionally Mitte would come into work wearing a shirt that was so low-cut Kristoff was sure he could see her belly button, or a skirt with a slit up the side so high it made him wonder why she’d bothered at all, he kept his cool. Usually he reminded her that they had a wardrobe policy and went on his way, and only occasionally did he let his mind wander far enough to start thinking about what Mitte would look like if she actually didn’t bother at all– but he shut those thoughts down pretty quickly, usually.

He had come up to her desk to drop off some papers that needed filing, opening his mouth to ask her to sort through them before she put them where they needed to go, when she launched into something that felt like it was leading somewhere. Kristoff pushed his glasses up his nose, and looked at the watch on his wrist. 12:36. He tended not to take lunch til 1, unless something came up that forced him to go earlier.

“Um, no,” He admitted, setting the stack of papers down on her desk. “I haven’t. But I brought lunch, so… let me know how that place is, if you go for it.” He tapped the files with one finger, offering her a polite smile. “Could you get these put in the right place in the big filing cabinet for me please?”

MITTE 

She hated and loved the glasses in equal measure. Kristoff always hid his pretty blue eyes behind them, but Mitte found herself smiling when he pushed them back up the bridge of his nose, like he'd been so busy with work he didn't notice they'd slid down until the two of them were chatting. Which was ridiculous, but such were the sort of thoughts she found herself having about them. About Kristoff.

Make no mistake; Mitte had done everything in her power to get over the silly little crush before it became the heart twisting thing it was now, but none of it had worked. And she was not against emotion, in-fact, Mitte generally considered herself a heart on her sleeve kind of girl, but in this situation… Well, it was delicate. And absurd. As surely as she did not belong in an office, she did not belong with a man like Kristoff. Staunch and normal and immune to her fluttering eyelashes. 

And yet… 

Maybe his normalcy was the charm. He was steady. He knew what he had and what he wanted. Mitte knew nothing, except that she did not want what she had. And that in denying himself Thai food, Kristoff was denying himself one of the basic joys of life.

God, she had to stop pining after him. It wasn't as if he'd ever return the feelings. He probably regretted hiring her in the first place. Still, Mitte was going to order him something from the Thai place. 

She gave the papers he set down at her desk a cursory glance before looking back at him. "Of course." Mitte teased, mouth ticking up into an amused little grin. "It isn't one yet. I don't know what I was thinking."  She shook her head at him, sliding a hand under the papers to set them down in her 'to do' tray. "Yes boss." She said, stern and serious as she gave him a lazy salute, but her smile returned quickly. "Right after I order Thai food." Mitte picked up the menu and used it to playfully shoo Kristoff away, "better get to it boss, you've got twenty minutes of work to do before you can eat." 

Dutifully, Mitte did indeed organise and file that stack of papers while she waited for her food to arrive, and when it did she wandered into Kristoff's office with her takeout container of noodles, and a small box of spring rolls- which was already missing two- which she set down on his desk. "They're really good." She told him, leaning forward a bit to slide them closer- and to be closer to him when she said- "so do yourself a favor, and be a little bad for once." Mitte winked and took a step back, but did not yet leave, watching him expectantly. "I'm not leaving until you try one." 

KRISTOFF

Despite himself, Kristoff blushed. He shouldn’t be surprised that he was so predictable, nor should he be upset by it, but he was, sort of. Or at least, he didn’t like being called out on it. Taking lunch at 1 just helped him to structure his workday better - he had been doing this job for a long time now, and he knew when the hunger-induced brain fog would set in. He cleared his throat, said thank you, and hurried back into his office to check on his emails until it was time to actually go for lunch.

Though he could see her desk from his office, Kristoff tended not to keep tabs on her or watch her, unless she was doing something that specifically caught his eye. This was why he didn’t notice when she suddenly appeared in front of him; plus, he was working. His eyes were on his computer screen, and the notes he was typing out on a report turned in that morning. 

He looked up, and then down again, at the box in her hand. Not for the first time, Kristoff wondered what her deal was. He got it, ok. She was very exciting and full of life, and he was boring. He didn’t mind that! He liked being boring! He liked the predictability of the ham salad sandwich in his lunchbox and the local news show that played over the tv in the break room. He didn’t particularly like the stilted conversation with whichever other employee was in the room at the time, but that was a necessary evil.

He was going to turn the offer down, but he believed her when he said she wouldn’t go until he tried one. So, he ignored the comment about ‘being bad for once’ and reached into the box, produced a tiny spring roll, and took a decent-sized bite out of it. She was right - they were good. He admitted so, saying, “They’re really nice,” before he held the box out to her. “Do you want them back?”

MITTE 

Predictable. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. At least, not for an office, she supposed. Mitte had broken up with her last boyfriend because he’d been too predictable, though, and that was another reason she was desperately trying to find some exciting spark in Kristoff. If he was this chained to a routine outside of work it might break her dramatic little heart. Getting a rise out of him was not easy. She managed it occasionally, but for the most part he was frustratingly cool and collected. Cute little smiles, the occasional blush, an irritated huff. Mitte was dying to see him actually emote and let his hair down. 

Or rather, style his hair. Not that she was against his hair as it was- he had a habit of flicking his head to get it out of his eyes quickly when he was stressed- but it definitely wasn’t at its full potential. At any rate, Kristoff gave absolutely no indication that her provocative line and little wink made him feel anything at all, and Mitte resisted the urge to huff like a petulant child. She was attractive, goddamnit. Kristoff wasn’t blind or stupid. He wasn’t interested in her advances. At least he took a bite out of the spring roll- she resisted another urge, to call him a good boy- but that was probably just to get her out of his hair faster.

Mitte shook her head when he tried to return the box, “I had two already, and I ordered a dessert.” Her soft smile morphed, one side stretching higher into a smirk, “I’m being bad too.” She told him. Hey, interested or not, Mitte didn’t have to give up. She was probably supposed to leave now, though, since Kristoff was still working. Mitte walked around his desk to linger over his shoulder for a moment instead, peeking at his computer, “what’re you working on?” 

KRISTOFF

Kristoff looked down at the spring rolls. Had she bought them just to give him the other half of the box? Did she not want to take them home? She could easily just reheat them and have them with dinner but for some reason she was insistent that he have them. To be honest, he wasn’t going to complain. He had asked her out of politeness if she wanted them back but they were very good spring rolls. He was more than happy to keep them.

He gave her a nod, because he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say to that comment about her being bad, and all he could think of was that he was glad she would be going back to her desk. Mitte was a good worker (when she actually did work) and a nice person and yes, she was very attractive, Kristoff did have eyes, but he was also her supervisor, and so navigating any conversation with her was difficult, at best. Kristoff looked back down at his computer, and then up again, to find her looking over his shoulder. For a second all he could think about was the smell of her perfume, but then he blinked, and nodded at the screen.

“Uh, the quarterly report - it’s nothing very interesting. The guys,” He nodded to the door as he said it, meaning ‘the rest of the office’, “each put together a summary of what they’ve been working on for the last quarter and then send it to me, and I send it to the big boss.” He paused, before adding, “It’s not very interesting, but y’know. It’s gotta be done.”

MITTE 

Sometimes, when a person was dealing with a client complaint, they’d transfer the client through to Mitte so she could ‘schedule an in person meeting’ and normally by the end of the call she had talked them down, or at least secured herself a dinner date. It was a win/win situation for all involved, but she didn’t think Kristoff knew about it, and he probably wouldn’t be very happy if he did. Mixing business and pleasure, unprofessional client relationships, so on and so forth. 

For just a moment he looked at her without saying anything, and Mitte thought; in a rom-com this would be the moment he realises he’s in love with me. But this was just her life, so Kristoff turned his attention back to his computer, and she tried not to pout. 

She wasn’t sure why she asked about the work. Mitte didn’t care what happened in the office. Life was more enjoyable if she only knew what she needed to know about this hell-hole to get her job done. It was pretty much the only way to get Kristoff talking, though, and Mitte liked to break-up her day of chatting over the phone to some faceless stranger about coffee pods or stationary with conversation with an actual human she knew. 

It might as well be Kristoff, who barely talked to anyone during the day himself. “Is anything we do here interesting?” She asked, bemused and teasing. “Roberts called to confirm that meeting at two tomorrow, by the way.” Mitte recalled, responsible enough to say it while she remembered. It was written on a post-it note at her desk, but she sometimes forgot to give Kristoff his messages while they were talking there. “I’ve already got the files sorted, so I can drop them by your desk today if you want.”

KRISTOFF

Kristoff shrugged his shoulders in a way that suggested that he thought the answer was no, but he was too polite to say. He doubted there were very many ‘interesting’ office jobs, but that was alright. It was relatively easy work for relatively good pay and that was all Kristoff was interested in, most days.

However, there were times when it was difficult to keep that mindset – like when Mitte reminded him of the meeting that was going on tomorrow. He had been dreading it for weeks, and it had been pushed back a good four or five times already which had already prolonged the torture. Roberts was potentially the most boring man on planet earth which was really saying something coming from Kristoff, who thought that stopping off at a bagel shop on the way home from work was akin to a trip to Disneyland, and the meeting would likely last a lot longer than the one hour that they’d pencilled in for it. 

He wasn’t fast enough to hide a quiet groan as she said it, running one hand over his face. He sat up a little straighter at his desk, reminding himself that there were some necessary evils associated with the world of work, and then he nodded. “Yeah, okay,” He nodded, looking up at Mitte. “That’d be great, thank you.”

MITTE 

Thankgod Kristoff was not a staunch defender of his work, honestly. 

Mitte had seen quarterly reports before, she’d skimmed paperwork that crossed her desk. It was all boring as fuck. She wasn't even entirely sure what they did. Sold something, or stocked stuff for other companies. Hell this could've been some Truman Show type shit, but Mitte didn't care as long as she was getting paid. She knew enough to know that she’d rather have all of her fingernails yanked out than have to suffer through a meeting with Roberts, who had the personality of wet lettuce. 

Still, Kristoff’s reaction made her quirk a brow. She tipped her head when he looked up at her, giving a low whistle, “you must really hate that guy.” Mitte set her food down to rub his shoulder, her thumb swooping up the line of his neck to the collar of his shirt. It was softer than she expected, and she regretted it almost instantly as the urge to keep going until her hand was tangled in his hair rose up. Mitte kept her hand on his shoulder, just. “He’s already rescheduled five times.” She reminded him with a shrug, “maybe you’ll get lucky.” She didn’t like the idea that he’d spend the better part of his afternoon trapped in a stuffy conference room with that prick. “Or I can swoop in at the hour mark with some fake emergency that means you have to get things wrapped up fast.”

The idea of snatching him away for the whole day occurred, but Mitte didn’t think she’d be able to convince him of that. Not right now, at least. Maybe in the morning, when he was tired and totally unprepared to see her.

KRISTOFF

When Mitte touched his shoulder Kristoff turned his head to look, just a little bit, brow furrowing for a moment before he decided to just leave it be. He couldn’t really tell her to get off him without making it super awkward and besides, it was pretty harmless, he supposed. A little forward, but then pretty much everything Mitte did was pretty forward, and Kristoff had a low threshold for stuff like that in the first place.

Besides, he had more pressing matters on his mind, like that meeting. It was going to be absolutely fucking dreadful, that was for certain, and yet Kristoff wasn’t sure that it being rescheduled again was very reassuring. They could put it off for another week, or two weeks, or a month, but it would always be there on the horizon, looming ever closer. Kristoff supposed there were worse things to get paid for, anyway. Better to just get it over with so that it would be over and done for another year. 

“He’s alright,” Kristoff said, which was Office Supervisor Speak for ‘he is the most boring person I’ve ever had the displeasure of speaking with and I would rather pluck my eyebrows out hair by hair than have to be in a room with him but he’s my boss, so I’m not going to say anything bad about him’. He huffed again, and reached for another spring roll. They were only going cold, after all. “It’ll get it over with, at least. If he doesn’t reschedule again. Just have to wait and see, I guess.”

MITTE 

She thought Kristoff would do something about her hand. Shrug it off or make some quiet comment about office relationships and being her superior or whatever. (Though it was a while since he’d used that word, because Mitte had fun turning any reminder that he was her boss into innuendo.) Mitte wanted to push her luck, let her fingers wriggle under his blazer to find out how well defined the muscles of his shoulder were. She sighed through her nose, feeling ridiculous and a bit pathetic for getting so worked up over just touching him, and after letting her thumb swoop the line of his neck just once- twice- more, Mitte forced herself to retract her hand and pick her tub of Thai food back up. 

It was probably not a smart idea to Google ‘how to fall out of love with your boss’ on a work computer that you signed into with your own personal ID number.

She huffed in protest at Kristoff’s weak defence of Roberts, “he’s the driest man I’ve ever met. He belongs in a crypt.” Mitte declared, refraining from mentioning how many times she’d caught him staring at her tits. Both because it was super unprofessional to say tits in an office, and because she was pretty sure it wouldn’t inspire the jealous or angered reaction she’d want to see from Kristoff anyway. Mitte turned a bit to lean her hip against his desk, idly twirling the chopsticks about in her noodles, “nah. He won’t. I was talking to his assistant earlier, apparently he’s getting shit from whoever is above him about his time management.” She shrugged, “bite the bullet, right? I’ll wear something nice to put him in a better mood.” 

KRISTOFF

“Makes sense,” Kristoff muttered. He wasn’t surprised that Roberts was getting shit about his time management – his time management was shit. But Kristoff would never, ever say so, at least not to his face nor to anyone he thought would tell on him, because the very last thing he wanted at work was confrontation.

(He didn’t know why he trusted Mitte not to tell. Just because she didn’t seem to like Roberts either didn’t mean she wouldn’t tell his assistant everything Kristoff had just said. But he did trust her, enough to be more honest than he would with anyone else in the office.)

Because he was human, and a man, he very briefly thought about some of the ‘nicer’ outfits that Mitte had shown up to work in over her time at the office. Some were more suited to a nightclub than an office, but he doubted Roberts would mind.

“I don’t know if he experiences the full range of human emotion.” Kristoff huffed, before he decided he should probably be more professional. He straightened up at his desk, and gave Mitte that pursed-lip-half-smile that he had developed from years of not knowing how to end a conversation and needing a visual clue. “I can look at the files tonight so just any time before the end of the day. And thank you for the spring rolls – they’re good.” He allowed, reaching for the box again whilst also looking back towards his computer screen - attempting to hint that the conversation was over.

MITTE 

Mitte had done a lot of stuff in her time that most people might consider unwise or impractical, in the pursuit of adventures. More often than not she didn’t agree with those assessments, but even she would admit that pulling her supervisor's address from his file and waking up extra early to loiter outside his house in the hope of convincing him to skip work for the day with her was… Foolish. Even more so considering how tragically in love with him she was. 

