#I like the blouse and slacks look for business casual things but I’m told that isn’t sufficient for formal business wear?

[ephemeral-winter]

folks if you are a woman with a large bust and off the rack blazers with slacks are simply Not It for you, what are you wearing to signify serious businesswoman girlboss in professional situations? I think a structured dress with or without sleeves and/or a cardigan is fine but my mother and grandmother (out of some kind of feminist concern?) keep telling me that this look is not “Serious Enough”

[vixenpen]

Dabi smut with a teacher. Like in some quirkless au or something (He’s scarless but hella pierced and tatted), he had to pick up kid!Shoto one day and he sees his hot black teacher (Sis got thickness and curves for days, even in simple clothes) So he consistently picks up Shoto (even when he doesn’t have to) just to hit on her and when he finally scores a date with her, he’s at his limit after seeing her in casual wear and how amazing her personality is.

I LOVED this request. I had so much fun writing it and the details were amazing! I hope you enjoy

Hot For Teacher (Dabi x Black Reader) Quirkless AU

“Ah, come on kid,” Dabi sighed, expelling a stream of smoke as he waited at the curb for his baby brother to get out of school.

He rolled down the window to air out the car and watched the stream of middle schoolers burst through the double doors and head to their respective busses or cars.

“Shooo,” Dabi groaned, “where are you? I got shit to do, kid.”

He enjoyed hanging out with his youngest sibling, and he had no problem picking the kid up, but he also had a business to help run. If he didn’t get back to the shop in an hour and a half like he’d promised Hawks, he’d get an earful about responsibility and time management and blah, blah, blah.

He leaned back in the driver seat, deciding to give Shoto another fifteen minutes before he texted the kid.

Just then another wave of kids exited the building, Dabi’s bright blue eyes scanned them before landing on the finest woman he’d ever seen in his life.

Her cream colored silk blouse popped beautifully against her rich brown skin and a pair of slacks hugged her wide hips. Her makeup made her dark eyes sparkle and red lipstick painted her pouty mouth.

Dabi sat up, turquoise eyes running up and down that beautiful body of hers as the sexy teacher strutted past to talk to parents and wave good bye to students. When she turned around, his eyes slid down to the fattest ass he’d ever seen and he licked his lips.

Damn it must be hard as hell for her students to concentrate in class.

She turned again and began walking back towards the school. Fuck! If he didn’t stop gawking he would miss his chance. He couldn’t let that happen.

Holding his cigarette between his lips, Dabi quickly stepped out of the car and took leggy strides to catch up with the teacher.

“Excuse me.”

She turned around, her big dark eyes landing on him. Immediately Dabi knew she was sizing him up and wasn’t impressed. She gave that same disapproving teacher look Fuyumi gave whenever she was put off by someone.

Regardless, he flashed her his most charming smile. He may not be a goody two shoes like these other khaki wearing dads out here, but he knew he looked damn better than any of them.

“Sorry to bother you ma’am. I was just hoping you could help me out.”

“Sure,” she smiled back, showing off a pair of pretty white teeth. “Let’s start with that cigarette. It’s against our school policy to be smoking on the premises so if you could.” She cocked a brow expectantly.

Dabi cocked his own pierced brow back in response, but quickly stubbed out his cigarette on a nearby janitor’s cart and threw it away in the accompanying trash can.

Her smile widened. “Great. Now, how can I help you?”

Dabi chuckled. “Well, ya see, I just got this new phone and cleared out all my old contacts. Ya know, new year, new me and all that,” he shrugged, “anyway, my contacts are pretty empty now. So, I was wondering if I could get yours.”

She let out a little snort of amusement.

“That’s your pick up line? How many Girls have had the misfortune of hearing that one?”

“You’d be the first,” Dabi smirked back. “Figured the usual ‘hey beautiful, what’s your name’ line wouldn’t exactly help me stand out.”

“Trust me, you don’t need help standing out.” She replied, eying him again.

“Then that means I’m ahead of the game, right?” He held out a hand, “I’m Dabi.”

Tentatively, the teacher shook it. “Ms. Y/n.”

“Ms. Y/n, huh...” Dabi repeated slowly, his eyes ran over you with a barely masked longing. “Not ‘Mrs’?”

“Not yet.” You replied.

“How soon are you looking to change that?” Dabi asked, his smirk growing a bit smaller and more intimate.

“Who said I was looking to change it at all?”

“Certainly not me,” he replied, “that’s why I asked. I would love to talk more about how much you don’t want to change it over dinner sometime though.”

You fended off a smile. You were not about to give this over confident asshole any encouragement.

“Sorry, but I make it a point not to date my student’s parents.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m not a parent then.”

“Oh? So you just like to stroll on the campuses of random middle schools and hit on the teachers for fun?”

Dabi chuckled again.

“I’m here to pick up my little brother. Ah, hell, speaking of which, I actually could use your help with that. Kid hasn’t come out yet and I’ve already been here over half an hour.”

Your pretty face immediately crumpled with worry.

“What’s your brother’s name?”

“Todoroki Shoto.”

“Oh!” You looked surprised. “Shoto. I think I saw him headed towards the baseball field. I think the team has practice today.”

“Dammit! Really? Well, I better go say hi to the kid anyway. You mind, uh, leading the way?”

“Sure.” You shrugged.

Turning, you took the lead and guided Dabi towards the baseball diamond behind the school. You could feel the man’s eyes on your ass the whole way, and couldn’t help but put an extra switch in your hips as you did. Much to his appreciation.

You had to admit the man was fine as hell. The black undercut with lines cut in the side, his multiple piercings and even the colorful tattoos you saw peeking from under his fitted black tshirt were hot as hell. However, you had long since given up on bad boy types. You preferred nerds. Still a little light flirting wouldn’t hurt anything, right?

“There he is.” Dabi stated once the two of you verged on the field. He held up his hands to his mouth and called out: “Yo, Sho!”

The boy looked up, heterochromatic eyes widening in surprise.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had practice today you little half and half?”

“Why don’t you ever check mom’s texts?” Shoto shouted back. “She told you to come later.”

You snickered as Dabi pulled out his phone and checked his text messages.

“Huh. Well I’ll be damned.” He muttered to himself. “Alright, kiddo, I’ll be back in an hour!”

“Can you stop shouting and leave now?! I have to concentrate.”

Dabi laughed before turning back to you.

“Anyway, thanks a lot for your help Ms. Y/n.”

“Just doing my job.”

“Still, I would love to thank you properly. Maybe over coffee.” He said, sounding hopeful.

“Before it was dinner.” You quipped, playfully.

“I know. I‘m just planning for future dates.”

You giggled, shaking your head. “It was nice meeting you, Dabi.” With that you turned and strutted off.

“I hope you know I’m gonna keep trying until I get a yes or no.” He called after you.

As you entered the school’s back entrance you could hear Shoto shouting: “Can you please stop hitting on my teachers? I have to see them everyday!”

Unfortunately for Shoto, his plea seemed to go in one overly pierced ear and out the other because almost everyday since then, Dabi made it a point to stop and talk to you when he came to pick up Shoto.

“Hey there, Ms. Y/n. My contacts are filling up fast. You sure you don’t wanna reserve a spot?”

“Sorry Dabi, but my no dating policy extends to immediate family members as well.”

“I hated to cancel our reservations, but you’re left me no choice, Ms. Y/n.”

“Nobody told you to make reservations, Dabi.”

“Dinner was lonely the other day. If only I had a beautiful black queen to keep me company.”

“I’m sure There are plenty of black queens out there that would have loved to accompanying you to dinner.”

“Yeah, but they wouldn’t have been you.”

Dabi was unrelenting. Always complimenting how amazing your outfits looked on your skin tone, how flattering your make up was, or if you wore a new hairstyle or new jewelry.

You couldn’t lie. The attention was both flattering and refreshing. Since becoming a teacher, you usually only got hit on by studious academic types. Attractive yes, but straight laced and all the same with their game

Unfortunately a disturbing amount of married dads also tried their luck with you.

But Dabi was different.

He may have been a far cry from your usual type, but he was always perfectly respectful and even funny. Not to mention he was much closer to your own age than other men that came on to you.

He must have started bribing Shoto for help or asking him about your interests too. Because sometimes when he would see you, he’d have a new book to give you or your favorite iced tea from a cafe you always frequented. Which, admittedly, was pretty damn cute.

The tatted up alt boy was actually growing on you. So one day, when both of you least expected it, you finally agreed to give him your number and go on a date.

That was the first time you ever saw him straight up smile. Not smirk or grin. He actually beamed. Just like a little boy who’d been told he could have a puppy.

Ok, ok. You admit it—he was cute.

Hopefully, that charm would extend over to dinner.

When the big date came, Dabi cleaned himself up. Opting out of his usual dark attire for a deep blue fitted Ralph Lauren polo and skinny khakis. He even took out some of his piercings in an attempt to look more presentable. He thought he cleaned up pretty nice if he did say so himself, but it was nothing compared to what you strutted in wearing.

Dabi had gotten used to your stylish but conservative work attire. He was so used to your hot teacher look, that he forgot you probably had some regular clothes in that amazing wardrobe of yours.

And damn did you pick out the most show stopping dress you had. You wore a wine colored dress that cut low in the front showing off those juicy tits of yours and stopped above the knee. The heels you wore made your thighs look even yummier and your ass was jiggling out of control with every step.

Down boy. Down boy. Down boy.

He scolded himself.

“Well, don’t you clean up nicely, Dabi?” You teased.

“I’m Touya tonight, beautiful.” He struck a pose like a GQ model. You laughed. “Dabi was that guy that kept hitting on you, Touya’s the guy that’s gonna try not to screw it up.

“Oh,” you ran a manicured finger along his solid chest, “well, I agreed to a date with Dabi, but I guess Touya could be fun too.”

Dabi licked his lip, and your eyes fell on his tongue piercing, hungrily.

“Depending on how well the night goes, you might see Dabi come out later tonight.” He replied, suggestively.

You rolled your eyes, but could feel your cheeks (and your pussy) warming.

“Boy! Come on.”

Dabi as Touya opened the door to the restaurant and ushered you inside.

The restaurant he took you to was definitely a high end place; complete with soft candle light, a jazz quartet, and a maître d’.

The chemistry the two of you had definitely translated over dinner.

Dabi was just as funny as he always was and he was genuinely interested in getting to know everything about you. He hung on to your every word about the funny things your students did in class. He enjoyed hearing your college stories. He even knew some of the books you enjoyed reading and could talk literature easily.

You discovered that he was the co-owner of a tattoo and piercing shop. He was the oldest of his siblings. And he enjoyed traveling and learning new things.

Dabi enjoyed vibing with you. He loved that your personality and sense of humor was just as amazing and substantial as that body he wanted a piece of so bad.

Dinner rolled into drinks and lasted well into the night. By the time the two of you were done it was damn near four A.M.

From that night on, you and Dabi became practically inseparable. He picked you up from school right along with Shoto for dinner after work, swung by with coffee, bought you any and everything you wanted (he does come from money after all) and after a year of dating, you became more than just a ‘Ms.’

Pt.2

[general-mahamatra]

This is very specific but do you have any headcanons about double dates between Jeanbilee and Silvercyclops? That or how do you headcanon Charles and Erik’s sexualities? I think of Erik as pan and Charles as gay.

Hehe... Oh I can do this. 

For Charles and Erik’s sexualities, I definitely agree. Charles is gay and Erik is either bi or pan (that one I’m not too solid on).

With the double date, catch me putting this in a modern setting. It’s under the line since there’s a lot

Individuals

Scott

Scott was definitely against the idea of a double date

Why? Because it’s kind of awkward to go out on a double date where the other couple... one of them is your ex

Yeah he’s still good friends with Jean! He’s just not sure how to handle going out to an event with her in a sort of romantic setting. Especially because there’s that slight problem that you KNOW he’s kinda anxious. Like what if people who knew him when he was dating Jean finds him all close and romantic with Peter?

Of course that’s not gonna happen. Man’s just anxious

But Peter managed to convince him and assure him that it would be alright

“It’s just a movie, Scotty. No one’s gonna care,” Peter had said. “Literally it’s dark and the seats are set up in pairs, you don’t need to worry.”

Scott protested immediately with, “but what if--”

“I’ll pay for the popcorn and treats. And the drinks. I’ll pay for it all for you.” 

Scott caved pretty quickly

Except he didn’t know that before the movie the group was going out to dinner because for some reason his mind completely omitted that information. By the time they got together, he remembered, but oh man. He was not prepared

Yeah he was dressed up because Peter was really insistent on him wearing something decent, but the fact they were going out to dinner skipped his mind entirely

He was antsy during the dinner at first. Really shifty-eyed and such and was overall just visibly nervous

But he cooled down fast

He had a lot of fun at the dinner, even if he was a bit awkward with Jean at first

But he loosened up. He found himself enjoying the event much more as time went on and he even managed to calm down enough to comfortably interact with Jean just like he used to

It was actually kinda refreshing

He had whole conversations with the ginger. While Jubilee and Peter were going off about their crazy ideas and plans and things that have happened to them over the past weeks, Scott and Jean were just talking about... life. Catching up on what they’ve missed since they split apart and inevitably pulled away from each other (Scott moreso than Jean)

It brought a sense of closure to Scott that he didn’t realize he needed

He found himself warming back up to interacting with Jean and was... happy with it

Peter

Oh Peter was excited for the double date

Ever since Jubilee ran up to him and proposed it to him he was completely on board. Hell, he even helped plan it out with Jean and Jubilee at times

It was actually Jean’s idea for Peter to convince Scott that things would be alright. She knew he was worried about it, even if it was all irrational. She also knew that he was their best bet on helping Scott out and getting him comfortable with the idea

So Peter did just that

He actually did a lot more than just blatantly tell Scott that he was going to pay for everything at the movies

Peter did a lot of minimal prodding. Stuff to get Scott to talk in a way that wasn’t too intrusive or anything (it’s honestly a special ability of Peter’s). It helped him understand what he was gonna have to do to help his boyfriend out

Because Scott had never been on a double date before

And Peter actually found that kinda funny

But when it came to the date itself, he was completely down for it. He wanted to do it since the moment Jubilee told him about it and he decided he was going to put about as much planning effort into it as her. After all, it’s not different from other... events they’ve planned in the past. They have a perfect system

The movie was his idea

He deemed it “necessary after eating at some dumb fancy place. Because who in their right mind is gonna go out to eat and then just head home at like, 7pm?”