But Mitte was doing it anyway, standing about in a pretty little dress that Kristoff had immediately shook his head at the one time he’d seen her wear it at the office, clutching an ice coffee for herself in one hand and a hot one for him in the other. Luckily, knowing what time he started work and how long it took him to make the walk to the office, Mitte was able to gauge pretty accurately what time Kristoff would leave his place, so she wasn’t waiting for long and his coffee was still hot when he came out. 

Mitte just… Was feeling the need to do something a little more rebellious than ordering Thai food to the workplace, and she knew Kristoff really didn’t want to attend that meeting. So if her brashness here got her fired, fuck it, there were other offices. 

He didn’t see her right away, where she leaned up against the wall that ran alongside his apartment building- “morning boss!” Mitte chimed to get his attention, holding the hot cup out to him with a big innocent grin, “coffee?” She wrapped her mouth around the straw to take a sip of her own drink, “splash of milk, one sugar.” Mitte parroted, nodding at his drink, “but I'm betting it’ll take more than the coffee to convince you to skive off with me today, huh?” 

KRISTOFF

Kristoff spent approximately fifteen seconds lying awake and staring at the ceiling above him, alarm clock blaring in the background, before he decided he just had to go for it. He had never missed a day of work in his life – had never even taken a sick day – and as much as today’s meeting made him consider putting on an act over the phone to get the day off, he knew he wasn’t going to do it. He was going to get up, and get dressed, and grab his satchel on his way out of the door, and head to work the way he always did.

He took the stairs down to the ground floor, using the time it created to unravel his headphones and pull up the latest episode of the podcast he was listening to. The walk to work wasn’t a particularly long one and most of the time he chose to just enjoy the scenery and the cars going past and all the rest of it, but he knew he was going to need a distraction today. He could probably walk to work in his sleep, so he didn’t need to focus on the path he was taking, and could afford to tune out until he got to the office.

He stepped out onto the street, the world seeming entirely normal. The same as it was every morning, and no doubt the same it would be every morning, for as long as he lived there. He wasn’t looking for anything out of the ordinary, which was why he didn’t initially see Mitte until she appeared leaning up against the wall.

“Jesus christ– what are you doing here?” He asked, yanking his headphones out so he could hear. He was mostly just surprised – this was maybe the last place he expected to see Mitte. He assumed she lived smack bang in the middle of the city, in some loft lit by fairy lights and covered in wall tapestries. “Um, thank you?” He took the coffee, a little uncertain. “How did you get my address?”

MITTE 

He was wearing earbuds. Mitte wondered what he listened to, suddenly desperate for that one small piece of information. She’d never pictured him in earbuds, and it made him more interesting, this outside-of-the-office fact about him. She smothered a smile at the way Kristoff yanked them out, the look on his face when he caught sight of her. He didn’t say anything about the dress, and she resisted the urge to kick one of her feet back to rest against the wall, just so it would slide further up her thigh. She’d be really bummed out if he didn’t at least look at it. 

His questions made it sound like he hadn’t even heard her line about convincing him to skive off, but Mitte did not repeat herself right away, figuring if she got his guard down a bit first he’d be more responsive to the whole idea. Her brow creased in confusion, and she blinked up at him, “I have access to the personnel files.” She reminded Kristoff. After staring up at him for a moment she let her gaze drop to the coffee, smile turning a bit teasing, “I didn’t poison it, promise.” 

Since they weren’t in the office and so technically weren’t work colleagues right now, Mitte let her eyes dance the rest of the way down his body, quirking a brow at the same standard suit and tie affair he wore everyday. “Do you own any black jeans? I hate blue jeans. Except on mechanics.” Mitte tipped her head to the side, analytic eyes zeroing in on his hair, “or hair gel? I have salt spray in my bag that might do something, so that’s more to satisfy my own curiosity.” 

KRISTOFF

He was trying to process a lot at once here. Mitte was outside of his apartment building, on a weekday morning, wearing a dress that was definitely not appropriate for work and offering him a coffee that he actually did really want. Mitte was here because she had gone into his files and found his address, which should probably be pretty frightening, and then there was the comment about skiving. 

Kristoff took the coffee, scratching his head with his free hand. He had never, not once in his entire working career, missed a day of work. He had never taken a sick day, he had never been late. He had been tempted to skip work, of course he had. When he had a big project that was due, or a presentation to do, or a horrific meeting. The night before he would lie in bed and think about how easy it would be to call out, to say that he was unwell, or that he had a family emergency, or something. Anything to get him out of what was about to happen. But he never actually did it - in the end, he always went to sleep, and then got up the next morning to go to work.

He caught her giving him a once-over and he blushed, shaking his head. “What– no. No, I don’t have any of that stuff. Not that it matters, ‘cause we’re going to work.” He looked at her pointedly, the coffee still in his hand. “Or I am, anyway. And I’m gonna be late, so.” 

MITTE 

She was not ashamed of being caught checking him out, though Kristoff probably didn’t expect her to be considering how she behaved as shamelessly as one could get away with in a professional setting. Mitte huffed in disappointment at his response, though, resisting the urge to stomp her foot. 

“Alright. I can deal with blue jeans for the day- y’know, with a nice tight t-shirt they don’t look half bad, I’m just particular like that- come on, you know you don’t wanna deal with Roberts.” And she knew it, too. Beyond her penchant for mischief and adventure Mitte just… She wanted to show Kristoff that slaving away for some soulless company that couldn’t give a crap if you died at your desk didn’t have to be your life. Even for a guy like him, who insisted he didn’t need anything too exciting, there was better out there! Skipping a day to serve your own interests wasn’t going to break the system.

Mitte pouted just a bit, blinking up at him, “just one day! Be interesting for one day!” She pleaded, biting her tongue on the follow up; so my obsession with you seems a bit less pathetic and unreasonable. She had a feeling that would be overkill, and that Kristoff would definitely fire her after saying it simply because he would no longer be able to look her in the eye. “If you’re worried about Roberts don’t be, I called yesterday afternoon and said you were under the weather so might not be in for the meeting today but Sarah would be able to take him through the important points. He was pretty pissed but then I pointed out that if he didn’t reschedule it meant there would be one less thing he had to worry about and he’d probably have time to take me out for dinner tonight, and that cheered him up.” 

She grinned and took a sip of her ice coffee. The idea of a date with Roberts was torture, honestly, but Mitte would just pre-game a little and make sure he bought a nice bottle of wine. A low cut top would help too, maybe staring at her tits would make him stupid enough not to talk a lot. It certainly wouldn’t be the first bad date she’d sat through for the sake of a free dinner and a fun day with a friend, so. “Please, Kristoff? I’ll even start wearing sensible skirts to work. I’m that desperate to see you let your hair down for a change!” 

KRISTOFF

Mitte was doing a lot of talking, but even after she had finished speaking, looking up at him with those big, wide eyes she had, Kristoff was quiet.

He was having something of an internal conflict. He didn’t know that he had an angel and a devil on each shoulder but he did know that there was a rational part of his brain, one that was telling him that he needed to go to work, and that he had responsibilities, and that he couldn’t just go off and do whatever, who knew what, for the day instead of going to this meeting. He also knew that there was a slightly less rational part of his brain that was repeatedly chanting fuck this fuck this fuck this every time he thought about that meeting. A part of his brain that would be more than happy to let Mitte give him a makeover and drag him round all day doing whatever she wanted, as long as it meant that Kristoff didn’t have to go to that stupid boring meeting.

Plus, Mitte had sacrificed herself to get him out of work today, that irrational voice pointed out. A date with Roberts was essentially a commitment to losing two hours of your life, hours that you were never going to get back.

Kristoff closed his eyes, and then he groaned, and then he sighed, glancing at his apartment building, then at the street ahead of him, the route to work, and then, finally, at Mitte.

“Alright! Alright. Fine. This is– god this is so dumb, okay.”

MITTE 

There were a whole lot of things Mitte knew how to get just by batting her big pretty eyes at some silly man, but flirting wasn’t the real trick there. The real trick was knowing how to get what you had your eye on if the flirting didn’t work, and making sure the guy knows that you have a backup plan. That you don’t really need him.

The truth was, she had no backup plan here. If Kristoff couldn't be persuaded, it was likely that Mitte would find herself ignored at best and out of a job at worst. Risks she was willing to take, because she couldn't just sit at reception mooning over him forever. Something had to change, and y’know, maybe she should just be looking for other jobs or whatever but this was more fun. 

So Mitte waited, fingers playing idly along the hem of her dress as she gave Kristoff time to actually consider the idea. She was so surprised by how easily he folded that she almost choked on a sip of iced coffee, and then almost rushed forward to hug him. She wanted to, but baby steps. She should let the poor guy have his coffee first, at least. Instead Mitte bounced up and down on the balls of her feet, her smile growing big and victorious. “Yes! Oh this is gonna be good, I promise, we’re gonna have fun!” 

She grabbed his arm and started to drag Kristoff back towards his apartment building before he could change his mind and be responsible again, “which one is yours? Also, do you have contact lenses? And less professional shoes?” Mitte peppered him with questions about his wardrobe as they made the short trip back to his apartment, but she shut up once they got inside, save for a low and impressed whistle. “Check you out! This is, like, a proper grown up apartment!” 

The things on the walls were actually in frames, his kitchen was clean, there was a blanket thrown over the back of his sofa- Mitte also had one of those, but hers was covered in dinosaurs- and it smelled so nice! “You’ve got those fancy air fresheners that are on a timer, huh?” She shook her head, “you’re a dark horse, buddy. This isn’t what I expected. But!” She clapped her hands together, “we gotta focus up and get you out of office mode. Where are your contacts?” 

KRISTOFF

Kristoff wasn’t sure why he had caved so quickly. It was probably something to do with a subconscious desire not to be so boring all of the time, to live a little, but if Kristoff could hear the little voice in his head telling him that then he would’ve told it to shut up. He didn’t mind being boring. He was living, every day. It’s just that a lot of living involved going to work and not… whatever Mitte had planned for the two of them for the rest of the day.

God this was so dumb. He had never spent time with her outside of work, which was for no particular reason other than professionalism, and now what? He was going to let her run his entire day? This was going to be a nightmare. She said it was going to be fun, but he had a feeling their respective ideas of fun were so far apart you couldn’t even come close to connecting them for a venn diagram. 

He didn’t really get much of a chance to answer any of her questions, because there were so many of them in quick succession and he was still working on that coffee. He gave vague yes’s and no’s to any questions he did happen to catch, though he was starting to think she wasn’t listening anyways.

He felt strangely self conscious as he let her into his apartment, clearing his throat as she so obviously looked around. It was lived in, homely but not over decorated, kind of sophisticated in a I-don’t-know-how-to-decorate sort of way. Minimalist was probably a word for it, but it was comfortable, which was all Kristoff needed. “Uh— the bathroom, but I never wear them.” He said, pushing his glasses up his nose out of habit. “Do I need them?”

MITTE 

Mitte took a determined sip of her iced coffee as she evaluated the place. He clearly had some semblance of taste, so hopefully it transferred to his wardrobe. “Yes!” She told Kristoff with a glare, “we need to get you out of your comfort zone a bit, y’know? Shake you up! Get you feeling things from a different angle! Plus I look really hot, so if you go out like that with me everyone is going to think I’m doing something for make a wish.” She marched across his home and opened the first door she saw, which turned out to be storage and not the bathroom, but it did have- “damn! You’ve got a tumble dryer?! You are so lucky.” She sighed almost dreamy as she opened the next door, which led to exactly the room she wanted.

Even his bathroom was clean! Which, to be fair, so was Mitte’s. If you ignored the scattered makeup products. But still, clearly she was just hanging out with slobs. She rifled through the things on his counter before finding the contacts, holding them out to Kristoff with her other palm open expectantly. “Glasses.” Mitte smiled sweetly up at him, “you’ve already committed, might as well just let me have my way with you…” She waggled her brows in an overly suggestive manner to make sure he knew she was joking. (Even though she wished she wasn’t.) 

When Kristoff relented and removed the specs Mitte was kind enough to set them gently in the case he had laid out for them before looking back up as he cleared his throat, eyes narrowed and ready to assess what other work there was to do.

Oh no. 

Oh no.

This had all been a very bad idea. It was not supposed to be true that taking your glasses off could make you so much hotter! Maybe it was the way he’d pushed his hair back a bit to put the contacts in? Mitte did not know how long she stood there staring at him like an idiot, but it was definitely too long. She gave her head a small shake. “Kristoff Bjorgman!” Mitte exclaimed, putting all the energy she had into being animated and over the top in the hopes that he might not realise she just became 10x more attracted to him. “Who knew what a stunner you were hiding under those specs, huh? I bet that’s why you never wear them, you’d be beating the ladies back with a stick!” She winked, then pivoted on her heel and avoided looking in the bathroom mirror on her way out. Mitte did not want to know if she was blushing.

“Bedroom!” Oh god this was going to kill her. “We need to find you a cooler outfit, and then we can get out there to embrace the day!” 

KRISTOFF

He wished he knew why he followed her through the apartment, trailing behind her into the bathroom like a little lost puppy. Or a very well trained one, anyway. It was just to keep her from harping on at him, that’s what he thought. She was only going to keep badgering him if he didn’t go along with it and if he put his foot down it would just make work super awkward, which was the absolute last thing that Kristoff wanted, so better to just relent and let her do whatever it was she was going to do. Including, apparently, contact lenses.

Kristoff hadn’t worn his contact lenses in a very long time, just because he didn’t really see the point, and he spent most of his workday staring at a computer screen, so he would do anything to make his eyes even mildly more comfortable. He handed his glasses over to Mitte reluctantly, hoping he wasn’t about to watch her snap them in half or something, and then fumbled to find his contact lenses.

He had to move his hair out his eyes a bit to put the lenses in, and he doubted it was a very attractive process to watch (‘cause it certainly wasn’t attractive from his angle), but he was so focused on not poking his eye out that he completely missed Mitte’s minor breakdown. He was still blinking as she spoke, trying to get used to the feeling, so he also missed a lot of what she said after that, only tuning in when she began to leave the room.

“I don’t know if I have anything ‘cool’.” He warned her, following along behind her. It felt weird to consider Mitte in his room. He cleared his throat, and pointed down the hallway. “Last door on the right.”

MITTE

"Doors and everything." She teased as she followed Kristoff's directions, nudging the door open with her hip and gesturing him inside, "my bedroom is behind a curtain." The price you paid for a loft with a killer view. And Mitte lived alone, so it wasn't really an issue. 

She made a beeline for his wardrobe, flinging the doors open and taking a step back to evaluate. "I can work with this." Mitte decided with a nod, pulling out a pair of- sadly, blue- jeans and tossing them onto his bed. Which he'd made. She wondered if it smelled like him, but managed to resist the pathetic urge to grab one of his pillows and find out. "Even as it occurs to me to ask, I realise you definitely don't own a leather-" and there it was. Basically pristine, hidden among the awful blazers he wore to work. "Woah!" Mitte pulled the hanger out of the wardrobe, "there's hope for you yet. And you said you don't have anything cool." She grinned at him and added the leather jacket to the pile. 