(Peter was also the reason they didn’t end up going to a restaurant where you had to dress up SUPER fancy)

(Granted he wasn’t entirely successful. Jean shot him down and made him settle with having to dress up a little. She wasn’t going to drive them all to dinner if it was gonna be some fast food shit)

Honestly, him and Jubilee are on the exact same wavelength for the date

Jean

Jean was definitely the TRUE brains behind the double date

She was the one who mentioned the idea to Jubilee who then took the idea and ran with it, making it a true plan

She did it because, well, she’s always wanted to have a double date. It was only possible now that she was with Jubilee and her other friends were together

Besides, she like anyone else was aware of just how close Jubilee and Peter were. It was honestly a perfect plan

Scratch something off her bucket list while also getting the two away from their peers so everyone could actually catch a break from their high energy

Actual perfection right there

That and she could tell Scott was awkward around her, even if they’ve been broken up for almost an entire year by this point

There were a lot of times Jean tried to reconnect with him and get him to loosen up but nothing really worked until she came up with the double date

It would give her the opportunity to get her friend back while also allowing him to be in a sort of comfortable environment (she’s noticed the way he tends to cling to Peter whenever she comes around. She isn’t sure if she should be hurt by it or not but she knows he doesn’t mean ill will)

She has to admit though, Peter’s idea of a movie after was a great idea. It’s not something she would’ve put forward or even thought about

Then again... she wasn’t expecting the duo to take over the planning and make it a lot more “light” than an actual “true” date

Jean was looking to reserve them stuff out at a true fancy restaurant. Maybe get them to all dress up and put them in a romantic setting but she was quickly put in her place by Jubilee and Peter’s insistence that it’s a double date, they don’t need to be in a super romantic area

And honestly, they had a point

But she refused to let them make the event completely casual. If she was going to be involved in any planning, they were gonna go somewhere where they have to dress up at least a little

She won that argument easily

Jubilee

OH MAN 

Okay yeah Jubilee was definitely the front runner with the planning and setting everything up

Even with the double date originally being Jean’s idea, Jubilee took it upon herself to plan it all out mostly because she wanted to treat her girlfriend

(You act as thought Jubilee doesn’t know her own partner’s bucket list. Jean literally has it written out in a notebook under her pillow, Jubilee has gone through it multiple times)

She wanted it to be perfect

Which is why she went to Peter

Jean was the one who planted the idea of going on the double date with Scott and Peter but let’s be real, Jubilee would’ve chosen the boys anyways. They were the best bet

Either way, she was ecstatic

She literally has so much experience with planning from the pranks and events she’s set up with Peter, she knew exactly what she was doing when she got with him to plan everything out

Jubilee was actually the one who chose where they were going to dinner

It was a nice Hawaiian themed place. A seafood restaurant with a tropical theme and generally considered a 4 or 5 star restaurant. It was a perfect place, especially with its looser “dress code” (it was basically a sort of business casual, for lack of better terms. If she tried to describe it she would just point to Scott wearing a nice button up with no tie and Jean wearing a cute blouse and flowy pants to match)

(The really funny part is her and Jean low-key made it out to Peter like super fancy restaurants require you to wear formal clothes just so he would cave and “go somewhere less strict”)

(He never found out)

But if she was going to be honest, her favorite part of the double date was the movie afterwards

It was the newest Men in Black and she was losing her mind throughout it

Did she tune out the boys while they were nerding out quietly to her right? Yes, yes she did. She was much more focused on the humor and action and experiencing it with her girlfriend

Overall

Not gonna lie, Scott definitely clung to Peter at first

Like that much is obvious, but it really wasn’t that... obvious? It was if you looked closely at how he hovered closer to the older boy or how his head always seemed to be turned slightly towards him during conversations as if looking to him for stuff to say

Peter noticed it for sure, just as Jean did

Both of them let it happen. Because even when Scott loosened up as the night went on, he still wanted to stick close to his comfort and they didn’t want to pull him away from that

Man just doesn’t handle break ups well

Honestly though, the dinner was wonderful for the entire group. There was so much laughter and chatting and catching up, especially since they aren’t consistently hanging out together anymore

Jubilee convinced Scott to try some really spicy squid dish that he couldn’t remember the name of for the life of him and Peter just... kept ordering more chocolate milk

(They quickly learned that he forgot refills aren’t free)

(That didn’t stop him)

Outfits

Scott: Nice blue button up and black slacks. Honestly really basic typical “oh that guy looks cishet” kinda look, especially with the very plain uniform look to him

Peter: Black button up with white specks across it that look like stars and some slacks as well except his belt was a bit more... decorative than Scott’s. (It’s colorful)

Jean: A cute, loose blouse with a nice white and red floral/watercolor sort of pattern that sits nicely on her frame with some flowy pants and flats. Her hair was done into a braid

Jubilee: A nice long sleeve sweater-like yellow top and a short white skirt with a pair of flats as well. She had her hair down and man was it nice and curly

Honestly everyone was dressed so nicely, it was almost a miracle

During the movie, the couples sat together. That’s a given. But the way they interacted was definitely different from each other

Jean and Jubilee were vibing in their seats. They had chocolate and slushies and popcorn and were overall having a great time just enjoying the movie. There wasn’t too much commentary other than them laughing together or making fun of something they saw on screen

(Jean one time did yell at someone for having their phone on in the movie...she’s that person)

Jubilee was constantly touchy with Jean whenever something crazy happened or there was something intense. Hell, she ended up wrapping around Jean and crying when her favorite character died

Jean took it and honestly... it made her soft

She didn’t know it was possible to fall even further in love

Peter and Scott, though, were different. They too had all the treats and candy and such like the other couple but they were much closer than the girls. They were BASICALLY cuddling (Scott will never admit it). Like come on, you know it’s true

Scott was curled up against his boyfriend. Like head resting against Peter as the older had his arm around him. You know the drill

Again, Scott will never admit to it

But the entire time they were geeking out. Both of them grew up with sci-fi, especially MiB. And BOTH were excited for the newest movie and were having a great time pointing out the aliens and all that stuff and just overall having fun

After the date, the drive was both full of energy and calm. It was 10 by the time they were leaving the theatre and honestly... it’s an experience none of them would give up for the world

...they planned another one for the future

[imissjoongsmullet]

Mirrored

Pairing: Felix x Reader (with a Bang Chan cameo lol)

Genre: smut

Summary: Your boyfriend, Felix, pulls you into a bathroom and fucks you up basically.

Warnings: graphic sexual content, dom Felix, sub reader, random Bang Chan, daddykink, spanking, biting, unsafe sex (oops), sex in a public space, a bit of choking, degradation, praise, fingering, penetration, voyeurism and idk what else do people put in these???

Word Count: 2k

Author’s Note: idek how this happened man Felix is such a cutie but I guess I was in a mood don’t come for me. Also this was written at Starbucks on like 2 hours of sleep so there’s not much depth here at all. It’s literally just really filthy sex with Felix. Enjoy mateys.

►

"Miss me, baby?" his deep voice breathes onto your lips before claiming them with his own and pushing you against the cold tiled bathroom wall. You let out the tiniest whimper on impact, which makes him chuckle. His thumb comes up to rest against your bottom lip, pulling it down slightly.

"Are you gonna be a good girl for daddy today?"

You nod at him quickly, flushed red already from how fast things are escalating.

You hadn't expected this to happen. You were at the company for your own business when Felix messaged you to meet him on the third floor near the practice rooms. You thought maybe he might have forgotten something at your place the night before so, naive as you were, you’d made you way over there, only to be yanked into a deserted bathroom without warning.

“Let me look at you,” he says, turning you towards the large mirror on the wall above the sinks. He stands behind you as his hands wrap around you and roam your curves. One by one, his fingers hook around the buttons of your blouse, popping them open while his eyes follow the path of his hands through the mirror. The silky fabric falls away from your body but it doesn’t please him the way you thought it would. He frowns and tugs at the clasps of your bra, letting them spring open and fall away.

“That’s my girl,” he smirks and his hands start to slither over your torso, finding your breasts. His eyes take in how you tremble, how your cheeks and the skin above your chest turns red from embarrassment as one hand massages your breast while the other finds a nipple to play with. You let out a moan that’s quickly stifled by one of his hands.

“Naughty girl,” he whispers against your ear as two of his fingers open up your lips and slip inside your mouth, “you better be quiet,” his other fingers still tweaking your nipple, “the boys’ll hear.”

You try to do as you’re told but the way he flicks your sensitive skin and the way his digits play with your tongue, reaching deep into your mouth, you cave quickly.

“Ah, ah,” he tuts, sticking his fingers in deeper, letting you choke for a few seconds before taking them out, “we can’t have you making all this noise.”

You gasp when you feel him hitch up your skirt suddenly and his wet fingers move down.

“Felix, I can’t,” you start to say but he slaps your ass hard and you shriek. Your eyes move up to find his in the glass, ruthless and commanding.

“Daddy, I can’t,” you correct yourself.

“Good girl,” he coos, “and yes you can,” his wet fingers slip past your panties and up into you in one smooth movement.

You gasp out but manage to stifle the moan that’s begging to come out. His cold cat-like eyes are on yours as he pumps in and out of you, relishing the struggle in your features.

“Very good,” he says, pinching into your nipple repeatedly.

Your legs start to feel weak already, the friction inside of you already making you dizzy. You feel him scissoring you, prepping you. His lips attach to your neck, sucking at the skin and your head falls back against him, wanting more of him, more of his lips, his fingers in you, his hard cock against the small of your back. His lips let go with a pop but he latches back on, biting down on the mark he's just made. You let out a shriek and scrunch up your face, knowing full well what that meant.

His fist clutches your hair at the back of your head, pulling your face to him.

"You just can't listen, can you?" he growls, his eyes cold and stern suddenly.

You think he might bend you over but instead he forces you to face the mirror again.

"Look, baby," he murmurs darkly, dampening your ear and he looks down at your crotch, where his thumb now joins in pleasuring you. He's rubbing circles against your clit, too much too fast as two other fingers pump in and out of you. You're so wet by now the bathroom is filled with sounds of your juices and his thumb is coated in no time.

There's no way for you to keep quiet now and he knows it but he loves watching you struggle. Barely stifled moans fall from your lips as you watch him mess you up more and more.

"I'm starting to think you want someone to hear us, baby," he says, a coy little grin spreading across his face, "you'd like that, huh? You're a dirty little girl, aren't you?"

All you can do is whimper helplessly.

"Aren't you?" he repeats, quickening his pace in random pulses just to watch you squirm.

"No," you manage, "please, I don't want anyone to—"

"Liar," he interrupts you and sets his teeth into your ear, "I know you," he purrs, licking the shell before the tip of his tongue darts inside, making your head go blank, "you filthy little whore,"

You want to protest because you know this is getting out of hand but the feeling welling up in your core overrides all common sense.

"Daddy," the words slip out involuntarily as your orgasm approaches, delicious waves coming in stronger and stronger until you spasm against him, crying out without an inkling of control.

"Fuck," he curses, pumping you through your high until you’re left panting against him, "what a needy little thing you are." He finally slips out his fingers and brings them to your lips. You take them in, licking them clean of your cum as he watches intently.

"Good girl," he says and you smile, ready to be released but the next moment, one hand grabs hold of your hip and the other goes to the small of your back, pushing you down over the sink.

"But I told you to be quiet," he spits at you, "so I think you need a little more punishment."

You hear the clicking of a belt coming undone and the removal of fabric and you start clenching in anticipation. He teases his tip against your entrance, holds for a second or two and snaps his hips into you.

Your scream pierces the empty bathroom air.

He bends down over you, eyes flickering hot.

"I've changed my mind, little doll," he smirks down at you, "you want to be loud? Be loud. I want everyone to hear what a little cum slut you are for me," and with that, he pulls out and thrusts in again. He's slow at first because he knows you have trouble taking in his size but soon, he's picked up a fast pace, and you can read the pleasure in his face. His eyes are glazed over, head tilted back a little as he looks at you and his mouth is slack, tongue peeking out to the side just a little.

You're feeling all fucked out, over-stimulation turning into that familiar high again as you moan and whine under him.

"Louder, baby," he orders, spanking you once, making you cry and buckle, "tell me what you want."

You don't waste any time replying this time. "I want you daddy," you moan, "please fuck me, please, more!"

You hear him slur a bunch of curses and watch him lick his lips.

"Good girl," he praises and his hand runs through your hair soothingly for a moment. A warmth fills his eyes when he looks down at you whimpering underneath him. But then he hits you just right and his head shoots back and when his eyes come back to you, all that’s left in them is hunger. His fist tightens in your hair and he picks up his pace, pounding into you hard, skin slapping against skin relentlessly.

You cry out a whole new chorus of sounds for him. "Daddy, please! I'm gonna—" you start but then the bathroom door opens and your head goes blank because Chris Bang is standing in the door opening, his jaw practically on the floor. Your first instinct is to hide so you go to move up but Felix pushes you down against the sink and he halts his thrusts.

A desperate whine escapes your lips at the loss of stimulation so close to release.

"Shhh, baby," he says, his tone wicked, "don't freak out." He looks over to his band mate. "I guess you heard us, huh?" he says casually.

That's when you notice the tent in Chan's sweat pants.

"What do you think I came here for?" he cocks his head to the side as his hand comes to palm his dick through his pants.

Felix grin widens as he leans over you. "You hear that, baby?" he says, a hand wrapping around your throat, pulling you up against him, "he's here to see the show."

You sputter as he increases the pressure against your throat.

"He wants to see you get fucked, he wants to see you cum all over my cock. Can you do that for him, baby?"

Before you know what you're really doing you're nodding like you'd love nothing more because you just want him to start fucking you again.

He runs his tongue up your ear once, placing a wet kiss at the tip and let's go of your neck.

"Good girl," he whispers and he pushes you down again roughly, pounding into you even harder than before. It hits you like an earthquake, the sudden pleasure entirely overwhelming. You bounce against his dick like a plaything, whining out for more.

"Show me how desperate you are, baby," he scowls down at you between ragged breaths. His hand fists your hair once more, forcing you to face the mirror. It's a wicked sight, Felix fucking into you mercilessly, you flushed, shaking under him and Chan staring, eyes glazed and hand around his own dripping cock.

"Show Chan what a little whore you are for daddy," Felix continues, "so dirty, so shameless,"

"Yes," you reply, tears starting to burn in the corners of your eyes. Your eyes lock on Chan's and you feel your whole body heat up.

"What are you?" Felix asks, eyes hard on yours as his dick slides in and out of your slick walls faster and faster.

You don't even care anymore. "I'm a naughty girl. I'm your naughty girl," you cry, bouncing against him, "I'm so dirty for you—"

"Yeah, you are," he groans, "so dirty for me, so filthy, fuck—" he lets out a deep groan and you feel him fill you up with his cum, which immediately sends you into your second orgasm. His fists grab hold of your skin wherever they can find it as he rides you both out, finally coming to a halt against the sink. You can't move at all. Your body is wrecked and powerless so you stay down with him still in you. Slowly, he pulls out and you hear him start to get dressed.

"Baby," he says and his arms wrap around you from behind, raising you up and turning you around. You see Chan clean himself off with some toilet paper.

"You did so good baby," he says, trailing soft kisses up and down your neck, before starting to dress you again.

Your legs are still wobbly by the time the three of you exit the bathroom but you don't have time to rest. You came here to work after all. Before you can reach the elevator though, Felix calls your name so you twist back around.

"Let's invite Changbin next," he says in the most frustratingly casual way, before walking back into the practice room with Chan.

►

[sunflowerhazzavol6]

i haven’t seen many blurbs like this around but i want more where harry and y/n are in a fwb type relationship but for y/n it’s strictly that and nothing more but harry wants more bc he’s fallen in love and y/n has a lot of trouble with commitment and is closed off 🥺

Unrequited

A/N- Mature content! But please enjoy some angst, since every piece I ever write is fluff. Requests are still open, so don’t be shy, put some more! Inspired by the lyrics:

‘woke up alone in this hotel room

played with myself, where were you?’

Harry wakes up to the late-morning sun shining through his window and into his face, causing him to groan and lift his hand to block it from his eyes. His head pounds while a sheering pain breaks through his consciousness, causing any lingering sleep to escape out of reach. This is the exact wake-up call he had hoped to avoid last night when he had stumbled into his bedroom, his thoughts clear enough to yank the curtains closed until he stumbled to his bed and blacked out. He glances to his bedside table to see the time, only to find a bottle of amber liquid and his empty scotch glass tipped over with its contents drip-drip-dripping onto the floor. He couldn’t find it in him to even care, pouring another glass and downing it before closing his eyes and slinging his arm over them so that all he can see from beneath his lids is black.

The sound of his ringer cuts through the silence, and he realizes the culprit for his waking up in the first place. He blindly reaches over and pats around until he finds it, lifting the screen into his vision. Jeff. The third call of what two had seemingly already been missed. He silences it, declines the call, and then turns off the screen, throwing it across the room. It ricochets off the wall and onto the loveseat covered with a pile of discarded clothes that by now were probably sour in their need for a wash. In the back of his head he thinks about how the discarded clothes used to be hers, theirs. Her panties haphazardly tossed onto the back of the chair, his shirt landing on top of them. His cock aches at the memory, and he reaches down to cup it over his sweats. In his mind’s eye he can smell her perfume, feel himself breathing it in through his mouth and through his nose while her hand travels down, down, down, over his stomach and under his slacks, finding its place where he needed her most. Against his better judgement he does the same with his own hand, allowing himself a gentle squeeze before his mind nestles itself in the memory that he had repeatedly told himself to forget, the memory that had played in his head over and over again for the past two weeks.

He liked watching her like this. Whenever she called him telling him she was thinking about him she was all corporate, strictly business and transactional. Even when she came through his door she was this way, her heels clicking against the tile until they made their way to his socked feet, her acrylic nails finding their way into his hair and her tongue searching until it met his. This is when the walls would come down, as each article of clothing would hit the floor- first her blazer, when she would whisper his name finally. Then her blouse, when she would tip her head back while his lips memorized her neck. Her bra, when her shoulders would relax and he knew she was his, in that moment. Her body would become near liquid and he would get her onto the bed, shedding his own clothing until they were nothing but moving bodies and pleasured moans, unable to tell where one of them began and the other one ended.

Her intelligence was the sexiest thing about her. She had just graduated from law school and was making her way up through the ranks of the firm, her focus never leaving the corporate ladder for a second. She was determined to surpass her male peers, and she did so with pride, knocking out any competitor that stood in her way. She had graduated at the top of her class and had a job before the commencement ceremony had even begun. Harry felt lucky to even be a part of her life, considering how she herself said she only had time for work and no fun. He knew she wouldn’t have it any other way, though, and he reveled in the fact that he could make her unravel with the curl of his fingers or the flick of his tongue despite her self-proclaimed laser focus.

He felt that power now, her orgasm fresh on his tongue as his mouth made its way up her body, kissing between her breasts until they found her matte-red pout. She takes this as a que to pull him closer by his shoulders, reaching down to grasp his hard length in her hand. He feels her press his tip to her entrance, her mouth leaving his to say “I want to ride you. Make me ride you.”

He groans at her words, flopping down to the side and grabbing at her hips to pull her over him, desperate for the stretch of her walls around him. “Make me ride you,” She repeats, but her words come out more as a breath than as an actual voice. “Make me make you cum.” He moans softly at her request, sinking himself into her effortlessly and without hesitation due to his preparation beforehand. She moves his hands to her hips and he begins to guide her, rocking her until he builds up pace and starts thrusting up into her heat. She closes her eyes and tips her head back, and that’s when he feels what was once a glorious pressure in his stomach turn into a painful one in his chest. She had been doing this lately, disassociating from the task at hand into her own state of pleasure, tricking him into thinking she was allowing him to do what he wanted when really she wanted the lack of control for herself. First her eyes would leave him, and then her hands, and he had a feeling that his moans echoing in her ears could be anyones and she wouldn’t bat an eye. She was wound up so tightly, so meticulous about her own thoughts and actions, that she used sex with him to have someone else be in control of what she was feeling, what she was doing. At first it didn’t bother him; he liked that he was that escape for her. But now he couldn’t help but to feel that maybe that was all he was. That it didn’t matter that it was him that she was tearing down walls with, but that it could have been anyone else filling her up, making her forget. He can feel her get closer to her orgasm as he gets further from his, her jaw going slack as her moans increase in volume and intensity. Pretty soon she’s coming undone on top of him, and as soon as the last wave of pleasure rolls through her body he pulls out, feeling himself going soft despite his lack of orgasm.

Y/n doesn’t seem to notice, laying down on her back with a blissful smile on her face. “Mm, you sure know how to use post-orgasm sensitivity to your advantage.”

“Do I?” He swallows, sitting up and rubbing his face.

“Well, you work that tongue of yours like a fucking dream. And then by the time I’m finished you’re hard and desperate, and make an honest woman of me with your cock…” She trails off with a sigh, biting her lower lip at the thought. Any other day this would have him up and running again, ready to give her more reason to talk like that, but now he couldn’t hold it back.

“Why don’t you look at me anymore?”

“What?”

“Why don’t you look at me anymore?” He repeats.

“Of course I do, what makes you-”

“Y/n.”

She can tell by his tone that this conversation has taken a turn, and finally she opens her eyes. When she finds his they’re visibly upset, ringed with red as if he was trying to hold back further emotions.

“Why don’t you look at me anymore?” He asks for the third time, his green eyes staring deeply into the ugliest parts of her soul. She knows he doesn’t know what he’s looking at, and she doesn’t want to be the one to break it to him even though it was her doing in the first place.

“Harry, you know what this is for me…”

“Do I? Because you sure seem to not know what it is. You call me when you’re upset, when you’ve had a bad day at work. Me, y/n. Not the other way around.”

“I just need an outlet, Harry, someone to talk to.”

“Not someone to talk to. Something to do.”

She sits up, suddenly feeling very exposed both physically and emotionally. She tugs at the corner of the sheets and he lifts his leg to free it so she can hold it to her chest, covering herself. His heart aches at the thought that he’s caused this sudden bout of self-consciousness, and suddenly wants to take it all back to have the soft y/n he had before he had opened his damned mouth.

“Well isn’t that what this is? Just sex?”

She isn’t looking at him, and suddenly he’s angry all over again. “Just sex isn’t telling someone your deepest darkest secrets at three a.m.”

She’s quiet for a second, and he can feel the fire in his chest grow as she struggles to find the right words. “I thought that was friendship. You know. Friends with benefits. You know I can’t have anything else right now, not with work and me trying to eventually make partner. Other women don’t stand a chance when they settle down and start to have kids, and I’m determined to not be those other women.”

“Who the fuck said anything about settling down and having kids, y/n? How about having a partner in life, someone to talk to, someone to come home to? That’s everything I am now, just without the label. You call me nearly every night, begging for just a few hours knowing that I’ll let you stay the night. And we don’t even always have sex! Fuck, you use me and I know it, but I let you just on the off chance that you’ll come around and change your mind-”

“Well then that’s on you for thinking it could be anything more-”

“On me?! I love you, y/n! You know for a fact that I love you, otherwise you would be calling on other men to get you off. You call me because you know I’m just desperate enough to say yes.”

“Then that means you use me just as much as I use you, Harry.”

“Oh, that’s it, isn’t it? So you telling me that I’m like home to you, that’s just some casual shit you’ve said to all the guys you’ve slept with? And me soaking it up, wanting more of it, that’s me using you?”

“Oh, grow up, Harry.” She stands up, grabbing her panties from the chair and yanking them on over her legs.

“Grow up. That’s rich, coming from you. You think that just because you’ve been successful that you’re more mature than anyone else? Maturity is admitting when you’re wrong.” The tears finely spill over, and he chastises himself internally for letting it happen at all. “Bloody hell, y/n, you think casual sex is you being a grown-up, just because it’s sex? I know you’re more intelligent than that, and you do too.”

“I’m done with this conversation.” She pulls on her shoes, the rest of her clothes having been hurriedly put on in his lecture. “It’s sex, Harry, not a fucking wedding.” He starts to speak but the slam of the door cuts him off, and he’s left to his own silence. The smell of her perfume wafts back to him, and he falls back into the pillows to let himself come undone, the sobs wracking his body as grief settles over him in a thick cloud.

He wipes the tears from his cheeks with the back of his hand as his orgasm takes over him, biology taking the lead despite his estranged state. It was her. Her smile, her laugh, the way he would find strands of her hair all over his apartment as if she belonged here. In his head she did belong here, his y/n, his smart, beautiful, cunning y/n. By the time he cleans himself up he’s shaking his head and sighing, hoping the memories will rattle loose from his skull and make their way out through his ears, or his mouth, or at least something. It would be so much easier if his attraction to her would just disappear, if his dick would stop thinking for itself and let him have a go. 

His phone starts to ring again. Jeff’s name lights up the screen and he resists answering it, for fear that the pressure in his chest will rise to his throat and choke him until he blacks out. He swallows thickly and picks it up, swiping his thumb across the screen.

“Hey, Jeff. Yeah, yeah it’s Harry. No, I’m fine. Just caught a cold is all. What’s up?”

[twistedcharismaaa]

Lost & Found Pt 4

Summary: You’re living a suffocating life and you finally find breath in Masego.

Author’s Note: Hi guyssss! I’m finally back with another chapter. I really struggled piecing this chapter together so I really hope you guys enjoy! Leave a comment for ya girl! You know I live for the commentary, I love you guys so much! Enjoy!

Micah’s eyes left yours for a brief moment. He inhaled and leaned his head back on the wall and readjusted his shades on his face. He watched his calculated chaos unfold in the elevator which gave him much delight. 

“You know I told you my name…” he said while raising a finger and wagging it dramatically.

“You even told me your boyfriend’s name, but you never told me yours.” he continued.

You slowly pulled off your rubber yellow cleaning gloves one by one and tossed them on the supply cart. You crossed your arms and leaned back on the wall behind you letting your eyes trail the many lit elevator buttons. 

“Charisma,” you answered with a subtle smirk on your face. 

“Charisma? You know I’m full of that,” he said while placing his right hand on his chest proudly.