As she talked Mitte pulled a few t-shirts from a drawer, determined not to be distracted by her location. "You must at least have a pair of trainers, I don't dare hope for a stylish pair of boots." She dropped the t-shirts down with the rest and tipped her head towards them, "you can pick which." She hoped he picked the band tee. He wasn't a doll, though. And thank god because if he were Ken she definitely was no Barbie. 

Obsessed as she was, even Mitte wasn't going to stand around watching him change. For one thing, he absolutely wouldn't let her, and for another she wasn't a perv. Even if she did want to see him shirtless. "I'll wait in the living room." She threw a cheery little wave Kristoff's way and left the room, curling her hands in her lap as she got comfy on his couch.

KRISTOFF

Mitte started pulling out clothes that Kristoff rarely, if ever, wore. The t-shirts were rotated in and out, all of their patterns faded and the seams worn because he refused to throw away anything until it was absolutely full of holes. The jeans were pretty well-looked after if only because he tended to wear the same pair over and over again, leaving the rest to sit in the back of the wardrobe until his current pair died and he had to pluck a new one out of the reserves. And then there was the jacket - the leather jacket, a birthday gift from his sister than he thought he looked stupid as anything in, and thus had only worn a few times, usually when he was due to meet up with his sister.

Mitte was delighted with it, of course she was. Kristoff should’ve known, she probably had an internal honing device for edgy fashion pieces. He did wonder if she was going to insist on dressing him herself, given that she had spent the last twenty minutes or so dragging him around and telling him what to do, but he was glad to see her retreat. He looked at the clothes she had laid out and huffed softly, choosing the old Queen t-shirt that was fraying at the hem before he got changed.

His eyes were itching and he felt like he could barely move his arms in the leather jacket, but a glance in the mirror pressed up against one wall of his bedroom did give him pause for a second. He looked… kind of cool? Cool for him, anyway, which was not very cool by anyone else’s standards. Still, though. Not bad.

He stepped back out into the hallway, closing the door with a click to prompt Mitte into looking at him. “You were wrong about the boots.” He told her, nodding down to his feet. “I don’t really like trainers.” He did like to be prepared for the weather, though, which meant a pair of good, sturdy boots for winter. “So… what now?”

MITTE

Hey, Mitte had no issue with a man who knew his wardrobe wasn’t his top priority. Not everyone gave that much of a fuck, she got it, and clearly Kristoff had enough here to look presentable- dare she say it, even a bit hot- if he wanted to, so whatever. The stuff she pulled out was clean and well loved and that was pretty much what mattered. She’d had the dress she was wearing today for years, because it made her feel good. And it was easy to yank off. Which obviously didn’t matter in this context. But still. 

(The day she’d worn it to the office was the morning after a date that had gone totally awry, and ended with the guy dumping her. Desperate to make sure it didn’t become the dress she got dumped in, Mitte wore it to work to turn it into the dress that made Kristoff spit out his coffee. Which he did not do, but seeing his eyes go all wide at it for just a moment had been close enough.) 

At any rate, he chose the Queen t-shirt, and Mitte was very glad she hadn’t been taking a sip of her coffee at the time, because she might’ve choked on it. Maybe it was because all she’d ever seen Kristoff in was the same old shirts and blazers but good god, he looked hot. Even in blue jeans. Wearing a t-shirt that matched the tattoo on the back of her neck. Hopefully she could find an excuse to twist her hair up into a bun later. 

Mitte stood, looking Kristoff up and down, trying not to linger too long. An assessment. “Sometimes I even amaze myself.” She declared. “You look hot. And now… Whatever we want!” She threw her arms out dramatically with a big grin, and then grabbed Kristoff’s arm to start leading him out of the apartment. “How do you feel about parks? And I’m not talking about that grubby one just off the town square. There’s this one place at the edge of the city- you have to get a bus but it’s only like ten minutes- it’s got a lake, and those funky pedal boat things! Or we could go to the movies, I think there’s a sale at that book store on the corner of park street…”

Mitte hadn’t made any super specific plans because honestly she hadn’t been sure that Kristoff would agree to the whole debacle, but now that he had she was sure it couldn’t be that tricky to keep him entertained for the day. She was the kind of person who preferred being out and about to being cooped up in her apartment, so she knew plenty about what their town had to offer in terms of fun. 

So, that was what they did. They had fun. Or at least Mitte did, and whether or not Kristoff was only pretending to avoid upsetting her was neither here nor there. Though if he was pretending, he was a very good actor. They did indeed go to the bookstore, and bought lunch to eat at that park by the lake, Kristoff took off his jacket and Mitte tried- and failed- not to keep looking at his biceps. She was right, he was ripped. They found a football and kicked it around for a bit, and then got the bus back into town to browse Mitte's favorite record store and get milkshakes. 

All good things, though…

She tried not to let her mood take a sullen turn as they made the walk back to Kristoff's apartment block, but Mitte couldn't help her sigh when they reached the building. "Well, here you are. Back home safe and sound." She grinned up at him, "no freaky new tattoos or broken limbs or anything. So, uh… You've probably got TV to watch or reports to write." Mitte started to walk as she spoke, but walked backwards so that she was still looking at Kristoff. The street was empty, it was fine. "And I better go pre-game and get ready for the dullest date on earth." She bobbed her head and waved, steps slowing. "I guess I'll see you at work tomorrow, right?" 

KRISTOFF

Kristoff had never actually realised how much there was to see and do in town until Mitte had taken him out for the day. There had been no barrage of calls, no insessesant stream of text messages to make him feel guilty or make him worry about work, and so he actually managed to have a good time. A very good time, in fact. 

And he was sort of surprised by that. He’d thought that he would just go through the motions, let Mitte drag him round doing whatever it was she wanted to do whilst he waited for it to be home-time, but he’d enjoyed every second of it. He had never even noticed the little second-hand book shop they went into, nor had he ever actually stopped and looked around the park, only ever walking through it on his way somewhere else. Mitte showed him a different side to the place he’d been living in for years, and he wasn’t sure he would’ve ever seen it otherwise. She’d shown him another side of himself, too. One that actually had fun, one that didn’t just get up, go to work, go home, rinse and repeat until retirement. One whose eyes maybe lingered on Mitte’s legs a little too long when her dress rode up her thigh, or caught himself noting the scent of her hair when she flicked it over her shoulder.

But he did have to go to work tomorrow, and he had things to do at home, and Mitte was right - she had that date with Roberts that she’d promised him. For Kristoff’s sake. And sure it was a free meal, but christ. Kristoff would rather never eat again than have to sit at a table for three hours with Roberts.

So when she said she should probably go, and she’d see him at work tomorrow, Kristoff hesitated. He looked back at his building, and then at her, and decided to be brave. “Or… you could come up? Quick drink, to say thank you?”

MITTE 

One quick drink. Uh oh. That was supposed to be Mitte's line. At the end of a date, though. Not at the end of a spontaneous day of fun with the boss she was in love with. That was the whole reason she'd walked him home! So she wouldn't linger on the steps of her own apartment making the same offer, because of course Kristoff would say no.

Stubborn, sweet, Kristoff was taking charge of the situation now? Mitte bit her lip, but she was already grinning. Of course, there was no way Kristoff was entrenched enough in the current dating scene to understand the coded meaning behind his words, so Mitte did him a favour, and took them at face value without comment. A quick drink, and then she’d go home. Mitte pretended to think about it for just a moment longer, “oh, go on then. If you insist.” She quipped as she walked back towards him, “I won’t turn down my chance to take a peek at your booze stash. Are you a basic beer guy?” It was better to talk than let the silence linger, so Mitte’s imagination didn’t run away with her as they approached his door. “Maybe some indie IPA stuff? Or maybe you drink scotch- hey, a nice botanical gin? No judgement.” 

When they got inside Mitte slid her bag off her shoulder, leaving it- and the mobile phone inside- swinging from one of his coat-hooks. She didn’t take off her shoes though. “Come on, the suspense is killing me!” 

KRISTOFF

Kristoff wasn’t even really sure what he meant when he said it. The look on Mitte’s face, the way she bit her lip against a smile, made him think that she had seen something in his words that he hadn’t. Or maybe he had. Maybe he knew exactly what he was inviting her up for, and it wasn’t just a drink to make her late to a date with a boring old sod, but his brain just didn’t want to admit it. Because admitting that he meant more than just a quick drink would mean admitting that he had thrown all professionalism out the window, and it felt like that was a bridge that, when crossed, would be very difficult to get back over again.

He was doing his best not to think about it. He hid a smile when she took him up on the offer, holding the door open for her so she could come inside and back up to the apartment. He didn’t need to say much, because she was more than happy to fill the silence - all he did was give the odd noncommittal hum here and there, suggesting where she might be on the right lines and where she might be wrong.

He shrugged out of his jacket once they got inside, hanging it up beside her bag. Kristoff gave a soft, almost put-upon sounding sigh and then gestured for her to follow him to the kitchen. He went to the cupboard next to the sink, opening it to reveal a cocktail bar of opened bottles – if she could think of it, it was probably in there. “I get a bottle of something-or-other pretty much every christmas from the area manager,” He explained, a little sheepish. “But I never really open any of it, so… take your pick.”

MITTE

Obviously, the laundry list of fantasies Mitte had entertained where she and Kristoff were concerned was extensive, and yes, several of them started exactly like this. Just one drink. She refused to let her mind wander down that path right now though. It would just be plain disrespectful to Kristoff, and she liked to think they were friends. Part of her hated that, hated seeing him see right through her every day, hated having to work so hard not to look at him all moony-eyed, hated how she’d bring up dates and he would just roll his eyes and tell her to have fun. 

Except he wasn’t doing that now. He was telling her to stay. Mitte had caught him checking her out a little bit earlier in their day, but she wasn’t going to assume anything off of that; he was a guy, she was a hot chick in a little dress. It happened. Hell, she was going to do it now that he’d taken his jacket off again. God, she wanted to kiss those arms. Mitte followed him to the kitchen instead, her jaw going slack at the grand reveal of his liquor cabinet. “Holy shit.” She laughed, placing one palm flat on his kitchen counter so she could balance on her tiptoes to reach up and rifle through the collection. 

There was no way Kristoff remembered her CV well enough to know she’d been a bartender at a classy cocktail joint in Spain one summer a few years back, and there was one drink they’d had on the menu that she’d been obsessed with since. Problem was you needed a really nice bourbon for it to work… “Aha!” Mitte pulled a bottle of Mitcher from the corner and set it on the counter, “do you have an orange?” She asked, still pawing through the cupboard for the second ingredient she needed, “and ice? And like, blueberries would be great but it works without them.” 

Once Kristoff had pulled together the rest of what she needed and grabbed a couple of nice glasses from his shelf- and Mitte had shamelessly stared at the muscles of his back while he did- she set to work making their drinks. It wasn’t complicated; a little orange, some sweet martini, the bourbon. “I drank more of these than I did water when I was in Spain, I think. But the guy who ran the bar was rich as all hell and didn’t really give a fuck if you were helping yourself to booze on shift. ” She chattered as she worked, slicing two delicate pieces of orange peel and twisting them before setting them in the glasses, the muscle memory making it easy. “I can’t remember what it’s called, but it’s good.” She handed him one of the glasses and clinked them together before taking a sip, leaning against his counter with a satisfied sigh. “Damn, I need to start buying nice bourbon. You think Roberts will give me a raise if I put out?” 

KRISTOFF

Kristoff wasn’t much of a drinker, not really, but he had done a lot of things today that he didn’t normally do, so why not? He had invited Mitte up here for just that, knowing fine well that he couldn’t make anything more complicated than a spirit and a mixer. He could recall, from somewhere deep in the recesses of his memory, that Mitte had some bar-tending experience. Or maybe she just seemed like the type so he had kind of expected it from her. Either way, he wasn’t surprised when she started bossing him about; he did as he was told, fetching this thing and that thing until she put a drink in his hand.

He took a tentative sip, his eyebrows arching as he realised how good it was. He wasn’t surprised that she had spent time abroad, but he was surprised that this drink tasted good and not just like a lot of alcohol in a very small glass. 

He looked over at her at the mention of Roberts and he grimaced, taking another sip. “You’re still gonna meet him tonight?” He asked, folding his arms across his chest as best he could with a drink in one hand.

MITTE

Mitte was relieved he liked the drink. It was just alcohol, so people could be wary, but the sweet martini really made it pleasant. But then his face changed, and she worried Kristoff’s brain had caught up with his mouth and he was gonna make some comment that distanced them again. But he didn't. Any displeasure she heard colouring his tone must have been her imagination, but that wasn't enough to stop her from flushing even at the idea, and it was far too soon to blame red cheeks on the booze. There was no way Kristoff meant that how it sounded. He just meant– Roberts was boring. They both knew that. Still, clearly he was even more clueless than she thought and Mitte was going to have to point out just how close to provocative his words were. 

“It did not even take you ten minutes.” Mitte said, her voice heavy with a flirty kind of sarcasm as she shifted to lean one hip against the counter and face Kristoff. She took another sip of her drink, but then her smile faltered a bit. “I have to, or he’ll get all mardy with you.” The reminder was soft, like she didn’t really want him to remember, but he had to. If Kristoff was implying what it sounded like he was- and to be fair, he probably wasn’t- one night or some silly fling with her wasn’t worth the sort of suffering that her pissing off Roberts would burden him with. 

Because Mitte was in love with him. What did Kate Winslet say in The Holiday? What about those of us who fall in love alone?

Mitte had been well practised at leaving for a long time. And being left. But one thing she’d realised recently; that wasn’t the secret to a good life. So she was determined not to let this madness drive her out of town. She was also determined not to wind up in Kristoff’s bed tonight… But that one might be harder to see through. 

Her gaze dropped to the flexing muscles of his arms as Kristoff folded them across his chest. Goddamnit, he should not have picked the Queen t-shirt. He looked way too hot. And she’d probably missed her chance to show him the tattoo on her neck. “Unless…” Mitte hums, her eyes moving slowly back up to his face as she takes another sip of her drink, “a better offer comes along, and I decide to screw you over.” 

KRISTOFF

Kristoff spluttered a little. He hadn’t realised how that had sounded until she pointed it out. He wasn’t trying to— he really had just invited her up for a quick drink. He thought. To be honest now he wasn’t sure but that wasn’t at all the point.

Kristoff just didn’t want her to feel like she had to do anything on his behalf, especially with Roberts. He could handle whatever the fall out was from Mitte deciding she had better things to do tonight — whatever those things were. He wasn’t making assumptions. He had been at the company for a while, they knew what an asset he was. He wasn’t going to lose his job over whatever this whole thing had been.

(He wasn’t quite at the stage yet where the thought of losing his job didn’t fill him with dread. It was a boring job, sure, but he still had to pay the bills.)