Again, you found yourself laughing. You shook your head and rolled your eyes towards the ceiling before eyeing him once more with a half-smirk.

“That I can clearly see,” you answered.

“You know what I want to see right now?” he quizzed while pulling off his black shades and stuffing them in the pouch of his all-black hoodie.

“Indulge me,” you responded completely intrigued. 

“Me and you having lunch,” he said while waving his hands in the air theatrically as if he was actually visualizing it.  

“So, are you hungry, lady?” he asked with a raised brow.

You inhaled silently and eyed the elevator for a short moment. Letting your eyes wander from wall to wall. Finally, you fixated on a painting that rested on the wall behind him. You’ve seen this painting a thousand times before but today, for whatever reason, it caught your attention. You admired its simplicity which made it even more elegant. You visually found pleasure in the contrasting colors of blue and red. The uneven brushstrokes seemed to tell a story that mirrored yours. It was a painting of a cup that was half-full. Or was it half-empty? Looking past Micah you spoke lowly.

“If I told you a secret, would you keep it?” you asked still eyeing the painting.

“Absolutely,” he responded. 

“This is the most I’ve laughed in a while,” you admitted while swallowing slowly. Now locking eyes with him, you continued to lean on the wall behind you for support. You bit down on your bottom lip nervously and waited for his response.

“And why is that?” he questioned.

“Life hasn’t been so kind to me lately. I’m figuring things out - figuring me out actually. So I don’t know if I’m the perfect candidate to have lunch with.” you said while changing positions. This time, you shifted your weight off of the wall’s surface and placed both hands on the supply cart. You watched the elevator doors close and open. The classical music playing in the background seemed to intensify. Or maybe this moment was intensifying?

“I have a secret too since we’re sharing,” he admitted. You enjoyed his speaking voice. It oozed calmness and embodied serenity. 

“I saw you last night at the club. You looked beautiful by the way. While I was on stage, all I wanted to do was dive in and save you. I would take you away if you’d let me. Lunch is just the first step.” he said while eyeing your frame subtly.

Your heartbeat quickened as your palms grew sweaty. He watched you like you were the only thing that mattered. His intense, penetrating eyes piercing right through made you weak. It scared you but intrigued you.

“You’re famous. You whisk away every girl that you find pretty?” you quizzed trying to make sense of it all. Just last night, you had a man that refused to touch you. Just hours ago, you were neglected in every way that you could think of. And now, you have a caramel kissed man standing in front of you treating as if you were the purest diamond. As if you were rare, unique, and completely hard to find. 

You watched a smile dance across his full lips. He shook his head and licked his lips before answering.

“I hate being famous actually. For many different reasons that I, unfortunately, don’t have enough time to tell you. We’re running out time lady.” he said while watching the elevator buttons. “It’s hard finding authenticity in people. It’s hard finding real love, real emotion, real music - I can literally go on and on. Everyone hides behind facades and masks. You’re different. You’ve always been you it’s just no one was insightful enough to pay attention.” he continued.

You finally reached your destined floor. The doors opened and you felt your heart sink. You didn’t want him to go. 

“Thank you for making me smile today,” you said softly.

“Best believe, it was my pleasure. See you around Charisma,” he responded while holding the elevator door open for you. You reluctantly exited the elevator and waved him goodbye.

--------

After a tedious day of working hard, you decided to attend your appointment with Tiffany, your trusted therapist. After the loss of the baby, you’ve been seeing a Tiffany inconsistently. By nature, you were instinctively self-reliant due to your own insecurities and the insecurities forced on you by others. Desmonde thought it was a waste of money and your friends who you barely speak to now had their own speculations. You viewed Tiffany as a human diary, holding your precious secrets - holding your darkest memories. There were times where you made progress and had these astounding revelations ready to make leaps and bounds in life and unfortunately, there were times you left feeling the absolute same. Consistently, inconsistent with your mental health, with your emotions, with your goals, and with your dreams. Maybe you cared too much? Too little? Maybe you were broken beyond repair? You grew up in a single-parent household where your mother showered you in the healthiest love and attention. Every time you needed her she was there. Constantly, going over and beyond for you - with you. But with her passing at the tender age of 20, it seemed as if life came at you like a raging storm. Quickly, devouring you piece by piece and brick by brick. At 21, you dropped out of college. Working like a dog and living check to check. At 21, you met Desmonde and fell for him and by 22 you were pregnant. Now at the new fresh age of 23, you were alone again.

Tiffany opened her office door and greeted you with the brightest smile. She wore a sky blue buttoned blouse and grey slacks. She wore her hair down making her amber highlights easy to notice. You greeted her with a smile and a warm hello before entering her office. Casually taking a seat, you noticed that she redecorated. Had it been that long since you’ve been here?

“How are you feeling today?” she asked while opening her mustard yellow notepad.

“Confused,” you said while tugging at the sleeve of your dark red hoodie.

“Hmmm. Why is that? Oh, and happy belated before I forget,” she quizzed attentively.

“Thank you. I actually broke up with Desmonde on my birthday. I don’t mean to make it as aggressive as it sounds. I just didn’t know how else to um say that.” you admitted still fidgeting with your sleeve.

“What brought this on?” she asked now actively scribbling in her notepad.

“At this point, I’m convinced it was inevitable,” you answered now making direct eye contact.

“How so?”

“He didn’t touch me, nurture me, educate me, push me - He didn’t do a lot of things. My cup was always half empty with him.”

“You’ve been together for quite some time, right? So why did you stay? If he didn’t water you or stimulate you? Why give him so much of your time?”

“I stayed because I thought he was what I deserved,” you admitted.

“Why do you think you deserve to be wilted and neglected?” she questioned.

“That’s a question I keep asking myself honestly,” you responded.

“It sounds like this break up with Desmonde brought self-awareness to you,” she suggested.

“Can I ask you something?” you quizzed.

“Of course,” she answered smiling meekly.

“I’m naturally closed off. But today, I had the deepest conversation with a stranger. What does that mean?”

“What did you talk about?”

“I admitted to him that I was practically unhappy,” you said while finally resting your busy hand. No longer messing with your sleeve.

“That’s very interesting. And his response was?”

“His response was that he would rescue me if I’d let him. And the crazy thing is I believed him,” you said feeling a smile grace your lips.

“This stranger sounds like quite the charmer,” she said smirking and taking more notes casually.

“His name is Micah. He’s a guest at the hotel,” you admitted.

“So not a stranger then?” she quizzed.

“ An acquaintance I suppose?” you replied.

“So, you’re questioning why you’re doing something that’s typically out of your guarded character? Yes?”

“Yes,” you stated.

“Maybe subconsciously you want something different. Different responses attract different reactions. You put out a different response because internally you’re longing to break routine. After feeling half-empty for so long, it’s only normal to crave to feel full.”

“He asked me to lunch. I declined at first of course. But now, I’m reconsidering because of note he left me while I was cleaning his room.”

“What did it say?” she asked completely enticed.

“I-I have it in my pocket. I’ll read it to you.” you stuttered.

Slowly pulling the note from your pocket, you cleared your voice and read it aloud. 

“Listening to music doing nothing but thinking of you. Thinking of your body and how it was handcrafted by God. Each curve sexier than the last. My mind keeps reminiscing about your sweet smile and how it fiercely ignites me while softly illuminating my soul. Those soft plump lips begging to be kissed on. I never have seen a woman so radiant. I’ve never seen eyes so captivating and so pure. I continuously watch you - study you in hopes that I can understand your beautiful complexity. I can see the brokenness. I know we barely know each other, but everything happens for a reason. I hope that you’ll let me kiss you in every area that he’s hurt you. But first, let me be a friend. - Micah”

Before you knew it, tears streamed down your cheeks connecting down to your chin. 

“Why are you crying Charisma?” Tiffany inquired.

“I haven’t had a friend in a very long time,” you answered honestly.

“There is no perfect way to heal. Healing comes in many different forms. It can come through isolation, art, family, new scenery, and friends. Charisma, maybe it’s time for a friend.”

You nodded in acceptance and quietly thought to yourself about the painting from earlier. Cup half-empty or cup half-full? It’s all open to interpretation. All you knew is that you’re ready to be full. To be whole. 

Interrupting your thoughts, Tifanny posed a question.

“So what do you say Charisma?”

“I say, it’s a date. I need a friend more than I need anything else right now. It’s a date.” you answered.

------------

Part 3 Part 5

@l-auteuse​ @ghostfacekill-monger​ @thickemadame​ @chaneajoyyy​ @soulfood-fics​ @nizzle-mo​ @jamielennkeeler​ @ljstraightnochaser​ @pineappear​ @lostennyc​ @miss-nneka​ @thadelightfulone​ @qweentbh​   @big-brows-bigger-dreams​ @rosemilage​ @sarcastic-sunshines​ @mygirlrenee​ @keiva1000​ @justanothernerdgirl​ @cyntgefel01​ @libbylivliv​ @theboldlady​ @geriixox​ @seffyn​ @errin261​ @migosis​ @cocogodess15​ @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @kemkem101 @peacefuldesiress @babbyaangel @mooon-berry @ju5tp34chy

[danyka-fendyr]

Absence of Good - 10

Chapter 10: 126 Kisses

Alright everybody I’m back! Finals are over and I’m officially free to write as much as I want until I can get a job. Hopefully that will be soon, but it’s not looking great. This chapter things sort of slow down and our heroes get the chance to relax for a minute. I figured they deserved it after their last case. Also this is just really fun for me.

Taglist:  @dreamwritesimagines @rhabakoli @alwaysadreamingoptimist

AoG Taglist:  @pancakefancake @prettyboyspenerrr @youreasnack @alioop3818 @newtslatte @rathersuspiciousbumblebee @andiebeaword @stalker83005 @lotties-journey-abroad

Wordcount: 2.5k

Warnings: None! This is all fluff. If you aren’t scared of a little making out, you’re safe here.

“The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good novel, must be intolerably stupid.” ― Jane Austen

           Trying to decide what your favorite thing about Spencer was was like trying to decide what flavor to pick at a Baskin-Robbins in hell, the options stretching to infinity. His lips, his brain, his hair, his really terrible but also really cute jokes, his hands, his magic tricks. There were a lot of options. There were so many options.

Right now though, the lips were taking it in a landslide.

“Do you really think,” you gasped, “that now is a good time for this?”

Spencer didn’t look up from where he was diligently making his way down your neck, fingers tracing little circles into the space of skin between your blouse and your slacks. You were in a supply closet, which felt very, extremely, incredibly high school, although admittedly you had never actually done anything that edgy in high school. That being said, if you were going to act like high schoolers you thought making out in a library was a much sexier choice and should probably involve fewer mops.

“Can’t wait,” he mumbled, pulling you just that little bit closer to him.

“Can’t wait 30 minutes till we’re off the clock?”

You laughed at him, but he swallowed it with a kiss, making you far too breathless to laugh anymore.

“This is our first full day of work back since the case where I didn’t see you for a full week. Perhaps you’ve forgotten, but I forget nothing, and I remember every. Agonizing. Moment.” He punctuated the words with kisses.

“I remember,” you breathed out, kissing the corner of his mouth. “I also remember that despite that, we like our jobs. We would like to keep our jobs. Which is why this is a bad idea.”

You stepped away, disentangling yourself with more restraint than you had probably ever exercised before. 30 minutes. 30 more minutes of paperwork. 30 more minutes of explaining to some desk jockey how to put a man in handcuffs. Then you were free.

You gave him one last kiss, just as a reward for the fact that you were miraculously managing to walk away from this.

“Meet me at the library after work.”

You reasoned you deserved to indulge your childish fantasies if you were going to be a responsible adult right now.

Before he could kiss you again and make you rethink your decision, you slipped out of the supply closet, straightening your shirt as you went. You stopped to check your appearance in the bathroom mirror, touched up your lipstick a little, then went back to work hoping nobody would notice your pupils were still dilated. The only person truly likely to notice that, however, was Spencer, and you didn’t have to worry about him. All you had to worry about were these forms.

The next half hour of your life was grueling. You had been literally tortured before and somehow, this seemed worse than that. You would have said it was impossible for anything to be worse than that, but now you knew better. It was simply improbable.

Finally, it ended. You let Spencer leave first, because clearly you were the one showing restraint today. He booked it out of the building, but you, on the other hand, took your time packing up. Stopped to chat with Emily, figuring she would be a safe bet considering she was either oblivious to your relationship or just so good at hiding her emotions she would never give away knowledge of it. You valued that in her as a friend. Her ability to not call you on your blatant lies when she knew the truth was better kept a secret.

You kept the conversation brief and lighthearted, and soon you were out the door too. You were aware Spencer knew your favorite library because he had confessed to you that the moment he knew he was in love with you was when you told him you even had a favorite library and that it was your happy place. You couldn’t help the fact that not only was it superior to all other libraries, but it was also superior to all other locations in general.

You wasted no time getting inside once you were there, scanning the shelves for him, and…there he was, freaking out some librarians with the speed at which he was reading. Was that the book you thought it was?

“Is that my favorite book?”

Spencer looked up, face forming a smile before his eyes even registered that it was you who had approached him.

“Yeah. You mentioned you liked it so I thought I should read it.”

“I think you’re concerning the librarians, my love. You’re going to put them out of a job.”

He blushed, and you assumed he was feigning modesty, but he quickly made the real reason for his sudden intense interest in the same page clear.

“My love?” His voice cracked softly. “We use nicknames now?”

Your face turned shades to match his. “Only if you want to.”

Wow, the books were fascinating. In fact, you could stare at them all day. Just look at bindings and never move or speak again ever for the rest of your life.

“Yeah, I do. I think it’s cute. Sweetheart.”

You stared down at your shoes, toes curling inside of them. Something about the way he said it made you go all melty inside. You definitely liked that.

“Okay, well,” you said, clearing your throat. “Considering you’re about 75% of the way through the greatest novel of all time, I have to ask. What do you think?”

“Well, I’ll admit it’s not my usual taste, but the author is certainly talented. I mean, the parallelism between certain characters, the perfect use of narrative tension, it’s all very well done. You have excellent taste.”

“And you’re not just lying because you like making out with me?” You teased.

“Well I do like making out with you.” Spencer grinned slyly. “But no. I never lie about books. Literature is sacred.”

“Agreed.” You nodded.

“That being said, I hardly think this counts as a holy place,” Spencer said, his voice dipping lower so that only you could hear, “so I think we can defile it guilt free.”

You were about to agree when you caught sight of the new arrivals shelf over his shoulder.

“Oh my gosh I’ve been trying to get my hands on that forever but I was too cheap to buy it!”

You shove past him, disregarding any apologies that might have been necessary. Not that he would require them. He had been ignoring you for books for the past week. He totally owed you.

“Can I read it first?” He asked, just as fascinated.

“Absolutely not.”

“But I’ll read it faster!”

“You’re not even done with the book you have now, slowpoke. Catch up with the big kids then you can read.”

You snatched the book of the shelf, holding it close to your chest. Spencer, meanwhile, appeared to have finished the book. You really hated him sometimes.

“Done. Now can I read it first?” He raised an eyebrow at you in challenge.

“Fine. But you owe me 126 kisses.”

“I’ll remember that.”

You snorted, not taking him literally as he took the book out of your hands and you paused to admire the architecture. Part of the reason this library was your favorite was that it was multiple stories. Books upon books not only stacked over shelves but over floors of a building. Multiple stories in multiple stories, if you wanted to be witty about it. The large glass windows in the front allowed plenty of light in, and you liked to bathe in sun pools while curled up with your books. You never liked to just be in and out of a library. One had to take time to bask in a library, to appreciate its unique atmosphere, to perhaps soak up the knowledge of its books through osmosis. Libraries were both underappreciated and important.

“Can you walk and read at the same time?” You asked.

“Of course I can, what kind of question is that?”

“Then follow me. I’m taking you to my favorite reading nook.”

You wound up the stairs, Spencer in tow, hardly glancing up from the book to see where he was going. You wondered if his genius brain came with hyperdeveloped peripheral vision.

The sun dappled blue carpet of the steps lead you to the second floor, coming to a spiraling stop across the room from your favorite spot. You made a bee line for it, sinking down into the plush curve of the couch. It wasn’t particularly busy on this floor of the library at this time of night, since this was where they kept most of the more obscure research literature. This floor was more geared towards the serious scholars, while the first floor was designed for university students and casual readers. You enjoyed all three categories of reading, yet another reason this location was so optimal.

“C’mon.”

You gestured for Spencer to join you, and he easily flopped down next to you, leaning into your side. He looped an arm around you, passing you the book with his free hand.

“Done?” You asked.

“Done,” he confirmed. “It’s kind of dead in here, isn’t it?”

“This is their slow day. We’re almost guaranteed not to be interrupted up here right now. Part of why I like it. I like to read in peace. There’s probably some research papers up here you’d like.”

You idly flipped open the pages of the book, ready to relax and read for an hour or two. Spencer had other ideas though.

“Guaranteed not to be interrupted, huh?” He said, nose slipping into your hair as he whispered the words low in your ear.

“Baby, I’m trying to read,” you whined.

That was the wrong choice of words. His hand slipped from your shoulder to your waist, pivoting you to face him as his fingers dug into the soft flesh that curved over your obliques.

“Have I mentioned that I really love the nicknames?”

He didn’t give you a chance to answer before his mouth was on yours, and you were abruptly incapable of rational thought. No unsubs, no paper filing, and certainly no books. The room could have been on fire and you probably wouldn’t have noticed seeing as it already felt like you were on fire with the warm skim of his hands against your skin.

“Maybe I should have just taken you home,” he said, already a little breathless. “As nice as this couch is, yours is more comfortable, and you look very good in a t-shirt.”

“And jeans?”

A mindless comment, a meaningless clarification as your head spun.

“No. No jeans.”

He went back to your throat, which seemed to be his favorite spot. You inhaled sharply, fingers curling into the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Besides, I still owe you 126 kisses.” You felt him smile into your skin saying it.

Oh, he was enjoying himself entirely too much.

Still, you couldn’t stop yourself from saying, “Yes, please.”

You heard him muttering under his breath as he kissed your neck, and your brows furrowed in confusion. After a moment, you realized. He was counting. You would have laughed if it wasn’t actually a little bit sexy.

Were you actually going to do this? Were you seriously making out with your boyfriend in a library? A public library, no less? The answer was no, and not because you didn’t want to.

A librarian hovered one shelf away, looking like she really didn’t want to have to come interrupt you but would if you continued. You sighed, pulling away from Spencer.

“I was wrong earlier. We are officially being interrupted. Let’s leave before we terrorize the poor librarians any further, shall we?”

You couldn’t hide your slight disappointment. It had been a long day and you deserved 126 kisses from your boyfriend. Alas, it was not to be.

Spencer was undaunted. “Guess this means I get to take you back to your place.”

“Guess it does,” you said, leading the charge back downstairs.

You ran your library card, checking out the book, before breezing out the door. You knew Spencer had walked here just like you knew he typically took the subway to work. Just as well. Meant you wouldn’t have to be separated on the drive back to your house.

“By the way, I’m investing in some t-shirts for you,” you said as you climbed into the driver’s side of your car.

He followed, sitting passenger side.

“Is there something wrong with my shirts?” Spencer frowned slightly.

“No, of course not. I love the way you dress. However, I want some oversized t-shirts.”

“I’m not following,” he said.

“It’s simple. I buy you t-shirts, let you keep them for like, a month, and then gradually steal them all from you.”

He laughed. “Why not just buy yourself t-shirts that are too big?”

“Because then they won’t smell like you.”

“I would say I’m not sure I fully understand you but actually I’ve been realizing since we got back that I’m sort of obsessed with the smell of your perfume. It would kind of linger in the air after you dropped off my coffees on that last case and that alone could keep me going for hours.”

“Really?” You kept your eyes on the road, diligently avoiding eye contact, suddenly shy.

“Really. You smell so good, all the time. I don’t know how you do it.”

“Well I shower on a regular basis, just for a starting point,” you teased.

“Did you know that some experts say you actually shouldn’t shower every day? Apparently occasionally taking a break allows your skin to rebuild the natural oils it needs to be healthy. So while it doesn’t hurt you to shower every day, it can also be beneficial to skip sometimes.”

“I’m making a mental note of that for our next case. ‘Unsub has read same studies Spencer has. Took them too far.’”

You were rewarded with another of his laughs just as you pulled into your driveway. You took a moment to appreciate it, the sound light and happy. It was nice to hear him so relaxed after the case you had just gotten off. You were quickly overcome by the urge to kiss him.

He lead you inside, the two of you practically tripping over each other in your haste. You had never unlocked a door so fast a day before in your life.

You kicked off your shoes in the hallway, and Spencer followed suit, mismatched socks making an endearing appearance.

“I’ll be right back,” you said, heading in the direction of your bedroom.

“Where are you going?”

“To change into a t-shirt. And no pants.”

Spencer smiled to himself, settling down on your couch, fully prepared to wait as long as it took. He had 114 kisses to bestow upon you in a t-shirt. A t-shirt, and no pants.

 “Love is that condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own.”

― Robert A. Heinlein

[jimlingss]

The President’s Son [12]

Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13

➜ Words: 4.2k

➜ Genres: 100% Fluff, Slice of Life, Bodyguard!AU

➜ Summary: Kim Taehyung is the President’s son, mischievous and playful, and infamous for being a troublemaker. When everyone’s given up, they call for you to be his personal guard. There’s no other choice when your dad’s assigned you to it and surprisingly Taehyung doesn’t mind either. Maybe because you happened to grow up with that brat.