He was blushing now, a little because of the drink but mostly because of her insinuation. Insinuations that had him doing a lot of thinking that he probably shouldn’t be thinking. “I’m just saying you don’t have to go out with him on my account. I’m a big boy, I can handle it.”

MITTE 

Kristoff was not making it easy to just be his friend. Because Mitte– she knew what she was doing. She knew even as red faced as he was right now he was still a guy and it wouldn't take that much effort on her part to turn off his higher thinking and fall into bed with him. But goddammit, for once, that wasn't the only thing she wanted out of a man. 

The most ridiculous, oblivious, wonderful man. 

She didn't just want one night. And Kristoff clearly wasn't interested regardless, so the smart thing to do would be finish her drink as fast as possible and leave. Go get ready to meet Roberts. Get drunk, let him feel her up on her doorstep. 

Kristoff made another remark with oh so many flirtatious possibilities, and Mitte pressed her lips together. This wasn't fair. This whole thing had been an awful idea. Seeing him outside of work? Seeing his apartment, what he looked like when he wasn't wearing geeky glasses and ill fitting suits. It made her heart clench in her chest. 

"You're doing it again." Mitte pointed out, her voice a touch strangled. She cleared her throat and slipped her drink. "I don't know how I'm supposed to respond to 'I can handle it' in a way that doesn't allude to your-" She did the smart thing and decided not to finish that sentence. She didn't want to lose her job because Kristoff couldn't look her in the eye. She flirted with him all the time at work, so it wasn't like it would have been out of character, but something about it felt… Different. Here in his home, with his bedroom just behind a door. "It's free food." Mitte pointed out, though even to her own ears the argument sounded weak. "I might as well charm Roberts for a couple of hours. It's not like I actually have any other offers for the evening." 

KRISTOFF

Kristoff was glad she didn’t finish that sentence because he wasn’t sure what would happen to him if anymore blood rushed to his head. He hadn’t meant it that way— had he? Kristoff had never flirted before. Was he flirting? Was he flirting without even knowing about it? 

He wanted to. This was the realisation that came to him as he looked at Mitte, who wouldn’t meet his eyes anymore. Mitte had always been flirty, Kristoff was surprised she hadn’t already made a bunch of innuendos and tried to cart him off down the hallway to his bedroom. They were already here, in his house. Drinking. After having spent a whole day doing things they shouldn’t. And yet, she was… holding back.

Kristoff was glad. Not because he didn’t want that — want her. But because it gave him the space to realise that actually, yeah. He did want her. And his subconscious had been trying to do something about it without the rest of him even knowing. 

All he had to do now was be brave, which he’d been doing all day, so. Why stop now?

“Stay here.” That was her other offer. Hopefully the better of the two. He knocked back the rest of his drink and set the glass on the kitchen counter, crossing the kitchen before he could doubt himself, raising one hand to curl a finger under her chin, lifting her face to look at him. “But only if you want to.”

MITTE

Stay here. Two incredibly simple words, but Mitte’s determination not to have sex with her boss crumbled under the weight of them immediately. Her resolve hadn’t been particularly strong, in fairness. For a split second she tried to convince herself that he just meant it in some friendly way; stay here and order pizza and watch shitty tv with me instead, since we’ve already spent the better part of the day acting like teenagers skipping school. 

Her gaze had been flitting about his kitchen- trying to stay distracted- but Kristoff stole her focus back with both his words and actions, so all Mitte could do was blink up at him, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as she processed what he was saying. That simply had to be intentional. There was no way he could say that without knowing exactly what he was saying. No way he could touch her like that and not know that wasn’t how friends or work colleagues touched each other. She felt her face heat up, desire stirring low in her gut. Only if she wanted to. 

Mitte’s eyes dropped to his mouth. So close, Kristoff was so close. If she popped up onto her tiptoes and he leaned in a bit they could be kissing. She could slide her hands up his well-muscled shoulders and into his hair and he could wrap his arms around her waist and hold her to him and they could be kissing. Until they were breathless. Until he forgot what being sensible was. 

“I want to.” She told Kristoff in a rush, not sure how long she’d just been silently staring up at him while her cheeks went red and she imagined how soft his mouth was. Why was she imagining? She could find out. So Mitte did step onto her tiptoes, hands sliding into his hair and pulling his face towards hers slowly, giving Kristoff ample time to stop her if somehow this had been a miscommunication. But he didn’t, “I want you.” Mitte clarified, as if it was necessary, just before finally sliding her mouth over his. 

How long they stand there kissing for she isn’t sure, but it’s hardly important, and she only stops when the unfortunate need for oxygen begins to override the want to make out. Even then Mitte doesn’t go far, one of her hands still curled in Kristoff’s hair while the other rests on his chest. “But, y’know…” She starts slowly, fluttering her lashes at him a bit, “I was promised a free dinner with Roberts.” Her smile turns coy, “are you gonna feed me?” And yeah, Mitte knows how that sounds. Now that he’s started it, she kind of wants to see if Kristoff can keep up.

KRISTOFF

Kristoff thought that had been sort of smooth – where it had come from he’d had absolutely no idea, but it had worked, so he was going to follow whatever instinct had led him there. There was a part of him, the last rational part of his mind maybe, or the part that was still clinging to the idea of professionalism, that told him they really shouldn’t. He was her supervisor – it was totally inappropriate.

But then Mitte tangled her hands in his hair, and Kristoff decided he didn’t really care whether or not it was inappropriate. He didn’t stop her from pulling his face down to meet hers. He went willingly, his fingers gliding along her jaw until his hand could cup her cheek, the other moving to her waist, holding her tightly. He didn’t notice the time passing, really. Too busy caught up in the scent of her perfume, the taste of alcohol on her tongue. When she pulled back he shifted just a little, settling both his hands on her waist now. He laughed at her comment, low and a little breathless. He felt kind of drunk, but it was nothing to do with the drink she’d made them. 

“You’re incorrigible,” He told her, tilting his head so he could press a kiss to the corner of her mouth, laying a trail of them across her jaw, down her throat. Kristoff wasn’t very good at this stuff, but he could give it a go. He had been trying new things all day, after all. “What if I said no?” He asked, as he reached the slope of her neck. “What if I said not unless you ask nicely?”

MITTE

She knew by heart all the reasons this was a bad idea. But Mitte was going to hit the accelerator anyway, with her fingers crossed and her heart braced for a crash. That was pretty much the manner in which she approached all her bad ideas; careening towards them with little concern for the potential fall-out. Sometimes things ended terribly (see the scar running up the side of her waist from a drunken tree climbing incident) but sometimes miracles happened, and the man you loved was clutching your waist and kissing you and he tasted like bourbon and his hair was soft. 

She made Kristoff laugh. Which she’d done before, but this one was low and sexy and she’d never heard it before and it made her tingle all the way down to her toes. Incorrigible. Yes. Mitte meant to reply, something along the lines of how he certainly had to have been well aware of that long before today, but he started pressing kisses down her neck and her mind went blank, her hand curling tighter in his hair as she sucked in a sharp breath and let her head fall back.

It was quickly becoming clear that all the spluttering and inarticulate responses Mitte got out of him in the office were a problem more of time and location than Kristoff not being able flirt, and she felt a bit like she’d been tricked. Not that she minded at all. “I can ask so nicely.” She said, her voice breathy. But he didn’t get to have all the fun.  “I’m really nice on my knees…” Mitte made the promise as her hand drifted down Kristoff’s chest, stopping when she reached the waistband of his jeans. 

KRISTOFF

Frankly, Kristoff was starting to realise a lot of things. First of all, maybe he could flirt. It certainly seemed to be working. He hadn’t embarrassed himself… yet. Though it was still a distinct possibility. And secondly, maybe he had managed to convince himself that he didn’t feel anything for Mitte whilst they were at work, but that didn’t mean it was true. 

His breath caught in his throat as her hands wandered lower, stopping just short of what he had expected of her. Mitte had spent months wearing mini skirts to work and batting her eyelashes at him from his desk, so he shouldn’t have been surprised she could be a tease when she wanted to be, but he’d still thought she’d be a little more commandeering than she was. Unless that was just her playing some kind of game, trying to suss him out. Kristoff didn’t really mind either way. 

He stood up a little straighter, pulling his lips from her neck so he could look at her, meet her gaze. “Show me.” He said, and though he was unsure of where the words even came from he posed them as a challenge, wondering how long she’d tease for if he let her.

MITTE

He was going to have to keep wearing the glasses at work, or Mitte truly would not be able to get anything done. Whenever he looked at her to give her a task she'd just remember this moment, Kristoff once again showing off how effectively he could cut away at Mitte's attempts to be sensible. Just two words. 

It would be worth it. If Mitte got fired or Kristoff's eyes slid past her at work tomorrow as if this had never happened, just hearing him say that was worth it. The words sent a hot thrill straight down her spine.

Mitte was normally more bold with her actions, especially in this context, but she'd been trying to take things a little slower at least so she didn't spook the guy she couldn't even convince to order Thai food yesterday. But if Kristoff wanted a demonstration of just how nice she could be… she was more than happy to oblige. 

With a wicked smile Mitte leaned in to press a kiss by his ear. "Please?" She murmured, shifting back only far enough to drop to her knees, staring up at him while her hands played along his waistband still, toying with the button. "Pretty please, Kristoff?" Her fingers made quick work of the button and zipper, and Mitte hooked her thumbs into the belt loops, ready to pull the jeans down if Kristoff allowed it. "Are you going to feed me?" She asked, voice sweet like honey as she gazed steadily at him, her tongue darting out to wet her lips.

Her gaze dropped from his face, and she tugged on his jeans just enough that they were hanging low on his hips, exposing the edge of his boxers and a thin strip of skin above them. She leaned forward and pressed a kiss there, and then traced her tongue along the exposed curve of his hip bone. Mitte could've kept going, she was sure, but despite technically being her boss Kristoff didn't tend to get all that bossy- or maybe she had a hard time taking him seriously in the office- and she liked it. Wanted to know how much she could tease before that control snapped. Plus, she was still trying to figure out the boundary here. How fast was too fast? So Mitte flicked her eyes back up to him, waiting.

KRISTOFF

He had been half hard since that first kiss turned into a lazy makeout session but seeing Mitte like that, on her knees in front of him, her round, dark eyes peering up at him from beneath her lashes – he hadn’t really counted on how strong an effect it was going to have on him. When they had been in the office and she had flirted, he had found it easy to resist; he was her boss, they were at work, he couldn’t, and he wouldn’t, get caught up in whatever game she was trying to play. But here it was different. The light in the kitchen was dim enough for it to feel intimate, and he’d spent all day learning that Mitte was a lot more than the persona she projected at work. Or rather, he was just recognising that for the first time. Either way, it changed things. 

And Kristoff wasn’t a naturally bossy person. He’d gotten the supervisor role because he was a hard worker and he put the hours in, not really because he was particularly authoritarian, but if that was what Mitte wanted… well. He could try his best. And to be honest, if he kept on letting his subconscious do the talking, it wasn’t even that difficult. 

“Don’t act coy,” He warned her, his voice lower and gruffer than even he had expected it would sound. He reached a hand down to push the hair out of her face, fingers returning to that spot under her chin to tilt her head back just a little bit more. “I know you know what you’re doing.” He added, his hand moving up, until he could run the pad of his thumb over her lower lip. “Show me.” He said again, more authority in his tone this time, looking down at her expectantly.

MITTE

Oh. Shit. 

This was hot. This was so hot. This was the hottest mistake she was ever going to make. Forget hitting the accelerator, Mitte was cutting the breaks and taking her hands off the wheel. 

If Kristoff wasn't behaving, she sure as well wasn't going to. Mitte's heart hammered in her chest and the change in his voice went immediately south, her whole body arching up as his hand guided her. Every rebellious cell in her DNA snapped to attention, and she made a soft, needy sound as his thumb traced her mouth. 

She would show him. She gave Kristoff's jeans another tug and pulled them down to his ankles, and while he kicked them off Mitte snagged a hair tie off her wrist, making quick work of twisting her hair up into a bun on the back of her head. A few shorter strands were left out, to frame her face. Yes, she did know what she was doing. 

Removing his boxers was a slower motion, simply because she wanted it to be. Her hands trailed slowly back up his legs, then she looked back up at Kristoff and stuck out her tongue, licking a wet line from the bend of her wrist right up to the tips of her fingers.

Her gaze dropped just long enough for Mitte to wrap her hand around the hard length of him and slide it upwards, running her thumb across the head before setting a smooth, slow rhythm. She looked back at Kristoff's face, the column of his neck and the set of his shoulders. He really was so beautiful, especially like this.

Mitte watched him for a while and then leaned forward, her tongue circling as she wrapped her mouth around his cock. It took over for the movements of her hand, which curved around Kristoff's hip so she could steady herself and take him deeper.  

KRISTOFF

He held her gaze as her tongue moved over her skin, a promise of what was to come, and he found he couldn���t look away. He felt like he sort of understood those old stories about sirens, about beautiful women who lured unsuspecting men into trouble. Kristoff didn’t know if he was in trouble, exactly, but he did know that Mitte looked even more beautiful like that, with that hungry look in her eye and the coy smile on her lips.

The pace she set with her hand was slow enough as to be torturous, but maybe easing into things was for the best. Kristoff had only told her to show him what she could do, he never said she had to do it quickly. He gripped the edge of the kitchen counter in front of him, anchoring himself there. Good job it was made of strong stuff — when Mitte pulled his cock into her mouth his grip tightened, knuckles turning white. “Fuck,” he groaned, his voice still low, gravelly. His other hand went to her hair, fingers tangling themselves in amongst the dark strands, though he didn’t pull. Another promise — he had given her a little direction before. He could do it again, if she wanted him to.

MITTE 

Control was a funny thing, wasn't it? Kristoff couldn't tear his eyes off her. For all that Mitte was on her knees doing as she was told, for as wildly out of control as all this made her feel, she had him. His undivided attention, even if only for this moment. Just like she wanted. 

Kristoff certainly seemed happy enough with her attention, if the tensing of his muscles and single groaned expletive was to be trusted. In her experience men found it pretty difficult to lie in this scenario, so Mitte was satisfied. She wanted to pinch herself, to make sure this wasn't one of her silly fantasies. Admittedly oral in his kitchen wasn't exactly the wildest of dreams, but it skirted around the edge of both the sexy and the more domestic scenarios she'd thought up. 

Kristoff's hand slid into her hair and he waited for her to say yes again, and Mitte felt hot enough to combust. She looked up at him and gave the smallest nod, just a gentle dip of her chin- anything too enthusiastic could put teeth where he didn't want them- and squeezed his hip. Yes yes yes Mitte said, pulling back enough to swirl her tongue around the head of his cock. 