“Are you going to miss me?”   Taehyung trails after you with timid steps, his face melted into an exaggerated pout and puppy dog eyes glistening in the light. You keep walking ahead without stopping, not paying any mind to him. “No.”   “Wow, that hurts, dumbo.”   “It’s only a day, Taehyung.” While you don’t care much for taking an entire day off, you’d like to think you deserve it. After being on duty for a full two weeks, day after day since the rest of the team was busy with a foreign minister visiting the country, you’re finally getting a chance to breathe and worry about things that don’t involve Taehyung. It’s a break you’ll enjoy, to say the least.   “But I’ll miss you.” He’s being clingy and you suspect it’s just to irritate you. So you ignore him completely and giggles bubble up his throat. “What are your plans, Miss Bodyguard? You only get one day free from me.”   “How unfortunate.”   “Hey!”   His protest is disregarded and you consider what your plans are with a sigh. “I don’t know. Sleep. Eat. Probably go to the gym to work out or to the dojo to watch the students and maybe practice.”   “Still doing work on your day off?” He lolls his head to the side, clicking his tongue as if to scold you. “You should rest up. I’ll make sure your daily workout is included in your job, don’t worry. You can always chase me while I ride my bike — that’s always a fun game to play.”   “No thanks.” You continue to walk ahead, making large strides and Taehyung breaks out into a light jog to keep up. There’s a few seconds of silence before a thought flickers into your mind, making your eyes light up. “Oh yeah. I almost forgot.”   “What?”   Without thinking, you mindlessly reveal, “I’m going out for a drink with Jin in the evening.”   “Wait, what?” Taehyung’s hand reaches out to grab your elbow, stopping you in your tracks. You glare down at where he touches you, surprisingly never flinching, and he doesn’t let go. “You’re going out with Jin?”   You meet his eyes. “He invited me.”   “So...it’s just going to be the two of you?”   “Yeah. It’s been a while.”   “Huh.”   Your brow quirks. “Is there an issue?”   “Not really,” he mutters and continues walking, causing you to play catch up as he once followed you.   You’re not one to get excited about things. From a young age, you were taught not to bring your hopes up for the sake of preventing disappointment. Many matters in life are futile anyways and at this point, it’s intrinsic in you to remain calm and composed at all times.   But it proves difficult to hide your eagerness this time. It’s been a long time since you’ve caught up with Seokjin or even shared a drink with him. He’s an upperclassman you’ve always respected and admired. You should’ve done this a long time ago, but the timing was never right. This time when he asked you, you agreed, promising that you’d never reject his offer twice.    You make sure you look presentable, but not overdressed. If you came in the usual suit, he’d scold you for being overly professional and even distant. So you opt for jeans, a white blouse, and a blazer. It’s something a passing business student wore and you figure it’s both refined and casual enough. You make sure to check twice in the mirror before leaving.   The corner of your lips quirk as you walk down the street, wobbling in the black heels you bought and saved for special occasions. It’s the only pair you have and you pulled them out for the first time. You’ve yet to break into them and it’s difficult to find balance when you’re used to loafers and sneakers, but you manage with a good amount of concentration and your breath held steady.   “Why are you smiling?”   You stop in the middle of the city sidewalk at the familiar voice. Your eyes lift from the pavement in front of you to the person standing in your way.   Kim Taehyung has his arms crossed.   The reaction is instant. “What are you doing here?”   Your mouth falls, pulling into a straight line. Your face dims. Your expression glazes over, becoming blank, impassive, empty.    He continues to stare at you. His feet are shoulder-width apart, standing square with his head held high and eyes sweeping your frame like he’s caught you sneaking out in the middle of the night. He’s dressed in sweatpants and his university hoodie, the institution name slapped across his chest. Jimin also stands behind him off to the side, timid with his downcast head, unspoken apologies practically rippling off his body, a puppy who’s scared of getting in trouble.   Then, Taehyung’s thin lips part and he announces, “I was craving sushi. Heard this place was good. I didn’t know I’d run into you here.”   “Huh. What a coincidence.”   “I know right.” Taehyung grins brightly, eyes crinkling in a way that’s overly charming. He looks over his shoulder. “C’mon Jimin, let’s go.”   The college boy struts into the bustling restaurant and his bodyguard holds the door open for you, murmuring your name. You acknowledge Jimin before walking up to the waitress giving a warm welcome and asking you how large the party is.    “Actually there’s a reservation. It should be under the name Kim Seokjin…” You look around, trying to peek to see if he’s here yet. The waitress hums, instantly knowing which way to go, but Taehyung stops you.   “Let me join, dumbo. It’s more convenient that way. It might take a while to get a table since it’s so busy and I’m starving,” he tries to reason, eyes hopeful as they glimmer in the low lights of the restaurant. The prolonged silence makes him add unnecessary explanations. “I promise I’ll eat and get out as soon as possible, so you can enjoy the rest of the night. I won’t even make a peep. You won’t know I’m there.”   “I can’t watch you, Taehyung,” you tell him shortly. “I’m off duty here.”   “That’s what he’s for.” The boy hitches a thumb over his shoulder to Jimin and then he scoffs, “I know you’re not working.”   There’s another moment of silence.   You look over at Jimin who seems to neither protest nor advocate for him. Then you look over at Taehyung and all he needs is to do is bat his lashes and give another sweet ‘please’ before you’re reluctantly giving in.   He ends up trailing behind you with a skip in his step.   The door slides open and the man sitting on the floor with the table in front of him smiles. “There you are, chickpea! Thought you would leave me waiting for the next five years!”   Seokjin’s appearance is casual, his hair simply brushed after a shower, without any suit and tie or earpiece. He’s dressed in a black slacks and a cozy, green sweater that you’re tempted to sink your hands into. He reminds you of a student at the university, but more mature and reliable.   You give a meek smile. “I’m sorry.”   “I’m just kidding, kiddo.” He laughs. “I would wait for you as long as I need to.”   It’s unfortunate that you can’t reciprocate his warm greeting wholeheartedly, not while entering the room, the door widens and a certain someone is poking his head in. “This is a nice place, huh?”   Jin sets his glass of water down, pleasantly surprised by the uninvited guest. “Mr. Kim?”   “It’s Taehyung,” he corrects and brushes past you, taking a seat across from Seokjin in the private room.   “I’m sorry. I….ran into him before coming here.” It was meant to be a private affair between you and him, an opportunity to talk without any interruption. Now that there was an extra person in the room, it shifted the dynamics and you couldn’t help but sigh.   Jimin nods his head, standing outside the room, hands clasped in front of the midsection. Your eyes acknowledge him before sliding the door closed.   “Nah, it’s fine. The more the merrier as they say.”   “I hope your wallet has the same sentiment,” Taehyung mumbles, vigorously flipping through the menu.   “Taehyung,” you scold him in a low tone while Seokjin laughs.   “Don’t worry about it. I’ll treat you too.”   The younger boy has his eyes narrowed as he stares up at the male. He debates telling him ‘no thanks’ and that he doesn’t need it, but Taehyung ultimately decides to say, “I won’t hold back then.”   The tension in the air is electrifying.   It’s going to be one long night.   //   Kim Taehyung orders a whole sushi boat to himself, fresh sashimi and tempura all for himself while you order a few appetizers to share with Seokjin. Drinks are ordered as well as you chat to Seokjin and true to his word, Taehyung doesn’t speak a single syllable.   He seems to be watching.   Eventually, the waitress comes by with your drinks and after thanking her, Seokjin pours you one.   “I was really surprised when you told me you were in the police force,” he says. “But you must’ve been really good to rise up in the ranks so quickly.”   “Well….” Your smile is lopsided and your playful shrug attempts to be nonchalant. “I wasn’t half-bad.”   “Ooh.” He laughs and clinks his glass with yours. “Is that cockiness I see from Y/N?”   “I’m just being honest,” you quip while shyly tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.   The older man grins, eyes crinkled, wrinkles creasing around his mouth. “I love the confidence.”   Your cheeks feel warm despite not having taken a single sip of your drink. On the thought, your hand grips the glass tighter, about to bring it to the seams of your lips. But suddenly, you’re stopped.   Taehyung, beside you, has his hand plopped on top of the rim. You turn to look at him, glaring slightly. He smiles at you. “Let me drink it.”   Without being able to say otherwise, he takes it from you, downing it one go. His brows seem to twitch and he finishes within seconds, exhaling. “Can you even drink?”   He scoffs. “Of course I can. Pour me another.” Taehyung’s arm extends across the table and when you look over, Seokjin wears an impressed expression, pouring another.   “You’re not drinking for me, right?” you murmur to him, trying to stop it at once if he’s trying to show off. After all, your own drinking tolerance is one of steel, high enough that you don’t feel a single thing after numerous shots. You have an inkling that Taehyung, on the other hand, can’t hold his liquor whatsoever — and the evidence comes from stories told by Jungkook.   “I’m just trying to have a good old time, dumbo. You don’t have to worry about me so much.”   There’s a second before you lean away, giving into his persistent will. “Alright then.”   The drink ends up stolen away from you and you’re more sober than you’d like to be.   You’d grab the waitress for another glass, but Taehyung insists someone remain sober in case something happens and while you’d vouch Jimin could technically handle all three of you, there’s no arguing when Seokjin agrees.   The two men drink with each other to an oblivion. It’s almost a competition with no one stopping, with no end in sight.    “I just thought you’d end up going to the army or the marines. Wasn’t that what you told me you wanted to do during junior high?”   “Yeah, something like that,” you say, “I thought I’d try going to apply for the police academy before that and I managed to get in. The army is what…..my dad wanted.”   Jin hums, turning the glass in his hands. “Chief’s proud of you either way. I can tell.”   There’s a sudden itch to drink or to change the topic. But there’s no need to divert when Taehyung spontaneously inhales, nodding towards the male across from him. “Pour me another one, old man.”   “I’m only four years older than you.” Jin laughs, but compiles anyhow even though Taehyung should be the one pouring for the most senior person in the room.   “So can you keep up or not?”   He chuckles. “I still got some youth in me, don’t worry.”   “I wasn’t.” Their glasses clink together. “No one goes home sober tonight.”   “Deal.” Except you. It feels like you’ve faded into the background, becoming wallpaper as the conversation begins to revolve around them both and you’re left leaning your chin in your hand, elbow to the table, dejected without any intoxication running through your veins like you intended. “But why are you suddenly so enthusiastic about having a drink with me?”   “Why not?”   “Fair enough,” Seokjin muses. “Guess we all have our own troubles.”   “What’s yours?”   “Just the business and hecticness of work, feeling like time’s passed too quickly, that I’ve aged so much and didn’t even realize it. I wanted to catch and reminisce.” Jin smiles your way before sipping on his drink and turns to face Taehyung. “What about you? What are your troubles?”   There’s an extended moment of silence.   Taehyung drinks and shifts to stare at you. You don’t understand why he’s looking at you like that, but before you can decipher what it means, he tears his eyes away from you with a drawn out sigh. “Everything.”   Seokjin laughs, in a way that acknowledges his answer, not one made of malice. “Touché. As cushy as your life seems, Taehyung, I know it must be suffocating.”   The younger scoffs and rolls his eyes. “That’s not even the tip of the iceberg.” His head falls to his own shoulder, becoming sleepy and tired at once as the drink begins to settle inside him. Seokjin doesn’t think much about it and pours Taehyung and himself another one. The atmosphere is no longer as awkward as it used to be, dissolving with their defenses. In this very moment, they’ve become equals. “Why is it so damn difficult to be normal and do mundane shit?”   “It’s because you’re not normal. You’re the President’s son.”   “Yeah, but it’s a title I didn’t ask for.” Taehyung downs his drink, neck snapping back as he does so and he allows the glass to bang against the wooden table once he’s finished. “I just...want to go to school normally and not have to be followed by people or be watched all the time. I want….normal relationships. I want...not this.”   “Eventually,” Seokjin tells him and Taehyung lifts his head. Their eyes meet each other’s. “This will only last for so long. Soon enough things will go back to normal.”   “Yeah.” A puff of air leaves Taehyung’s nose and he smiles to himself, a smile tinged with sadness. “But it seems so far away. And even when it’s over, it’ll never be the same. Is it...is it bad I hope my old man doesn’t go for another round? I really hope he loses if he decides to run again.”   “It’s not bad.” Seokjin refills another glass. The bottle finishes but Jin quickly opens another one, hitting the cap against the rim of the table before you can object to it. “If we weren’t selfish, I don’t think we could ever take control of our lives. Have you ever thought of moving abroad?”   “I don’t know. Maybe. But there’s nothing for me if I go and I’m scared...they’ll be nothing when I come back.”   You gaze at the profile of Taehyung’s face, eyes running along his full lashes, the smooth slope of his nose to his pouty lips that naturally seem to downturn. Seokjin seems to be stunned momentarily too, the sadness and loneliness tangible. Taehyung exposes his vulnerabilities, but it isn’t showing his weaknesses — it shows bravery.    “I’m envious of you,” he continues, words beginning to slur, blinking with heavy lids.   Seokjin smiles, softening around the edges and speaking with a care you recognize that he only offers to close friends. “Why me?”   “Because you can leave here without anyone knowing who you are. Because you’re normal. Because you’re successful in your passion….and people like you. Important people...like you.” And Taehyung doesn’t mean people of prestige or status. “I’m jealous.”   Jin personally pours him another, reaching over the table and Taehyung takes it graciously. “If it means anything, I’m jealous of you too, Tae. You’re a lot more courageous and honest than I can be. And you have a lot of potential to do and be whatever you want. It wasn’t like that for me. But I have full confidence you’ll achieve what you want if you work hard enough. You just gotta get there, but it’ll come if you keep going.”   He exhales with another smile. It’s reserved, but genuine. “Thanks.”   //   Midnight arrives with ten empty bottles discarded by the side and you put an end to this shenanigans, having enough. Taehyung’s face is planted on the table, snoring, and while Seokjin is calmer, he’s giggly and pulls out three different cards to pay — the waitress takes a random one.   Farewells are bid and Jimin comes to collect Taehyung, but the latter whines and moans that he wants you instead. One good look of him and you give in.   “Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Jimin asks in concern.   “I’m fine. I’ll just tuck him in for the night before heading home. Make sure Jin gets home safely, okay?”   “I’mma be okay, chickpea.” Seokjin grins easily, walking over and engulfing you in a hug. You’re suddenly surrounded in his scent, his broad shoulders, and your heart stutters in your chest. “See you tomorrow, mmkay? M-mak-ke sure you get home soon. Gonna be late for school! Your dad’s gonna make you run laps again ‘round the dojo!”   You smile, patting his back once. “I don’t go to school anymore, Jin.”   “Heeey!” Taehyung’s arm lifts and he stumbles over, only to fall asleep halfway. He’s shaken awake again when Jimin re-adjusts, having to shoulder his weight. “D-Don’t touch heeeer.”   A drawn out exhale pulls from your lungs.   The two men are switched. Jimin shoves the team leader into the back of the car and you insist you’re able to take Taehyung back on your own considering the apartment is only a few blocks away and you want to make sure Jin gets back as soon as possible. Taehyung’s also moaning about how he doesn’t want to go to the Blue House and the last thing you need is to fight against drunk Taehyung.   It takes a minute and you watch them go, taxi turning the corner before you walk in front of Taehyung with your back turned to his front. With your knees bent, he gets the cue and happily hops on for a piggyback ride.    He giggles giddily. “So soft, dumbo.”   “Uh-huh.” Taehyung isn’t heavy — the issue is that he’s taller than you. His limbs are long, and his toes end at your ankles, but luckily they don’t drag on the ground. The other issue is how your feet ache in the thin heels. It causes you to wobble and waver from side to side of the sidewalk. You end up catching yourself on the brick wall, regaining balance before continuing down the empty street.   “Ain’t the guy ‘pposed to carry the girl?”   “Who says?”   “I dunno. Movies.” Taehyung snuggles closer to you, nuzzling into your neck and his blonde hairs tickle your skin. “You smell nice.”   “Weren’t you sleepy, Taehyung?”   “No~” He sings with more laughter and leans into you. Your feet lurch, curse spilling underneath your breath and you stop for a second to bounce him on your back and get a better grip around his thighs. His arms stay locked in front of your neck. “’m sorry”   “For?”   “For botherin’ you on your day off, I know you wanted to be alone or with Jin and not see me and I wasn’ invited, but showed up and probably pissed you off, don’t be mad.”   “It’s okay. I missed you.”   “Really?” Taehyung’s slurred words spill of innocent hopefulness, head lifting slightly off your shoulder. You smile, eyes pinned ahead of the road, bathed in the orange light as you pass beneath streetlamps, listening to the car engines and motorcycles riding off in the distance. It’s serene and you bask in the way the breeze cools the heat of your cheeks.   “Yeah.”   “You’re not lying? Promise?”   “I promise, Taehyung. Why would I lie?”   “Cause I always piss you off — you hate me.”   “I don’t hate you.”   It goes quiet and you suppose he’s finally fallen asleep, but then Taehyung pipes up with a groan and mumble, “Wish you’d smile at me like that.”   “Like what?”   There’s no point in conversing with an intoxicated individual. You’re wasting your energy, but your curiosity has been piqued and you want to see what Taehyung without any true inhibitions is like.    He ignores your question. “You never smile at me like that. You always look so upset when you look at me. When you look at me….when you look at me…...you’re never ever happy.”   Kim Taehyung hugs your backside. You’ve finally found your balance, discounting the blisters forming on your toes and the pain of your heel, continuing forward. He speaks again, “’m sorry for bullying you.”   The corner of your mouth tugs. “It’s not a big deal.”   “‘ssa big deal to me. I was mean and a brat and annoying but you still put up with me when I know you didn’t wanna just cause your dad told you to, but you never told on me or fought back or yelled at me so, I’m sorry.”   “It’s okay. It never bothered me, Taehyung.”   “What’ll happen when you’re not my bodyguard anymore? Cause Jin’s right, y’know? One day I won’t be the President’s son no more, what will happen to you? Where will you go? Are you gonna go back to the police force or join the army or do MMA fighting? You’re strong enough to do whatever you wanna do.”   You hold back the laughter that tickles up your throat. “I don’t know yet.”   “Can I stay with you then?” he asks in a voice too timid to be the Taehyung that you know. “If I gotta workout or join the army too, I’ll do it. We can be bunkmates — or if you need me to go to the gym, I’ll do it.”   Taehyung can’t see it — he can’t see how he’s made you smile. And it’s in a way that’s too genuine from what you’re used to showing. But you’ve softened with his sweet words, overwhelmed by his innocent truths spurred on by the liquid courage. “Why would you want to come with me?”   “Cause I was lonely without you. I don’t want you to go.”   “You can always make friends, Taehyung. You don’t need me.”   “But I want you. I want you, I want you so bad,” he sobs like the words are clogging in his mouth, frustrated he can’t explain, voice husky around the edges yet tender as they’re only meant for your ears to hear. “I can’t find another one of you out there. There’s only one you. One Y/N. One dumbo. I can make friends, but no one’s gonna take your place ever.”   A long sigh leaves the seams of your lips. You glance up at the night sky, feeling a sense of melancholy. The boy on your back is a friend, someone who considers you family, and you were cruel enough to ignore that. “I’m sorry I didn’t keep in touch, Taehyung.”   “You shoulda taken me with you.”   “I couldn’t have.”   “I know…..”   Taehyung’s talkative nature simmers down into sleepy mumbles. He takes a deep inhale, filling his chest before his words become completely incoherent.   You enter his apartment complex, the lobby man recognizing you and allowing you to pass with a nod and a sympathetic smile. The elevator takes you up to the twenty first floor and you open the door at the end of the hall, entering the living space and slipping off your heels.    Instantly, your feet are soothed against the cool floorboards and you make your way to his bedroom, throwing Taehyung off your back and onto his cold bed. He groans tiredly and you take off his shoes before pulling the blanket up and tucking him in.   You stare at the boy for a long second. His hair is sprawled against his pillows, a few strands stuck to his sweaty forehead. His brows seem to furrow in his sleep. Happy go lucky Taehyung isn’t so happy underneath it all and while you were aware of it, you severely underestimated him. You treated him like a child when he was hurting inside, and while he doesn’t know it, you’re the one who feels more apologetic towards him.   But you appreciate that he’s made amends in the past, that he remembers and never forgot.    With the smallest of smiles, you flicker the lights off, shutting the door quietly without hearing him mutter your name to stay.

[rohad93]

Authority Online: Ch 5

Sunday morning Celeste got up and dressed as usual, but there was a certain nervous excitement that permeated everything she did. 

She and Jaune had agreed to meet at ‘The Daily Grind. The cafe just next door to the bakery, though Jaune didn’t know that. 

It would give her some familiar turf, and she knew the majority of the staff, on the off chance that she needed help extracting herself from the situation. 

They weren’t meeting till ten and it was only nine-thirty but she still found herself already sitting inside the cafe, sipping nervously on a mug of black tea. For a Sunday morning, there were a number of people in the cafe this morning, having coffee and chatting. The quiet den of people helped put her somewhat at ease.

She’d decided that jeans and a pale blue blouse, that she didn’t get to wear near often enough, would be alright. She scuffed her flats across the floor. She just couldn’t help all the twitchy nervous energy. She absent-mindedly curled a lock of silvery hair around her fingers. This wasn’t even a date per se... they were just... meeting for coffee.  

Did Jaune think it was a date? 

Bloody hell, at this point she wasn’t even sure what this was. She was in that weird limbo where she was fond of someone but didn’t know them well enough yet to say if she really liked them or not. They had talked quite a bit over the last week but it wasn’t the same as meeting. 

Wasn’t that why people went on dates though?  

While she was mulling this over she didn’t notice or even look up when the bell over the front door jingled. 

A few minutes later she felt a presence nearby followed by a soft clearing of a throat. 

“Celestine?” 

She jumped, turning to look up at the blonde now standing a few feet away with a mug in one hand. 

She really was quite tall. 

“Can I sit?” she asked after a second and Celeste felt a flash of embarrassment shoot through her.

“Ah, I’m sorry, of course, please.” She gestured to the empty seat. 

She took a brief moment to really look at her companion as she situated herself in the chair across from her

  Her profile had certainly been accurate. She was tall and lean, the angularness of her features was not contained to just her face, but the rest of her as well was squared with an almost sharpness to it. Short, bright blonde hair, that Celeste couldn’t quite tell if it were real or dye was combed neatly into a smooth wave atop her head and she had sharp amber-colored eyes. 

She was wearing black slacks with a white button-down tucked into them, the top two buttons left undone, revealing pronounced collar bones and the sleeves rolled just above her elbows. 

“I feel a little underdressed,” she admitted with a nervous smile as Jaune took a sip out of her cup.

Those amber eyes widened and she spluttered a little on the hot coffee.

“Please, don’t. This is about as casual as I ever get any more,” she admitted, running a hand through her hair. 

Her companion seemed just as nervous as she felt and it dulled some of her own nerves.

“Semi-formal is your casual?” she asked, a teasing lilt to her voice and was delighted at the hint of pink that seemed to crawl across Jaune’s cheeks. 

”I think it would be more accurate to call it business-casual…,” she mumbled, embarrassedly, glancing off to the side.

Celeste couldn’t help but laugh, causing those eyes to slide back to her. 

“I knew ‘Carrick’ was Irish, but I didn’t expect the accent,” she stated, leaning back and crossing one long leg over the other before taking a long drink of her coffee.  

“Ah, It was much thicker when I was younger. When we first moved here my sister and I were often teased for it.”

“People are like that.” Jaune hummed, the tone was sympathetic. “It’s lovely.” 

It was Celeste’s turn to feel the heat creeping up her neck at the compliment. 

“Thank you…” She took a sip of her tea, if for no reason then to give herself a moment while she collected herself. “I almost expected you to have a french accent.” 

Jaune barked a laugh at that. It was rough and sharp, but the sound seemed perfectly in place coming from the blonde, and Celeste couldn’t help but smile.

“Ah, yes, no,” she snorted. “My family’s ancestry is French, but that was generations ago. Which is fine, I prefer my words to have a normal amount of vowels.” she smiled behind her cup when the baker laughed.

Celeste was so caught up in her companion that she didn’t notice the family of three walking past the cafe outside.

“How much pancake mix do you think we’ll need?” Greg looked at his wife, their son on his shoulders as they locked the bakery’s front door behind them. 

“I think one bag should be enough for the three of us,” she hummed as they walked past the cafe. She glanced into the shop but did a double-take and stopped. “ What’s Celeste…” she started but quickly changed gears. “Who is that?” 

Greg leaned around his wife to look into the windows of the cafe. Sure enough, his sister-in-law was sitting at a table in the back, a mug in hand and smiling brightly at a tall blonde woman sitting across from her. It only took a second for him to realize it must be the woman she’d met on the dating site.

The one she didn’t want her sister to know about.

Rose started toward the cafe’s door and Greg jerked.

“Rose, wait!” He grabbed her hand before she could go inside.

“What, what’s wrong, I just want to... pop in real quick…," she mumbled trying for the door again.

“No” Greg gently pulled her away. “She’s…,” he started and had to think fast as his wife leveled a look at him that clearly said she could see her sister in the cafe with a woman and she was going to investigate it if he didn't come up with a damn good answer. “That’s… her lawyer!” he finally said.

“Her lawyer?” Rose repeated, eyes wide.

“Yeeees,” he drawled, stalling while he thought, Steven tugging at his hair was not helping. “She told me the other day she was meeting with a lawyer, for some, you know, legal stuff for the bakery. We shouldn’t bother her when she’s doing business stuff,” he reasoned. 

Rose hummed, looking through the glass. The other woman was certainly dressed like a lawyer. Much too formal for a date in a coffee shop.  

“You’re right. She can tell me about it later,” she agreed as they moved past the shop. Greg let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding as he followed behind Rose to the market. 

The two were still sitting inside nearly forty minutes later when the three walked back by and showed no signs of moving. Greg hoped that was a good sign.  

~ ~ ~ ~

“Surely she can’t be all that bad?” Celeste laughed at the look on Jaune’s face after one of the many stories she had about her mother doing something terribly embarrassing when she was a child.

“Yes, she can.” Jaune insisted gruffly. “The problem is she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it,” she grumbled. 

“She certainly sounds… like a character,” she finally settled on, resting a chin in her palm, smiling when Jaune chuckled.

“Straight out of Shakespeare,” she agreed. 

“My sister may be just as dramatic, though, in a different way.” Celeste glanced in the direction of the bakery, where the rest of her family was. 

“I’m sorry,” Jaune said, the tone was serious but the twitch in her lips indicated otherwise.

“Can I get you another cup of tea, Celeste?” A waiter paused at their table. 

“Ah, no, thank you, Tom.” She smiled at the boy.

He turned and indicated to Jaune’s cup questioningly. She held up a hand.

“No, thank you.” He nodded and left. “You seem to be quite well known here.” she turned back to Celeste, who gave a little shrug.

“My bakery is… nearby,” she hedged. Jaune nodded.

“I’m not that familiar with this part of town, so I’ve never had the pleasure, though, to be honest, I’m not much of a sweets person. My mother didn’t allow that kind of stuff when I was a kid, so I never really developed a taste for it.” 

“Perhaps you've just never had anything good."

"Perhaps not," she admitted.

"Would you like to?" she asked, cocking her head.

"Huh?" 

Celeste smiled. The confused face the lawyer was making made her grin.

"Would you like to try something good?" she asked again.

"Something of yours?" she clarified.

"Yes, something of mine." Celeste couldn't keep the laughter out of her voice at having caught her companion off-guard.

It was becoming clear to her that those lovely blue eyes had a way of throwing her off-kilter, but Jaune was nothing if not adaptable, part of the trade. 

"You seem awfully confident in that assertion." Her smirk widened into a grin when Celeste sat up straighter, obviously not going to take the teasing comment sitting down.

"I am” 

“Lead the way” She held out a hand as they stood from the table. She threw some money down on the table and followed Celeste to the door.

“How far is it?” she asked as they stepped outside into the warm sunlight.

“Oh, not far,” Celeste mumbled, pulling her keys out of her pocket and walking the ten feet to her own front door.

“Obviously not…” Jaune drawled, cocking a brow as she stopped and began opening the door. “When you said nearby, I didn’t realize that meant next door.” 

“I didn’t say it wasn’t next door, though.” she quipped, stepping into the shop with Jaune at her heels. The jingling bells heralding their arrival to the dark and quiet shop. 

“Fair enough…” she said, looking around the shop. It was clean and had a nice, homey feel to it. The white linoleum floor and stainless steel display cases shined with the light bouncing in through the front windows. The walls were painted a pale blue and held framed photographs or pastries and flowers. 

“It’s very nice.” she turned back to Celeste, who had been watching her look around from the corner of her eye, 

“Thank you. You’re not allergic to anything are you?” 

“Not unless you put bees in your baked goods,” she said with a grin that was mirrored back.

“Wait right here.” Celeste held up a finger before disappearing into the back, leaving her standing in the middle of the shop.

They had a few things made up, but she knew exactly what she wanted the blonde to try. She stepped into the walk-in, missing the sound of little feet in the stairwell and padding out of the kitchen.

Jaune was still admiring the shop when movement out of the corner eye made her turn, but instead of Celeste, a small, dark, curly-haired boy of about six was starring at her with wide eyes from behind the display case, a piece of paper clutched in one tiny fist. 

“Um, hello?” 

“Hi, I’m Steven.” He moved closer and smiled at her but his face morphed into awe as he came to stand at her feet. “You’re tall…,” he said, looking up at her.

“So I’ve been told… Where did you come from?” She looked around. 

More importantly, did Celeste have a son? Surely she would have mentioned it already if she did.  

“Upstairs” He pointed up.

Before Jaune could say anything Celeste came out of the back and immediately saw the boy.

“Steven! What are you doing down here?” She quickly walked up to them.

“Hi, Aunt Celeste!” He smiled brightly and wrapped his arms around her legs. Jaune let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. “I heard the bells,” he explained. “ I wanted to show you my drawing.” He held up the piece of paper for her and she smiled, looking at the crayon drawing of a large pink… lion maybe? 

“That’s very nice, love, but why don’t you go back upstairs before your mother comes looking for you, I’ll come by later and you can show me, alright?” She smiled at him.

He nodded and turned back to Jaune and waved.

“Bye” with that he trotted away into the back. 

“I’m sorry about that…” Celeste started. 

“No need to be sorry.” She shook her hand. “Your sister’s son?”

“Yes, Steven. He’s a sweetie. Speaking of… here.” She held out a small maybe one inch square on a piece of parchment paper. It was a golden-brown color with chocolate drizzled over the top. 

“This is a butterscotch bite,” she explained as Jaune reached up to take the treat. Their fingers brushed and both had to suppress a sudden tingle.

Jaune popped the treat into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. 

Celeste watched her face and couldn’t help but smile brightly as the blonde’s eyes widened and her eyebrows shot into her hairline. 

“You have every right to be confident. That’s… really good.” Jaune finally said after she’d swallowed.

“Thank you.” 

Before she could say anything else a loud chiming filled the air, startling them both.

Jaune dug her phone out of her pocket and hit a button, a severe frown marring her face.

“My apologies, I didn’t realize what time it was, I have some work I need to finish before tomorrow.”

“Ah, of course, I’ll walk you out.” Celeste followed behind her. “It was very nice to finally meet you,” she said as they stepped outside the shop into the warm sun.

“The pleasure was entirely mine.” Jaune smiled and Celeste felt her stomach roll. “Celestine…” She started and automatically Celeste cut her off.

“Celeste,” she corrected. “Only my parent’s ever called me Celestine,” she chuckled and the corners of Jaune’s mouth twitched upward at the sound.

“Celeste…” she corrected and tried not to shift around too much. “Would... you like to have dinner with me next weekend?” she asked after a second but it felt much longer to them both.

“I’d love too,” she answered quickly and immediately felt an embarrassed heat rise up her neck at the eagerness but if Jaune noticed she made no indication.

They exchanged numbers and then the lawyer was gone, walking down the street.

Celeste closed and locked the door behind her and for the life of her couldn’t wipe the smile off her face as she made her way upstairs, feeling absolutely giddy.

Maybe whatever today had been was up in the air but there was little doubt in her mind that Saturday night, she had a date.

With a witty and attractive blonde at that.

She was so caught up in her thoughts that she didn't notice the open door of her sister’s apartment.

"Celeste!" 