KRISTOFF

No, he couldn’t take his eyes off her. To be honest, he didn’t think he was ever going to get this image out of his mind for as long as he lived. Mitte, on her knees, her lips stretched around his cock, would be burned on the inside of his eyelids for eternity. And he wasn’t complaining, but it was probably going to make work a little more difficult. He shouldn’t be thinking about work right now – it was certainly easy to stop thinking about it. Mitte looked up at him, a pleading sort of look in her eyes, and Kristoff let instinct take over again.

He groaned with the flick of her tongue and the hand in Mitte’s hair tightened, nails scratching at her scalp a little as he pulled. He kept her where she was for a moment, letting the anticipation build before he guided her forward, forcing his cock further down her throat. Again he paused, holding her there for a few seconds before he moved his hand again, guiding her in a steady rhythm. “Fuck, that’s it,” He groaned, eyes screwing shut. “Good girl.”

MITTE 

This was the part she was good at. Mitte could make herself unforgettable with the motions of her mouth. She could make men sweat and moan and offer up all sorts for the pleasure of her tongue. It wouldn't make Kristoff love her, but it could make him want her again.

She followed the guide of his hand, relaxing her throat to let him in deeper as he pushed, watching it all play out across his face. The clenching muscles of his jaw, the tension in his neck. Mitte had been called all sorts of things by all sorts of men, but good girl was not common- surprising no one, she was usually a touch brattier and more controlling than this- but hearing it from Kristoff now, seeing his eyes closed as he lost himself… It made her feel positively needy. Mitte moaned around him, aching with want. 

Mitte's free hand slid up her dress, fingers working soft circles at the apex of her thighs to relieve some of that pressure and heat, trying to match the pace he'd set for her mouth. It did little to alleviate the building desire, and another, more frustrated sound vibrated in her throat as the pleasure made her eyelids flutter. 

KRISTOFF

The noises Mitte made, the way she hummed around his cock, sounding needier and softer than Kristoff had ever expected of her, only pushed him further towards the edge, heat pooling in his stomach. It was all too easy to give in to his own desire, something he rarely, if ever did, and it would be even easier to simply keep going, setting the pace with his hand in Mitte’s hair until he came down her throat. 

But then he looked down at Mitte, at the flush in her cheeks, and the frustrated look in her eye, and her free hand, disappearing up beneath her dress. Yes, it would be easy to keep going, but Kristoff had never been an especially selfish person. 

He used the hand in his hair to pull her backwards until his cock fell from her mouth, her lips still parted. “Up.” He told her, his voice still ragged. He reached down, hands under her arms so he could lift her up, not just to her feet but up onto the kitchen counter in front of him. He pushed her dress up her thighs, pressing his forehead to hers as he looked down, strangely not at all surprised by the lacy panties she was wearing. He pressed his thumb over her clit through the fabric, rubbing slow circles, the rest of his hand resting on her thigh. “These your everyday panties?” He asked, half teasing, half genuinely curious.

MITTE 

When Kristoff pulled her all the way back Mitte looked up at him, eyes wide and jaw slack. For a fleeting second she thought he'd come to his senses and was going to cut the fun short. But she started to move to her feet anyway when he told her to, giving a surprised little squeal as Kristoff hauled her up and set her down on his countertop so they were face to face. 

His hands were warm on her thighs, and the way he pressed their foreheads together felt intimate- in a way far more tender than what she'd just been doing. But her focus was quickly torn from that tenderness because Kristoff was touching her. A low, breathless moan slipped from Mitte’s mouth, her hands curling around the edge of the countertop. She only looked down for a moment at where his thumb was circling, and his pace was the maddening kind of slow, like she had used to tease him. It made her tingle all over, her hips twitching under his hand. More, It all said but rather than ramping up Kristoff decided it was the perfect time for some light chatter. If he had not chosen a topic like her panties Mitte would not have indulged it. 

As it was, she was too distracted to be anything but honest in response, her voice coming out a touch strangled even as she tried to put on a more unaffected air. “Yes. Well, no- sort of.” the garbled response would’ve thwarted her attempt at indifference, anyway. But that was alright- she didn’t really want Kristoff to think she was totally collected right now. “I have sensible ones for work.” Mitte told him, her mouth turning up into an amused smile, because certainly they were the only sensible thing she wore in the office. “But outside of that…” Mitte’s smile morphed into something flirtier, “if you’re trying to imagine me in my panties, these are a safe bet.” 

KRISTOFF

He felt miraculously clear-headed for someone who was still so hard it was almost painful, but it was a giddy kind of clarity, like reaching the top of a rollercoaster and being able to see for miles around. He couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at the edges of his mouth as Mitte fumbled her words for a second – usually it was him stumbling and stammering. It was kind of a nice change, and strangely comforting to know that Mitte could be thrown off balance too. 

Not that it lasted. Whilst she smiled, all sweet and coy, talking about him imagining her in her underwear (which, yeah, he probably would, he was only human), he was devising a way to make her moan again like she had before. He pressed a little more fimly, increasing the pressure before running his thumb down the length of the fabric and then back up again. He nodded a little, pulling back from her a little to do so though they were still so close, his breath mingling with hers in the already small kitchen. 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He murmured, that half-smirk still lingering as he pushed her panties to the side. He was almost as desperate to touch her as he had been for her to touch him, but he settled a hand on either thigh instead, just waiting. There was something about seeing her so needy – he wanted to see it again. “Though I think I’d be happy enough imagining you out of them, too.”

MITTE 

Her whole body went rigid for a moment as Kristoff decided to tease Mitte further, and when she relaxed again the world beyond his body- his goddamn hand, always pushing his glasses up his nose and now pressing against her- felt dim and unimportant. She did moan again, her bolder facade turning easily to dust under his attention. Mitte resisted the urge to close her eyes because the expression on his face was so hot, but she really had to focus to catch what he was saying over the sound of her own heartbeat thudding in her ears.

He was being cocky again. After Mitte had been so well behaved, too. She pouted when Kristoff put a pause on her pleasure, his mouth going on like his hands hadn't been making promises mere seconds ago. She wriggled her hips and huffed.

Kristoff's casual admission about imagining her with no panties brought a fresh flood of colour to her cheeks, and Mitte blinked, imagining him as he imagined her. In his shower with one arm braced against the wall, in bed at night when he couldn’t sleep, in the office when he caught a glimpse of her thighs as she crossed her legs. Yes. She wanted him to think about her. "...Be my guest." She managed to say, though it was decidedly lacking in bite. She didn't care. 

Asking nicely had worked out so well before… and she was impatient with want. He couldn’t touch her like that and then just stop. Her entire body was humming, arching towards him, her hands slid into Kristoff's hair, pulling him forward to kiss him hungrily. "Please." Mitte said against his lips, letting all that softness and want leak back into her voice for him, certainly not above a bit of a needy display if it got her what she wanted. She kissed a trail up to his ear. "Touch me." 

KRISTOFF

To be honest, his resolve crumbled the very second Mitte slipped her hands into his hair. There was something about the way her nails scratched against his scalp and the force with which she kissed him that knocked that cocksure attitude right out of him. He wasn’t entirely sure who was playing who, here — whether he was playing the role of someone with authority or whether she was playing the role of someone demure enough to bow to it, but he didn’t mind either way.

His grip tightened as she peppered him with kisses, fingers digging into the skin of her thighs. Not enough to leave a mark, though it did make him wonder what she would think about that— what it would be like in the office tomorrow, seeing glimpses of kisses sucked into her neck, reminders of the way he’d touched her…

He wasn’t about to get distracted. He moved one hand between her legs, moving slowly, his touch feather-light as he grazed the pad of his thumb over her clit, circling the same as he had before. “Like this?” He asked, only half teasing.

MITTE 

Her heart was beating so hard Mitte was surprised it hadn't cracked through her ribcage. She was really sitting on Kristoff's kitchen counter, pressing kisses across his face and jaw whilst his hands dug into her thighs like he was desperate for her. There had been no grand plot to seduce him- at least, not today- she hadn't even been certain he would agree to skip work with her. But here they were and god, Mitte would give up a lot to live in this moment.

Her hands gripped tighter in his hair when Krisroff finally pressed his thumb against bare skin, the new sensation sending a jolt of pleasure shooting straight through her. "Kristoff…" Mitte pleaded into his skin, voice cut through with both pleasure and frustration as her hips rocked forward against his hand. Not enough and too much all at once. "More." She breathed against his ear, her head dropping to the crook of his neck so her mouth could explore further, kissing and nipping at his skin. 

KRISTOFF

To be fair, Kristoff hadn’t expected today to end with himself between Mitte’s thighs whilst she was sat up on his kitchen counter either. In fact, he hadn’t expected any day to end like that. He wasn’t really sure who he was right now (if this was a side to himself that Mitte had managed to dig out or if being around Mitte made him act this way in some bid to… impress her?) but he wasn’t complaining. He wasn’t complaining about how breathless she sounded, or the kisses she pressed into his skin, making it almost hard to focus.

Kristoff turned his head, his nose nudging Mitte’s cheek until she pulled up enough for him to catch her lips in another searing kiss. His free hand travelled from her thigh to her hip, holding her in place as he slipped one long finger inside of her, teeth biting at her lower lip.

MITTE 

Kristoff thought he wasn't bossy, but Mitte knew different. She watched him at work. He gave orders, he controlled the team. True, his authority wasn't particularly overt; Kristoff didn't yell or swagger about, he didn't impose. He didn't need to. People respected Kristoff for who he was. So his authority could be kind and well mannered. (It could be an invite for a drink, or an offer to stay if she wanted to.) It was enough that he'd wrangled Mitte, somewhat, even before she'd fallen for him. Her outfits had gotten more consistently sensible- that was, only bending office wear codes rather than breaking them- over time. These days she usually only crossed that particular line when she wanted Kristoff to give her That Look. The one that said be good. 

He had Mitte very well behaved now, but not well enough to stop her from trying to greedily push her hips against the grip of his hand. It was a one two punch of sensation up and down her body that pulled a whimper from her throat as her head tipped back. He was clearly determined to draw out her torture. At this rate she'd be a boneless mess on his kitchen counter before she'd even gotten his t-shirt off.

"Kristoff-f-fuck." Her eyes fluttered shut. If Kristoff kept teasing, she'd probably explode. "Please." Mitte said again, sliding her hands down to grip at his shoulders and keep her upright. "Please. I want you to-" She sucked in a breath, trying to organise her thoughts enough to articulate them. "I want you." 

KRISTOFF

It was very tempting to give into her demands there and then. It would be so easy to just pull her forwards, move her hips closer to the edge of the counter so he could slip into her. Hold her up, even, wrap his arms around her slim waist and hold her against him whilst he carried her somewhere a little more comfortable. Maybe not the bedroom (too far away), but the sofa could do. He wanted to give her whatever she wanted, especially if she kept making noises like that.

Instead he slipped another finger in alongside the first, fucking her with them slowly whilst he took advantage of the arch of her neck. He kissed and bit his way over her skin as his hand worked, lips travelling down her throat, settling over her collarbone until he gave into an earlier urge, sucking a dark mark into her pale skin. He pulled back just enough to look at it, pleased with his work, before his lips found hers again.

“Not yet,” He told her, his lips brushing hers as he spoke. “You’re still way too dressed.”

MITTE 

Mitte gave a strangled moan as Kristoff's mouth and hand worked together to push her closer to the edge, her nails digging into his shoulders when he marked her skin. Like he wanted her to see it in the mirror and remember him for the next few days. Christ, as if she was ever going to forget this. Her whole body burned with want and she writhed under him, breathing hard. 

She frowned at his refusal, but her expression dissolved back into slack-jawed pleasure with the next thrust of his fingers and her hips rocked harder against him. Too dressed? Not technically true, which meant Kristoff wanted to do more than just bury his face in her neck and fuck her right now. (Which she would let him do.) He wanted to see her naked. A little thrill ran down her spine, making her feel bold. Mitte's hands dropped to the hem of his t-shirt and she finally pulled it off him. It slipped out of her grip and onto the kitchen floor. 

Her hands roamed up his toned chest, and she hummed softly, gaze taking the same journey. It didn't surprise her to see the same sort of muscle definition here as in his arms, lean but strong. Kristoff definitely worked out. It was going to be a shame to see this body all hidden under a terrible suit tomorrow. Probably for the best that his work attire wasn’t particularly appealing though, since she had a hard enough time keeping her hands to herself as it was. 

Mitte kissed him, nipping at his lower lip as she pulled away, still mapping the muscles of his body under her fingers. "Fucking undress me, then." She said against his mouth, voice pitched low but still shaky with desire. Closer to a plea than a command. 

KRISTOFF

He helped her manoeuvre his t-shirt up and over his head, returning swiftly to his work once it had fallen to the floor, lips now travelling down the other side of her neck, biting and sucking softly as he went. He was so focused on Mitte, the sounds she was making and the taste of her skin, that he didn’t really have the bandwidth to feel self conscious like he probably would have, under normal circumstances. He shivered as her fingers moved over bare skin, muscles tightening involuntarily for just a second before he relaxed, pulling back to look at her again.

“You’re the boss.” He said, with a smirk that quickly broke into a grin as he reached for the hem of her dress. He caught her lips in one more kiss before he lifted it over her head, his movements careful, if a bit rushed. He wanted the dress off, but he didn’t want to damage it. 

For a second he paused, his hands finding her hips again, fingers splayed to cover as much of her skin as he could. There was an urgency under his skin, telling him to hurry up, but he didn’t want to rush. “Fuck, you’re perfect,” he breathed, his hands travelling upward, over the curve of her hips, over her ribcage, before shifting to her back. His fingers found the clasp of her bra, but he didn’t do anything just yet, meeting her gaze in silent question.

MITTE 

Months of trying her hardest not to imagine what Kristoff looked like naked and now it was the image that would be burned on the back of her eyelids every time she blinked. Every time his mouth twitched she’d feel it against her neck. Every other cheesy joke he made in the office was going to remind her of him saying you’re the boss before he kissed her and slid her dress off over her head. 

You’re perfect. Said breathlessly, and without preamble. Without advantage, too, since Mitte was clearly already willing and eager. Her breath caught in her throat, and for a moment the burning hot tempest of her blood calmed, soft and warmed enough still to bring a fresh blush of colour to Mitte’s cheeks. And Kristoff was looking right at her, his eyes steady, and she was blushing and wondering why the hell he’d stopped moving and– Oh, right. He wanted to take her bra off. He was waiting. Still. Asking for permission. The sound that escaped Mitte’s mouth when she realised that was hopelessly needy as she leaned into him, but honestly at this point she couldn’t care less. 

Now, after having them for three years, Mitte thought it was reasonable to sometimes forget she even had her nipples pierced. But this was super late in the game to recall that particular fact. Kristoff was about to see them. A cheeky grin stole her face. Even accidental mischief was worth savouring, and she was sure Kristoff's reaction would be fun to watch now that his inhibitions had lowered. "Take it off." Mitte encouraged, almost expectant. 

KRISTOFF

For a second, Mitte’s smile made him worried. What exactly was he getting himself into here, for her to be grinning like that? But then he thought that, whatever it was, it couldn’t be too bad. He was about to take her bra off – when had anything bad ever come from taking a woman’s bra off? He leaned in closer to her again, lips finding hers once more, because how could he not kiss her if he was going to be so close? He undid the clasp at the back, letting the fabric fall away. He shifted, breaking the kiss so he could focus on pushing the straps down her shoulders, until the bra could join the rest of their clothes on the floor. If he thought she was perfect before he could only think she was more so now, his eyes trailing down her body, until he saw the metal, glinting in the low light of the kitchen. Kristoff inhaled sharply, one hand settling on her waist, the other cupping her breast, thumb brushing the piercing. For a good few seconds, he didn’t really have any thoughts at all. God, she was hot. He’d kept her at arms length for so long, and right now, he was really struggling to understand why. “You–” He huffed, shook his head. “You’re something else.”

MITTE

A shiver chased down Mitte’s spine as the last of her skin was exposed to the cool air of the kitchen– technically she still had her panties on, but the way Kristoff had pushed them aside earlier to toy with her had rendered them little more than lacy accents across her hips– and she watched with rapt attention as his gaze danced lower across her chest, catching what had her so excited.

She liked that his first impulse was to touch it. Her head tipped back again as the soft pad of his thumb teased that sensitive spot and she hummed low in her throat, toes curling and chest arching up into his hand. Kristoff’s silence stretched out and she wasn’t concerned about that as a reaction, but her body was hungry and impatient, skin still too hot. She was so goddamn in love with him and he was naked and she was just needy, desperate, aching. Suddenly the piercings were the worst idea ever, because they’d distracted Kristoff from his progress.

Still Mitte recovered enough to giggle, looping her arms around his neck and using him like an anchor to pull herself back up, “I like surprising you.” She murmured, their mouths almost brushing. Her eyes roll up to the ceiling for a moment, and she’s grinning again when she looks back at Kristoff, “as if that wasn’t obvious.” Her fingers traced idle patterns against the back of his neck and up into his hair. Mitte leaned in to kiss him again, and the tilt to her mouth was a bit more devious when she pulled back, “I think it’s your turn to surprise me, though.” Her legs pressed closer to his thighs and she started to slide them up his hips, “please.” It was a plea, said softly, just before pressing their mouths back together. 

KRISTOFF

Oh, Kristoff was well aware that Mitte liked surprising him. She was so very good at it, too. She managed to surprise him at least once a day just in their ordinary office setting but this, this whole day — he could never have seen this coming. None of it, from taking a sly day off work to ending up here, with Mitte in front of him, her legs bracketing his hips, his hands in her hair.

Kristoff thought he was being quite surprising today, though. Saying yes to this whole thing, inviting her up here, asking her to stay. All very surprising. But technically giving her exactly what she had asked for wasn’t a surprise, and though he was having a really hard time saying no when she was asking so sweetly, he thought he could still be surprising.

“Y’know, it’s not really a surprise if you ask for it.” He pointed out between kisses. He pulled her closer just a touch, moving her legs further around his waist, and with his arms secured around her back he lifted, carrying her out of the kitchen. It was a good job he knew his apartment so well - he was far too busy kissing Mitte to be paying attention to where he was going.

When he deposited her on the couch it was gentle, laying her out in front of him. He hooked his fingers around her panties so he could slide them off and throw them aside before he leaned down, kissing a trail down her neck and over her breasts, lathing his tongue over one of the piercings. 

MITTE 

Though he pointed out the issue with her plea Mitte was too busy kissing to protest his point, and she expected- foolishly, because what else tonight had gone as she'd expected- that Kristoff would take her right there on the kitchen counter. Which she wouldn't have had a problem with. Not particularly romantic for their first time together, but she'd definitely had sex in worse places. Frankly she was too worked up to care.

What she hadn't expected was to be laid out so sweetly. It made her heart stutter in her chest as he hovered above her, and Mitte squeezed her eyes shut again the rush of her emotions, trying to tamper them down. This had to mean something to Kristoff, didn't it? If all he wanted was to get off, he could've done that while he had Mitte on her knees. He could've fucked her by now, too. But he was in no rush to get her out of his system or out of his house. He was teasing out every bit of pleasure he could, toying with her, driving her stupid lovesick heart absolutely insane. 

She squirmed under his mouth as he set to work, her hands taking their chance to roam the muscles of his back and shoulders. 

Mitte’s eyes rolled back, her whole body going tense as her chest arched up towards the heat of his mouth. His tongue, swirling and tugging at that cool metal and making her twitch like she'd been shocked. She meant to say something, to urge him on with some dirty phrase, but all that escaped her mouth was a desperate sound; a whimper stuck somewhere between pleasure and torture. 

"Oh fuck." Mitte panted as she melted back into the sofa cushions. There was nothing to brace herself against here, so all she could do was let her body go the way it would, and the surrender was easy. Usually she put up more of a fight, but she didn’t want to now. She just wanted–  "fuck me, Kristoff." She groaned, nails digging into his back. The teasing was good, but God, Mitte had never been well known for her patience, and she'd waited months just for Kristoff to look at her for more than a few seconds. "I changed my mind. I hate surprises. Fuck. Me."

KRISTOFF

His answering smile was so wide he had to hide his face for a moment, resting his forehead against her stomach for a second before he looked up at her again, pressing his lips together to stave it off. He wasn’t even sure why, exactly. Something about the way she looked laid out beneath him, or how she bosses him around, or how this whole day had ended up here. 

He could’ve said something smart like he had just now, or joked about her being the boss and calling the shots, but he didn't. He pushed himself up a little higher on his hands, shifting until he could line himself up with her, pushing inside slowly, groaning softly at the feeling of her tight heat wrapped around his cock.

He paused once he was deep inside of her, leaning down to kiss her again, unable to help himself. “Fuck, Mitte,” he groaned, barely above a whisper as he buried his face in her neck, finding the spots he’d marked before. He might have said no, but he was having trouble articulating his thoughts right now. It was a lot easier to focus on the taste of her skin, the feeling of her beneath and around him, and the lingering smell of her perfume.

MITTE

Mitte got a moment to try and catch her breath, but then Kristoff looked back up at her, his eyes hungry, and it was like all the oxygen got sucked out of the room again. What did she care for breathing, anyway. It seemed unimportant in the wake of her desire to feel him. Kiss him. Love him. 

There were no more jokes. Their heated breaths and pleasured sounds mingled in the otherwise quiet space, gazes locked. God, she was totally ruined wasn't she? Before now, as pathetically in love as she'd been, the impossibility of this whole thing had made it a bit easier to consider other relationships, but there wasn't a chance in hell of that now. 

Feeling Kristoff inside her, the way he said her name as their hips found a steady rhythm. Even if her brain hadn’t been completely scrambled by pleasure, Mitte did not care for words beyond the three she absolutely could not say right now. No quicker way to ruin sex than by saying I love you for the first time whilst he was inside you. So she couldn't say it but she felt it, a warmth- different to the desperate lust that still burned in her blood- spreading through her whole body. It wanted to consume her and she let it. 

Mitte moaned, her legs hitching higher around his hips, head thrown back against the cushions as she clung to him. Three words clawed at her throat, and Mitte– she couldn't ruin this. Wouldn't. "Harder." She gasped against his skin. Until she couldn't even speak. Yes. That would help. Less romantic, less gentle. She scratched her nails down his back, grinding her hips more firmly against his. "Please." 

KRISTOFF

Kristoff's entire world narrowed down to this: the slow, steady rhythm of their hips, their mingled breath, the heat of their skin pressed against each other. He hid his face in the curve of her neck, pressing sloppy, open mouth kisses over the skin he had already marked not too long ago. 

And maybe he should have worried. Tomorrow they would go back to work and he would just pretend like, what--  like this had never happened? Like he had never felt the firm grip of her thighs around his waist, had never heard the high, needy whines that fell from her lips whenever he pushed into her again and her hips came up to meet him? Work was going to be difficult, and that was putting it mildly. But Kristoff wasn't worried about that.  He wasn't worried about anything, in fact. Mitte had gotten him out of his head all day, and right now it was hard to think about anything that wasn't her. Them. 

Her request was easily granted, and he would've given it to her even if she hadn't asked so nicely. He shifted, finding the right position so he could drive into her harder, one hand shifting to her hip so that he could shift her a little, change the angle so that he could push into her more deeply. "Mitte," He moaned her name into the small space between them, but he couldn't follow it up. He wasn't even sure what he'd say if he had the capacity to say anything.

MITTE 

Mitte didn't care what happened at work tomorrow. She accepted that heartbreak was practically inevitable, but honestly? Kristoff- he was giving her exactly what she wanted right now, pulling their bodies together perfectly, her pleasure hot and rising with every press of their hips. If this was all she got, well, it was more than she’d expected and realistically still one of her more successful stupid idea relationships. 

Kristoff had all the right words, too. Mitte. Her name had never sounded better. He'd never be able to say it again without thinking about this. Everything else fell away, it was just Mitte and- "Kristoff." She repeated his name breathlessly, her hands carding into his hair to pull his face back up to hers and kiss him, making more needy sounds against his mouth until she absolutely had to pull away to breathe. 

Pleasure seized her whole body, Mitte’s nails dug into his scalp. "Kristoff- fuck- oh god I'm going to- you’re gonna make me–” her already garbled sentence was lost in another moan, and she brought their mouths back together in a messy clash of teeth and breath. “Come with me. Please, please.” Mitte asked against his mouth, as close to begging as she could ever remember being. She was beyond worrying about sounding desperate. Even if she had been there was no time to take back the request. Seconds later white noise was pounding in Mitte’s ears, the motions of her hips against Kristoff’s now artless and erratic as she fell apart, her muscles all coiling tight, clinging to him until she turned into putty as the climax washed over her. The sound that escaped was some strangled, high pitched whine that barely sounded like her, but it wasn’t like any other aspect of her response had been well controlled, either. 

Mitte came back to her senses slowly, her breathing ragged and her hips still making gentle motions against Kristoff’s as her pleasure slowly receded. “Fuck.” She exhaled, gently working her fingers free of where she’d tangled them up so completely in Kristoff’s hair, and she couldn’t help but to hum soft kisses across his shoulder, still so easily within her reach.

KRISTOFF

Kristoff was more than happy to do as Mitte directed him, to go where she wanted him to go. He leaned down into every kiss she pulled him into, each one a little sloppier, a little clumsier than the last. He felt drunk on it, felt drunk on her, and it was hard to keep his concentration with the warmth that was pooling in his stomach.

He wasn’t ever going to get tired of hearing her beg like that, either. He wasn’t really in the headspace right now to be thinking of the consequences and the future, but he knew he had to hear it again. Hear her voice like that, so desperate and needy, moaning between her words. And thankfully, it was an easy request to answer because he wasn’t sure what he would’ve done otherwise. He couldn’t say no to her, that much was certain. Not that he had much say in the matter this time anyway — when Mitte went over the edge she took Kristoff with her, the feeling of her tightening around him and the sound of her moaning in his ear enough to bring him to his climax, quiet save for the moans he couldn’t hold back.

It took a moment before he came back to himself, turning his head so he could catch Mitte’s lips in a proper kiss. This one was slower, lazier, but he was just as reluctant to pull away.

“Yeah,” he agreed softly. Fuck seemed like a good word for it. Kristoff took a deep breath, inhaling more of that sweet smell of her shampoo and her perfume before he pulled back from her completely.

“Wait here,” he murmured, planting a few more kisses on her neck and in the crook of her shoulder. “I’ll get you cleaned up a bit. And I’ll, um, find you something to wear, if you want.”

MITTE 

He kissed her. His mouth was soft against hers, and Mitte’s already boneless body melted just that little bit more, her shaky legs sliding away from their tight grip around Kristoff's hips. She did not consider herself to have a very addictive personality- in fact, most people who knew Mitte could attest that she was notoriously flaky and non-committal- but she would never tire of kissing him. Especially this meandering, gentle kind of kiss, sated and still clinging to each other. 

Her fingers traced idle patterns up and down Kristoff’s spine while she caught her breath and she made a small sound of protest as he started to shift away, but Mitte didn’t actually have the energy to stop him, and her efforts were put to a stop when he pressed his mouth back to her still overheated skin. 

Something to wear? He wanted her to stay. Mitte was a bit too happy about that, and she had to make a concentrated effort to try and keep her responding smile under control. “I want...” She confirmed, somehow managing to look bashful even after what they’d just done. She didn’t always date the best kind of guys. Staying wasn’t something she got asked to do a lot. “I’d like that.” Her smile grew a bit more devious, “worried you’ll lose a second day of work if you wake up and I’m just naked?” 

KRISTOFF

Kristoff thought about saying something funny or witty or sarcastic, but then he decided to just be honest. He ducked his head, wondering why that comment had made him blush after what they’d just done. Still, he couldn’t really help the way his cheeks turned pink so instead he shrugged, looking at her again with a lopsided smile. “Well, yeah.” He admitted, shrugging as he got to his feet. “I’ll not be long.” 

He disappeared down the hallway into his bedroom, pulling on a pair of old flannel pyjama pants that were maybe a little more worn than he’d like to admit before going to the drawer for something clean for Mitte to wear. He produced another slightly-faded band t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, carrying them back through to the living room. Maybe it was a good thing he rarely wore anything other than his work clothes; at least he had something around to give to Mitte.

“Work’s gonna be kind of weird now, huh?” He said, handing off the clothes to her.

MITTE 

Krisfoff was blushing. She resisted the urge to reach out and feel how warm his cheek was, but only just, her fingers twitching. Yeah. He left Mitte alone with his admission, staring up at the ceiling with a warm feeling in her chest, her boneless body still tingling. She would still be a distraction in the morning. 

When she heard his returning footsteps Mitte jumped to attention, pushing herself up so she was sitting on the couch properly and trying to smooth her hair down into something reasonable. When Kristoff got back his pyjama pants were slung low on his hips. She wanted to lick his abs. Oh god. They were going to be sleeping in the same bed. His bed. How would that work? Would he want to cuddle? Would his hands sneak under her t-shirt to wrap properly around her waist? Would she wake up with his head still nestled in the crook of her neck? Leaving would be sensible. But of course, going to work today would have been sensible too, and she was already here. Naked on his couch. Might as well go for broke. Might as well know how it felt to be held by him, even if only once. 

OK, so technically it was Mitte’s fault for bringing up the W word. But she'd just been trying to tease him. Kristoff said it would be weird. 

She tried not to deflate. She took the clothes from him and put the t-shirt on, using the moment of cover from the material to let her face fall before fixing a smile back on. Of course one impulsive skip day and even more impulsive fuck on his couch wasn’t enough to have Kristoff falling over his feet for her. 

"It doesn't have to be." She said quietly as she looked down to pull the sweatpants on, busying herself rolling up the legs and tying the drawstring tight enough to fit her. If he wanted to play the 'this never happened' card, Mitte would have to let him. She wasn't going to go around telling people she fucked the boss or anything. Mitte would wear her silly little outfits and flirt with him no more and no less than always and keep being just fine at her job. With Kristoff as her boss, and nothing else… And then she’d go home and remember how it felt to have his warm hands splayed across her almost naked body while he called her perfect. 

What she wanted to say was yes. It might be weird. Mitte might not be able to listen to him talk without thinking about how he'd moaned her name. Would Kristoff be able to hear her say please without remembering how she'd begged for him? But if he wanted to just move past it, call it a wild night or a moment of weakness or inappropriateness between work colleagues. Fine. "It's fine. I get it, I can be a goo-" She stopped herself and cleared her throat, not able to resist grinning up at him a little wickedly. He was inviting her to stay, afterall. If he wanted to move past it he was going to have to wash his sheets. Forget how she smelled. "I can be a professional." 

KRISTOFF

Kristoff was simply working under the assumption that Mitte had had her fun and would be leaving it at that. She would stay the night tonight and then tomorrow everything would go back to normal, as if this had never happened in the first place. Kristoff could probably live with that. It would be hard to keep working with her, obviously, but he was her supervisor. Her boss. So he could be professional, for both their sakes.

He was hoping, though, that… well, he didn’t know what he was hoping for, actually. He just knew that he liked this, sitting on the couch with her, her wearing his clothes, as much as he had liked everything else they had done today. He didn’t know if he should say that, though. If she wanted to just… carry on.

“I don’t know if I’m that good of an actor.” He admitted, looking at her with a small, self-deprecating smile. “And Linda in HR is a gossip, so if she thinks something’s up the whole office will know before long.” He tacked that on at the end, bumping his shoulder with hers jokingly.

MITTE

Right. Office gossip. There were so many reasons this had been a terrible idea, and so many more reasons it would be an even worse idea to let it happen again. Kristoff actually cared about his job, and the last thing she wanted was to cause a problem in that regard. It was for the best, wasn’t it? If she just let him go, even if the idea made her heart hurt. “There’s something so sketchy about HR gossip. Like, who do you report that to?” Of course, Mitte could simply stop providing fuel for them with her antics, but she wasn’t truly so concerned about her reputation in the office to stop having her fun. Kristoff knew he could be straight with her about that shit; if she was out of line, she’d know. Linda didn’t worry her. 

Mitte pulled her legs up to sit cross-legged on the couch, her hands twisting together in her lap so she didn’t do something silly like reach out and touch him again, run her fingers along the lines of muscle in his arms. Her eyes danced about the living room, cataloguing a space she’d probably never see again, just so she could recreate it in her head. “You’ll do fine. I’ve been flirting with you for months and you have zero reaction.” She shrugged, “not necessarily great for my ego- though it is nice to know that’s apparently more to do with time and place than whether or not you find me attractive- so everyone’s used to it.” Yeah, no one in that office was going to believe that Mitte had the hots for Kristoff of all people. “No one will take Linda seriously.” 

KRISTOFF

Kristoff sat back on the sofa, looking at Mitte as she sat cross-legged on his sofa, in his clothes, looking right at home. He had always found her attractive, that wasn’t really in question - she was hot, everyone knew that. It was just that before he’d had his blinders on, hadn’t let himself even entertain the idea because he was her boss, and that was bad. 

And no, things weren’t going to change because he was going to be professional… but it would certainly be difficult. Not just because he would remember all of this, but because this whole thing had unearthed a lot of feelings that he hadn’t let himself acknowledge before. 

“I don’t think it was a time and place thing either, I think it was a… well, I don’t know. I’m bad at introspection. Makes sense that the last person to know I had feelings about someone would be myself.”

He didn’t say this to Mitte, but rather into the room at large, because as he was saying it out loud he realised that was sort of a big thing to admit to. Not that he necessarily knew what those feelings were. He just knew that they were there, when he looked at her, when he felt her shift a little on the sofa beside him, remembering that she was there. 

“But, uh, yeah. I’m not a great actor. So. Gonna have to get good at that, or else people might think Linda’s on to something.”

MITTE

Feelings.

The admission made Mitte feel warm all over, her eyes widening a bit as a smile stole her face. She tried her best to bite it back, staring down at her lap. “Second last.” She corrected him softly, shaking her head. 

“Well, they might think Linda is on to something about you.” Mitte pointed out, dropping one side of her smile to smirk at Kristoff instead, “I’ll just be going about my usual work activities- nattering on the phone, filing things, flirting with my boss.” She shrugged and turned at the waist to look at him better, her legs shifting to bend in the same direction. “Nothing unusual on my end. You’ll be the one suddenly spitting out your coffee and going red in the face.” One of her hands started trailing lightly up and down his thigh. Perhaps it was hypocritical to call him out like that, since her cheeks were probably pink right now too. 

Mitte didn't care. That word, feelings, it did funny things to her head. Screw the job. If it was going to be a problem she'd just quit, there were other offices. “So if you wanna do this again, yeah. You better get good. At acting, not at- you know.” Mitte glanced down between their bodies, at the sofa. “You’re plenty good at that.” 

She'd call it a bold assumption, but Kristoff had admitted to having feelings for her, even if that word was vague at best. Still, suddenly she felt a bit– this was a bad idea, and Kristoff was the one who'd suffer if shit hit the fan. "I know you care about your job…" Mitte said, drawing her hand away from him reluctantly. "I wasn’t- I’m not going to cause problems, or anything. I just want…" Mitte trailed off with a laugh, as if it wasn't obvious. As if she hadn't been saying it all night. "You." She was staring back down at her knees again, letting her hair swing forward to hide her face a bit like the admission was the most vulnerable she'd been all night. For Mitte, it pretty much was. Sex was easy. Feelings were the messy part, especially with Kristoff. 

KRISTOFF

Mitte wasn’t looking at him, her gaze pointed downwards, her hair hiding her face. Kristoff couldn’t stop staring at her, though. His heart squeezing in his chest, his breath catching just for a moment before he let it all go in a sharp exhale, taken by surprise.

All this time he had assumed that Mitte’s flirting was just for the sake of flirting. Something to do, because working in an office could get pretty boring and flirting was fun. And no doubt flirting with him was fun because it was like a challenge, trying to get a response out of him, trying to figure out if he was oblivious or not interested or some kind of robot. He thought she was just playing a silly little game to keep herself amused and maybe that was why he had never given into any of it, even as time had worn on.

Wasn’t flirting supposed to be an obvious sign of someone liking you? Kristoff thought so, and yet there he was, having been assuming the complete opposite this whole time.

He reached out, tucking Mitte’s hair behind her ear so he could see her face properly, studying it for a moment, waiting for her to look at him. “You can have me,” He said, pulling his hand away. “As long as I can have you.”

MITTE

It had started as a game. Mitte saw Kristoff in a suit that was too big for him, trying not to stare at her legs while he asked about her previous jobs, saying please and thank you to everyone, and she thought; this might be fun.  And then, when he’d given her absolutely nothing to work with, it had become a point to prove. A challenge. If you watched someone that closely… Well. It was no surprise she’d fallen for him. 

She felt hot in a different way now. Prickly. Like she was gearing up to take all that heat and throw it back at him, because in what universe was this not the moment where Kristoff finally caught up to the mistake he’d made? If you had sex with your receptionist, that was a distraction. If your receptionist had a crush on you, it became a problem. 

Except in the universe where he- for reasons totally beyond Mitte’s comprehension- had a crush on you, too. She stared at him without saying anything for a while. It was more than three words, of course, but it was more than she’d expected. This time, Mitte didn’t fight the smile as it took over her face, or resist the urge to turn her body and swing one leg over Kristoff’s hips so she was straddling him. Her hands settled on his bare shoulders and she leaned in, until their mouths were almost touching. “Only if you ask nicely.” She says, breathless and a bit sultry, but still grinning. 

KRISTOFF

He gave a soft, surprised sounding oh! When she swung her leg over him, his hands immediately coming to find her hips, steadying her as she settled into her new position in his lap. He looked at her, almost going cross eyed as she got closer and closer, until they were breathing the same air, her lips brushing his when she spoke.

And though his breath caught in his chest, his heart stuttering, he still couldn’t help but laugh softly. Mitte had so many moods, so many personalities, and after all that– she still wanted to play coy. Just a little, anyway. He could feel more than see her smiling against his lips.

“Please?” He asked, running his hands up her sides, settling them under the shirt she was wearing and pressing them against her bare skin. “Can I have you?” He tilted his head, pulling back just a little bit so he could meet her gaze. 

MITTE

It felt surreal. It felt like any second she was supposed to wake up, hot and frustrated and alone in her own bed. But Mitte would be damned if she’d pinch herself. She wanted to stay here, where neither of them could keep their hands to themselves. The truth was he’d had her for months, and she thought maybe he was starting to understand that now. She would have time to prove it. She would also have to find time to brief her friends and make sure none of them did anything embarrassing, like tell Kristoff all about how in love with him she was.

Maybe eventually she’d be able to let him understand that, too. For now Mitte pressed forward to close the small gap he’d made between them, her hands tracing the lines of muscle along his shoulders until they were sliding up into his hair, her mouth on his. “Yes.” She mumbled between kisses, no urgency in the way her lips moved as she let her body melt back into Kristoff’s, all soft and sweet. “Yes, have me.” A smile curled her lips again as she moved to trail more of those sweet little kisses along his neck, her teeth gently scraping just so on the spot where he’d left a mark on her own skin. “Like that wasn’t a sign to make sure nobody else could.” 

KRISTOFF

Kristoff kissed her back just as slowly, almost lazily, content in the knowledge that this was going to be forever, or for the foreseeable future at least, so why rush it? He splayed his hands across the small of her back, keeping her close to him. He smiled softly at the faint, almost ticklish kisses she peppered him with, though his smile turned kind of sheepish at her remark.

“Yeah, well,” he said, blushing again. He had lost track of how many times he’d done that, tonight. “Guess my subconscious had plans it hadn’t told the rest of me about.” He paused, arching an eyebrow at her, teasing as he added, “are you complaining?”

 MITTE 

Her mind moved slow, still pleasure addled and starting to get sleepy to boot. For a moment she let herself get lost in the feeling of his warm hands on her back, eyes closed. "Your subconscious had plans when it invited me up for a drink." She said against his skin, her hands starting to draw patterns that roamed down his chest. Was she complaining? "Hell no." Mitte giggled and her mouth ticked up into a lazy smirk, "I might tomorrow, when I have to wear a turtleneck to work." She pouted, as if the whole thing was a huge upset, "and then you might, when I wear a very short skirt to make up for it." Not that it would be a new distraction in the office, but perhaps now he'd at least glance at her legs instead of looking right past her. 

Mitte's wandering hands curled around Kristoff, her head resting on his chest. She could hear his heartbeat. This… Was not usual for her. Snuggling. Especially after sex. But it was very nice, and her eyes closed again. "Take me to bed." She requested, her grin cheeky.

KRISTOFF

Well, yeah, she had a point there. Really, the whole thing had been over and done with when he’d invited her up for that drink… at the time he just thought that he really didn’t want to think about her having to go on that date with Roberts. And like he said – his subconscious was apparently ten steps ahead, but he had been in the dark about his actual intentions until it was happening. 

Still, the rest of him had caught up now, and he knew exactly what his intentions with Mitte were. What they were going to be, for as long as he could have her. He smiled at her request, knowing he really didn’t have much say in the matter, and knowing he didn’t mind either way.

“You’re the boss,” He informed her with a grin, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as he shifted, getting to his feet with her held securely in his arms. The bedroom wasn’t very far away, but it still took a bit of getting to – he had to stop to kiss her every now and then, obviously.

                                                       Epilogue…

Work was a bit weird the following day. Kristoff was jumpy, Mitte was trying her best to behave. But it got easier to keep it a secret. Covert glances across the office, the occasional sneaky kiss in the storage closet, that one time they got a bit too carried away at a staff party. Of course a secret like that never stays secret forever, and, inevitably, someone saw them out together one night. Kristoff draping his jacket around Mitte’s shoulders and kissing her on the cheek. 

Luckily, Kristoff was too good at his job for the company to try and fire him over something that wasn’t technically against any policies. (Discouraged, but not outright banned. Mitte had checked.) That meant they couldn’t fire Mitte over it either- even though Roberts definitely would’ve loved to- and Kristoff was perfectly clear that if they tried they’d be seeing his resignation, too. 

So, they endured the gossip of the office for a while and then people got used to it. Mitte got a space in his wardrobe, and Kristoff repaired the leak in her ceiling. It all became quite domestic much faster than Mitte was used to, but being stupidly head over heels before they’d even kissed, she was not complaining about that. Kristoff, though admittedly surprised by his own feelings, did not shy away from them. He encouraged her to actually follow through with creative ideas, and she reminded him to have fun.

MITTE

Tonight was a familiar scene; dinner, at his place. Mitte was cooking- which was so much more enjoyable in his kitchen with all the gadgets and counter space- and Kristoff had reached into his treasure trove of a liquor cabinet to make them drinks. He set Mitte’s drink by the stove, circling his arms around her from behind to nuzzle his face into her neck.

“Behave, I’m cooking.” She told him sternly, though she relaxed against him. It was inevitable that he’d find a chance to sit her up on the counter and kiss her stupid, anyway. For now he let her focus, just rubbing his thumbs in soft circles against her waist, and Mitte felt so completely content. 

She took a sip of her drink and thought, maybe, if there was a time to say it, this was it. 

“I love you.” Mitte says it softly, and without build up, still staring into the pot with a smile fixed on her face. 

KRISTOFF

Maybe scenes like this were commonplace nowadays, but Kristoff was never going to get used to it. He would never get used to seeing Mitte at the kitchen counter, working away, or waking up next to her in the morning, their limbs tangled together. He was always pleasantly surprised by the way his jacket would still smell of her perfume after she had ‘borrowed’ (read: stolen) it, and the way she would reach a hand out to him as he passed by the sofa, pulling him in for a quick kiss before he was on his way.

He was pleasantly surprised by himself, too. The person he was when he was with Mitte. Himself, just a version of himself that he might never have found, if not for her. 

Another pleasant surprise. Words that had sat on the tip of his tongue for a while now – he had been waiting for her to say it first. Waiting for permission, whether he needed it or not.

His answer was, first of all, to press a kiss into the junction of her neck, arms sliding a bit tighter around her waist, holding her close. If you had’ve told him all that time ago that he would be stood here one day, feeling like the luckiest guy in the world, grateful for everything he had, he certainly wouldn’t have believed it. And yet, here he was. With his gaze also focused on the pot on the stove, a small smile on his lips, Kristoff pressed his nose into her hair and said, “I love you, too.”

[thatonesongyouretryingtoremember]

Thank you for asking for clarification! I do not believe that El has ANY ill-intentions. I'm not even sure if "controlling" is the right word! I believe that El has a way of getting what she wants regardless of others may think. While this is normally so so positive, such as yk not killing a man or going shopping, it also leaves her accidentally ignoring Mike's feelings sometimes, believing their wants are aligned and expecting him to act as such. I love El as a character, and recognizing her mistakes is a way that I've gained a better understanding of her.

Like I said, El's self-perception (am I worth anything if I'm not a hero? When I'm not saving somebody, am I still lovable? I dying feel like a person, even.) Is dependent on Mike right now, which contributes to El's tendency to black and white thinking.

I DEFINITELY think that Mike, particularly in ST3, falls farther onto the spectrum of a controlling partner. Things like "you can't have friends" and whatnot (yes ik he didn't say that outright) El's quote unquote "controlling" behavior is more subtle, one-off actions than a series of behaviors, but these actions still make a message in Mike's mind if not to us as the audience.

And realizing that in Mike's case he slay acted that way because of the way he was relying on El helped me with my own black and white view of Mike. He isn't a cut and dry manipulator like I had thought. Even though he had done something I REALLY REALLY didn't like, he still had reasons for it (unhealthy reasons, but yk still reasons)

The thing is- Mike and El are actually coming from the same place with this behavior!

Both of them are depending on the other for their self-perception. Wanting to be NEEDED by the other in order to know that they are "good", and any contradiction triggers emotions of self-hatred.

This means that Mike thinks he has to fill his "role" of El's boyfriend to be "doing enough", and that if El doesn't provide validation he thinks his fears are confirmed and that he's worthless. This creates the image of a "good relationship" in his mind, one where El is always relying on him. This is why he reacted strongly to El having a regular friendship with Max.

The same is true in El's mind. She is filling the role of "Mike's girlfriend"- one that she often takes more initiative in, might I add, but that's relevant later- and Mike has just one job- tell her that he is able to love her romantically as a person for who she is on the inside. In El's version of the perfect scenario, he represents her normalcy, she's like the girls on television.

El has a tendency to impose these ritualistic relationship landmarks on Mike in order to validate herself. Mike had done this in ST1 by surprise kissing El, but El also surprise kissed Mike in ST2. Both of them had the same reaction to being in the recieving end- Deer. In. Headlights.

However, this becomes more prevalent in- believe it or not- ST3! By the end milkvan has gotten back together. Mike has realized that- surprise surprise! Being an asshole is Bad! And expressed that, however ineffectually so.

El on the other hand, has gotten better suited to being an individual! Good for her! But as we later see in ST4, she very much so relies on her relationship. At this point, Mike has confessed that he loves El! Assuming that this is romantic love, as El does, that still doesn't necessarily mean that he's ready to have that full conversation with El- he even surprised himself saying it. He isn't just a boyfriend npc who has reached the In Love milestone and who now really profess this to El.

Granted, El might not realize how unprepared he feels given her having likely only partially heard the convo. However, when posed with this idea *by* El, Mike clearly feels nervous still. He just doesn't want to say it. Regardless of a single statement's veracity, Mike isn't prepared for a convo about love, to put himself on the line like that under pressure, or for his relationship to change yet if that's what El wants.

El has given him three whole months to perform his chivalrous deed, and here El is, in her mind, having to fucking prompt him. But it matters not, he's playing his role right. "Boys act nervous when they love you, which means Mike loves me!" So she kisses him again-

Deer in fucking headlights.

Then ST4. El decides that she and Mike get a day to themselves! Oh and Will. To be honest, this particular interaction is more due to ignorance- given how lithe Mike El and Will have ever actually been in the same room all at once before, I'm not sure if she knows that Mike and Will ever spend time together, and part of that ignorance is Mike's fault, but that's another post.

their infamous fight. El pretty blatantly disregards Mike's feelings on bullies. I totally get that this was in part because Mike was coming off as dismissive when he said that as well. But it also highlights that she expects him to be there and meet her emotional needs, and isn't going to hear him out.

While needing some of your own Vent Time before hearing someone out is fine, Mike takes this to heart and it still has a similar effect on him as other actions.

I'm not sure if El realizes yet the extent to which Mike relies on her, and by extension, how much her actions have had on him. But she does know that her own reliance on Mike has caused her to feel desperate. To ask for reassurance she should be giving to herself and which he hasn't given.

I've definitely known people who impose their idea of a perfect relationship (not just romantic ones) onto others, and it comes from a place of fear. It doesn't mean that there isn't any love or that they're a generally controlling person or anything, but it still hurts kind of insidiously.

I loved your Lost Sister take! That particular moment wasn't one I had specifically considered and I'm glad you brought it up! <2

I know that El doesn't really know WHO she is- but I also feel that many people take that information and, in their interpretations of her, rob El of her agency!

El has always been adamant about what she wants and how she wants to get it, be it running off or asking for help (some fans take her asking Max for help as her not being independent?? Shut up jeez!) or being very confrontational about it.

Even in ST1- El is listening to Mike explain his plan to tell Karen about her and El, a supposed helpless doll, tells Mike NO. No hesitation! Not to mention that she, from what we see, defied Brenner even while in the lab (seemingly frequently imo) after her siblings' deaths.

El is able to collaborate and she's quiet and she isn't sure who exactly she is and her self esteem has historically relied on extensive validation- but that has never stopped her from being rebellious and outspoken and trying to take control of the situation.

And one last only semi-related thing-- El now is learning not to rely on Mike and she's learned that she doesn't have to. El will break up with Mike because she doesn't like the person she became in that relationship, the way it fucked up her self-esteem to the point of being controlling and of constantly questioning herself. She will choose who she wants to be alone because she at the very least always (since she was eight) known she has a choice.

i agree with most of this take but i'm curious, how is el controlling?

[sl-walker]

All right, since I’m in the middle of a flare and have to work manual labor for the next four days despite it, I figured I would make myself -- and hopefully other people -- laugh by talking about one of my favorite OG Captain Marvel stories. Namely, from Whiz #50, with a cover date of January, 1944, meaning it was probably produced sometime in late 1943.

I want to share it because why not, this is some absurdly charming stuff.

I’ll get more into why it’s one of my favorites as we go, in the form of running commentary. So, full story (with said commentary) under the cut. If you wanna just read the story without my commentary, stick to the pictures. XD

First, let me say that the cover and splash page definitely live up to the story, though the cover’s a bit more sensationalized. But the premise is pretty damn simple: Our intrepid hero and his newsboy alter ego are on vacation. Cap decides to go swimming. It goes hilariously wrong and thus ensues a bit of a madcap adventure, no puns intended.

Second, the fact that Cap and Billy are depicted as essentially different entities makes what Billy does next the ultimate trolling:

Gee, airing out the stolen laundry on the radio? Really? I’ll leave it up to you, gentle reader, whether Billy actually was trolling his own alter-ego for ratings or whether he was just innocently sharing the story while his other-self winced quietly in whatever ether-space he exists in when not front-and-center.

Either way, I love it.

Continuing on...

I get a kick out of the fact that Billy’s monologue is that he’s no dare-devil. One, because that’s so obviously not true in any way -- (that kid is awesomely, sometimes recklessly brave on the regular even without Cap) -- but two, because the bridge is actually named Dare-Devil Bridge. We aren’t given any reason why this dangerous potential death-trap is there, hanging without so much as a gate or a warning sign or anything, because we don’t need one. It’s there specifically for what happens next.

Which, of course, is Billy calling in Captain Marvel, who does some light complaining about the situation Billy left him in. There’s no bite to it, which I find adorable -- Cap actually does get frustrated once or twice in other issues with Billy calling on him for mundane stuff, though he’s never mean about it -- but there is a bit of the sense of being put-upon there that’s just-- I dunno, cute. It’s something I miss a lot in the various post-crisis takes on the character: That duality, that difference in personality, and the way each of them responds to different situations. Often, they’re on the same page, but notably, sometimes, they aren’t.

Someday, I promise, I need to sit down and write how I think that works between those two without being a truly frightening mental illness manifested, what with them being the same person but not the same person. Because I have so many ideas, and I’ve only had since the early-2000s to percolate them. LOL! But until then, just enjoy this.

Here is another reason why I love the Golden Age Captain Marvel books and why I love this specific story: This is an absolutely normal, mundane thing to do. It’s the human thing to do. These aren’t the actions of some super-serious superdude. These are the actions of a pretty shockingly normal guy doing something mundane. And a whole story is built around that normalcy.

It’s cute. It’s funny. It’s the reader already knowing that he’s getting himself into a situation that he absolutely could have avoided, but also completely understanding how it happened anyway. It’s pretty brilliant writing: I say this as a pretty damned good writer myself.

So much of the reason why, I think, Cap was so endearing as a hero is that humanity. He’s got pretty much god-tier power in the Golden Age, once his powerset is established. He’s utterly invulnerable to all physical harm while powered up. But-- he’s human. He knows he’s human. He acts like it, and decides, “You know what? I’m going skinny-dipping.”

He and Billy are both characters it’s so easy to empathize with.

Also, a reminder that the art under Chief Artist C.C. Beck is really, really good. (He had a whole stable of artists to help produce this stuff!) Ignoring registration issues on the printing press, the actual line art is amazingly good; proportion and perspective and consistency.

But anyway--Cap does get to enjoy his swim. But, then, oh no.

I love the idea of a world where the prime hero -- and he definitely is in that world -- can take off his suit and go swimming, and where someone else is bold enough to steal the damn suit off of him. The first time I read this, I started laughing here. Not at him, but at the situation he’s found himself in. At the idea that some random passer-by saw Captain Marvel’s costume and went yoink!

Another thing I love about this particular story is how much Cap and Billy have to work together, just by necessity. Like-- it’s just really good. But anyway, thank everything Billy Batson is on the ball, coming to the rescue.

Sheer bad luck via the weather keeps this story rolling along in hilarious misdirections. Realistically, that uniform probably wouldn’t be all buttoned together (we see Cap take off pieces of it aside the pants in other issues, including socks!), but who cares? The point of the story is that giant bear rug on the floor’s gonna get put to use.

Man, when have you ever seen Superman creeping naked through some stranger’s house wearing nothing but a random polar bear because he went skinny dipping? No wonder these comics sold so well. This next panel is when I start wheezing, though, and pretty much keep wheezing.

“A lady, too! I’ve got to get away from here!”

I’m dying at this point. That’s such a characteristic response, and yet, I think that’s why it’s funny.

Anyway, because this is an excellent story (I mean this without an ounce of irony, too), our dynamic duo stumbles across a plot in play to rob the hotel they’re staying at.

Here’s a big part of why this is such a good tale: Everything fits. Even when it isn’t explained, like Dare-Devil Bridge, it still fits. Why is the tree down? Because there was just a thunder storm, the same one that blew Cap’s suit into the room with the gangsters.

I don’t know if this is Otto Binder’s story, but I wouldn’t be surprised in the least. It’s a complete story told in relatively few pages that accomplishes everything it’s meant to.

Anyway, using foliage as cover, Cap gets to be heroic----then Billy gets to get back to the business of trying to stop the robbery of the hotel and get his heroic alter-ego dressed again.  Which leads to a rather adorable and funny scene of Billy not only trying to describe what Captain Marvel wears, but what size it would need to be tailored in.

(Cap is supposedly a 44 for a suit coat, we find in some earlier appearance, which would refer to his chest size.  So, an XL for shirts and suit-coats.  He’s a big guy, but he’s actually not a hulking huge guy.  But more on that later.)

I love the fact Billy tries to like-- use himself as a model.  Maybe in another ten years, kiddo.  Billy’s actually pretty buff for like a 12-14 year old, he’s not a scrawny kid at this point, but yeah, no.  LOL!

Another thing I also really, really love about this style, though, is that they draw Captain Marvel as being strong, as having a powerful build-- but not as a dehydrated body-builder with deep cuts. He’s got human proportions, regardless of his strength; he’s got a human build, not a superhuman one.

C.C. Beck had a lot of things to say about superheroes who were just muscles on top of muscles, all clearly defined, and he didn’t like it.  As someone who first got into comics in the early 90s with Jim Lee’s X-Men--

I do get Beck’s point.  I not only get it, but I really highly approve of it.  He maintained to the end that he drew (and oversaw) the Marvel family to look like high school and college athletes, and I can see that.  I think the one person who’s gotten it right in the modern era is Evan “Doc” Shaner, who did Convergence: Shazam!  He not only nailed that strong-but-not-hulking build for Cap, but also how young he looked.  College-age, in fact.

But anyway, enough digression into art and why I like this better than most modern takes on the character.  Also, that’s just a cute set of panels.

I also like that there wasn’t an easy fix there.  Cap’s still in his not-birthday suit, and Billy’s still stuck running around trying to solve the issues at hand.  Next comes some other really good panels:

-snorts-  He’s locked in.  Yeah, that’ll hold him.

Anyway, what I really liked here was again that tandem working; Billy can’t punch through a wall, but Cap can.  Cap can’t crawl out while he’s au natural -- well, he could, but he’d probably rather die first -- but Billy’s got no such issue.  It’s just fun when you get to see them doing something like that.  You have to really think for a minute about the trust each of them must have in their alter-ego.

ANYWAY, we get the rare treat then--

--of Captain Marvel not only yoinking a dude into a dark room, but then stealing his clothes.  Except, not his underwear.  Because that’s nasty.  LOL!

I love that in this series, you do actually get to see him wear other stuff.  Go incognito.  Get his red suit messed up enough to take it to a dry cleaner’s, wherein he ends up dressed like a musketeer after.  Jerry Ordway’s series is, I think, the only other time we see Cap not wearing his famous suit, but it happened enough in the Golden Age that it wasn’t a shock.

Like, I hate to be the one to say this, but I do think DC drops the ball often on just how much you can do with Captain Marvel (or Shazam, depending on timeline, but that’s the wizard’s name to me so mostly I’ll stick with the original name) if you unbend enough to.  It’s not just the costume change, or the duality of him and Billy being the same but not, but also his inherent, essential humanity.

But I am digressing again, sorry. XD  I just feel strongly enough about these versions of these characters to spend hours writing this.

Anyway, only a single panel later:

And that’s that!  Billy Batson has just outed his own alter-ego’s most embarrassing moment to whomever’s listening to WHIZ radio -- thank everything podcasts and the internet weren’t available then, ha! -- and we get to see a recounting of a very fun story.

Like I said earlier, I love this one for its essential humanity.  The hero got himself into this mess, he and Billy got him out of this mess, and stopping the criminals was actually just kind of a lucky stroke thrown in there.  But even though Cap got himself into this, the story never treats him like he’s stupid.  It never treats him like he’s some kind of idiot.  You’re laughing, but-- not in a mean way.

I love how human it is.  How complete it is.  How genuinely funny it is.  It’s a thousand times more funny when you genuinely love and respect Captain Marvel and Billy Batson, too.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this dissertation on a skinny-dipping hero.  LOL!  I enjoyed sharing it with you.