The baker jerked to stop in front of the open door where her sister appeared. 

"How was your meeting with the lawyer?" she asked and Celeste froze.

"You knew about that?" 

Suddenly Greg was standing in the doorway behind her sister making a slashing motion at his neck.

"Greg told me this morning when we were passing by the cafe, we saw you with your lawyer, having coffee. What did you need to see a lawyer about?"

"Ah, yes… I have been thinking about… maybe expanding the business and I just thought I might consult a lawyer about it first, nothing concrete yet." she managed to make up a story out of thin air. 

"Oh, I didn't know you were thinking about expanding the bakery." Rose crossed her arms and leaned against the door jam.

"As I said, nothing's been decided yet. Right now I do have to go upstairs and finish a few things though." she excused herself and Rose nodded just as Steven called out from another room.

"I better go see what all that's about." She rolled her eyes with a smile and hurried away. Greg stepped out into the hall.

"We saw you this morning having coffee with your… friend and she wanted to go in, I guess I just remembered that you said she was a lawyer so I said you were having coffee with a lawyer for business reasons," he explained quietly with a grimace.

She reached out and laid a hand on his arm.

"It's perfectly fine, Greg. Thank you."

"So…. How'd it go?" 

Celeste smiled and Greg grinned 

"That well, huh?" he chuckled and Celeste nodded.

"We're having dinner next Saturday," she admitted and he only smiled wider. "But I really do have some things I need to go finish before the day is over. Thank you again, Greg."

"Don't mention it,” he called watching his sister-in-law hurry up to the third floor and he wondered if she realized just how wide she was smiling at that moment. 

If Rose saw that face there was no way she’d believe whatever story they made up for her. 

~ ~ ~

Despite the work she very much needed to do, Jaune sat in her car for the better part of fifteen minutes just trying to come to grips with her morning. 

Celestine Carrick was just as lovely as her photos would have one believe, but they belied the charming and vivacious woman she was and Jaune had not been prepared. Not for that soft lilting accent nor those piercing blue eyes. She was beautiful and Jaune felt like a hot mess from the first moment she’d laughed till she’d left. 

She’d somehow managed to pull herself together long enough to ask her on an actual date, and she’d said yes.

Taking a deep breath, she started her car. It was going to be a long week leading up to Saturday. She still needed to decide exactly where she was going to take Celeste.

She also needed to come up with something to say to her mother, who had wanted to drag her to the opera with her on Saturday. 

A later problem.

She flexed her fingers against the leather of the steering wheel and ran her tongue over her teeth.

She could still taste chocolate and butterscotch.

Despite a life relatively free of sweets, she found herself already craving more. 

[aroworlds]

Fiction: The Pride Conspiracy, Part Two

December isn't the best time of year for a trans aromantic like Rowan Ross, although—unlike his relatives—his co-workers probably won't give him gift cards to women's clothing shops. How does he explain to cis people that while golf balls don't trigger his dysphoria, he wants to be seen as more than a masculine stereotype? Nonetheless, he thinks he has this teeth-gritted endurance thing figured out: cissexism means he needn't fear his relatives asking him about dating, and he has the perfect idea for Melanie in the office gift exchange. He can survive gifts and kin, right? Isn't playing along with expectation better than enduring unexpected consequences?

Rowan, however, isn't the only aromantic in the office planning to surprise a co-worker.

To survive the onslaught of ribbon and cellophane, Rowan's going to have to get comfortable with embracing the unknown.

Contains: A trans allo-frayro trying to grit his teeth through the holidays, scheming aro co-workers, a whole lot of cross-stitch, another moment of aromantic discovery, and many, many mugs.

Content Advisory: A story that focuses on some of the ways Western gift-giving culture enables cissexism and a rigid gender binary, taking place in the context of commercialised, secular-but-with-very-Christian-underpinnings Christmas. Please expect many references to said holiday in an office where Damien hasn't figured out how to run a gift exchange without subjecting everyone to Santa, along with characters who have work to do in recognising that not everybody celebrates Christmas.

There are no depictions or mentions of sexual attraction beyond the words "allosexual" and "bisexual" and a passing reference to allo-aro antagonism, but there are non-detailed references to Rowan's previous experiences with and attitudes towards romance and romantic attraction as a frayromantic. Please also expect casual references to amatonormativity and other shapes of cissexism.

This section contains multiple depictions of platonic physical intimacy.

Length: 4, 789 words (part two of two).

I’ll have a pride coat! And nobody will have the least idea what it means!

On the last working day of the year, Rowan staggers into the office holding a plate of homemade shortbread—the top layer of plastic wrap bearing the Sharpie-written words “NOT FOR HOUSEMATES BUY YOUR OWN FUCKING BISCUITS”, his mood sour. On the one hand, he’s free until January (although he’ll prefer that circumstance more should this be a paid break). On the other hand, Christmas and its family awfulness tag-team with the heat to curse him with mind-racing, restless 4 AM wakefulness.

He chose right. Didn’t he?

In six days, he’ll have survived the family dinner and his housemates will be with their people or travelling for the holiday. He can bag up his presents for their customary donating, buy something online and spend the day baking food he doesn’t have to share or hide.

Christmas will be an exercise in endurance, but it’s a known terrible. Better to suffer one day of hell and leave than to poke the hydra in each of its eyes and allow it, enraged, to hunt him across the earth. Right?

“Rowan!” Melanie greets him at the door, today wearing a silky blouse with a poinsettia print, a pendant shaped like a miniature tree bauble, and stocking-shaped earrings of the heavy, dangly kind. A Santa hat trimmed with silver sequins and a large golden bell sits atop her short hair. “Merry Christmas!”

“Uh … back at you?”

“You didn’t wear anything Christmassy!” Melanie flutters her hands at him: she painted her glossy crimson nails with white and green stripes like the fancier sort of candy cane. “Can’t you get anything in your size?”

“No...” Rowan glances at his usual outfit: dress shoes, jeans black enough to resemble slacks on forgot-to-do-laundry days, navy shirt.  

Couldn’t he have worn his cherry-red Docs?  

Her suggestion gives him a convenient out, but isn’t he trying to be honest about his feelings? “I didn’t look. Christmas … isn’t that exciting when you’re enduring family.” He barks a laugh, hoping Melanie understands. “At least being trans, nobody asks me if I’m dating anyone or when I’m going to bring someone home to meet the family, because they don’t want to think about trans people in a relationship.” He steps sideways, hoping to navigate around her, put his plate down and move the conversation towards something less fraught. “I made shortbread. Do you like shortbread?”

He stiffens, trying not to panic, when Melanie envelops him in a bear hug, smushing Rowan’s chest and one arm against her necklace. “You spend Christmas with your family?”

“Don’t most people who celebrate it?” He shuffles out of her embrace to slide his cling-filmed plate onto Shelby’s desk beside a plastic container of pizza scrolls. He slips the ingredients card from his jeans pocket, straightens the creases and rests it by the plate. “Uh … is cling-film better or worse for the environment than biscuits in a freezer bag? I had a set of clip-seal containers, but my housemates left me two condiment-sized ones in the cupboard. I could use a bit of plastic or defrost frozen stir fry, except I didn’t know what I’d put that in if I used the stir fry container for the shortbread...”

Rowan realises he’s rambling and presses his lips together before he rants on how his containers must be growing five types of mould in the bottom of Matt’s backpack.

“Happy Holidays, everyone!” Shelby, both arms burdened by plastic cake containers, enters wearing a red T-shirt with the legend “All I Want for Christmas Is a Unicorn”, a glittery ribbon tied around the end of her braid. Only twice before has he seen her without a blazer. “Mel! Your earrings! Millers?”

Rowan swallows a laugh and, freed from awkwardness, heads for the relative comfort of his desk.

A party day, he soon realises, possesses a distressing lack of work. He acquires plates and spoons from the kitchenette, he works on a few photos from last week, he sorts his emails. He notices Melanie pulling Damien aside to talk about something that requires the waving of candy-cane fingernails, but, before he can start to wonder, the volunteer ropes him into a conversation about a loving family with unusual pavlova-eating habits. Shelby saves him from that oddity only to tell the story of her family’s chipping in to get her granddaughter a four-hundred-dollar dollhouse. “My parents wouldn’t have spent that much on a toy! How can anyone charge four hundred dollars for plastic?”

That seems like a good time to head over to the food table.

Shelby does make a good chocolate cake.

“Rowan.” Damien heads towards him, his approach signalled by a trailing, bell-ringing Melanie. “A minute?”

Nothing good has ever been heralded by this question. Nothing.

Rowan nods and follows them over to the whiteboard, standing in front of the List.

“Do you,” Damien says, at least doing the decent thing of asking straight out, “need somewhere to go for Christmas?”

Oh, god. What provoked this horror? Melanie?

Why...?

“We’d non-romantically love to have you.” Melanie’s smile beams as bright as her nails—her lips a close match for their glossy crimson basecoat. “Me and my daughter and her partner, I mean—not me and Damien together. It won’t be anything fancy, but you’re welcome to come.”

“My wife said my telling her about being recipro makes so much sense, and she’d like to ask questions of someone who actually knows things.” Damien nods, his holiday cheer demonstrated in the absence of a tie, rolled-up shirtsleeves and reflectively-shiny shoes. “And I make beer batter fritters.”

Never has Rowan heard Damien speak in aromantic-identity terms with that much casual fluidity, and he would smile but for two co-workers waiting, expectantly, for his answer.

How does he express appreciation for their kindness while explaining that he can’t not go home for Christmas?

A few moments pass before Rowan’s lips and tongue produce sounds that aren’t “I”, “uh” and “I … uh”. “Thanks? But … well, I’d be fine being alone on Christmas and I'm not doing that because … that’d be bad, so... And, you know, family? And I want to see my dog? So ... thanks, but...”

“But you’re one of us,” Melanie says with unusual solemnity, resting a hand on Rowan’s shoulder. “Just like Damien’s now one of—wait, we need to get you a mug! Why didn’t we get Damien a mug?”

“Well, actually...” Rowan, thanking the Aro Gods for Melanie’s willingness to head down any conversational tangent, darts towards his desk and satchel, the latter housing a heavy tissue-wrapped box. Pinkish-red, of course. “Here. Have a mug.”

“Oh! You should have told me!” Melanie’s lips tremble as she and Damien follow him back across the room. “I would have gotten a mug with you!”

Rowan rests the box on his lap, startled. Why didn’t he think to tell Melanie that he bought Damien a mug? (How else does one welcome another into aromantic kinship?) Why didn’t he wait until Damien was busy and order a mug with Melanie, instead of buying one on his phone on the train home from work?

Rowan owns skill in list-making, cross-stitch, baking, fixing other people’s photos and designing his own leaflets. He’s quietly proud of the many arts in which he dabbles with varying degrees of success. He’s mastered, too, survival on the fringes of other people’s lives, survival in a world where few are worth trusting. That ability though, makes him a man too comfortable in isolation. It makes him, in ways that have nothing to do with allosexual frayromanticism beyond his living in an aromantic-antagonistic world, a man who doesn’t know how to welcome other people into the house behind his five-metre fence.

He keeps everyone at arm’s length, even when—perhaps especially when—he plies his crafts for their benefit.

Does everyone experience acute flashes of insight at inconvenient times, the irrevocable sense that their personhood is one bewildering state of immeasurably fucked up?

“I’m sorry. Really.” He passes the mug to Damien, looking at Melanie. “I’m used to doing things on my own. I should have thought, but I didn’t.”

“We do realise that,” Damien says, tearing both wrapping paper and the box lid in a sharp tug. “You got the green-stripe one—oh, wait, it’s got both?” His hands render the mug’s size almost laughable, but Rowan couldn’t find soup-sized variants from a store willing to custom print aromantic flags on crockery. “Mel, there’s both. The recipromantic-only one and the shared one. Thank you!”

Is Rowan imagining that hint of passive-aggression? “You realise...?”

“That you’re independent, that’d you’d rather suffer alone than risk asking for help, even when it causes problems for you. That you’re only comfortable with people when you’re in a position of knowledge or authority. We learnt early on that you work best when we get out of your way.” Damien sets the mug on the desk with a soft clink. “I’m not completely useless in my job, so try harder to stop rolling your eyes over my photos.”

“They’re terrible,” Melanie says, squeezing Rowan’s forearm—apparently forgiven. “You know that, right?”

“The next person to say they can do better has to prove it—”

“My dog photos prove it!”

“At an event! Not in your backyard!”

For a reason likely tied up in internalised ableism, Rowan thought anxiety his designated, annoyance-causing personality failing. His tendency to overreact, freak out, let things get to him; his tendency to shaking hands and rambling incoherence. He didn’t consider that, in the company of people more inclined to decency and less inclined to avoid criticism on deadnaming and cissexism by casting him as the problem, they may find something else frustrating or difficult.

“Is this...” Rowan halts, thinking better of it, before he says the words “being fired just before Christmas”. Even he doubts Damien capable of inviting someone to join him for the holiday only to retaliate with a firing on Rowan’s refusal, although logic doesn’t still his hands. What’s the good of logic if my anxiety still ignores it? “What is this?”

Damien shrugs, tapping a finger against his new mug. “Yearly performance evaluation, maybe? Shame that I’ll have to write it down. I’d rather just call this sort—”

“What’d you say on mine?” Melanie blurts, clapping her hands.

Damien raises both eyebrows. “As if I’d answer that sober!” He shakes his head; Melanie trills her laughter. “We realise that there’s reasons, Rowan. It isn’t a real problem for us, but it may be one for you. If you find yourself in the company of a therapist at some point, consider mentioning it?”

Reining in Melanie wasn’t the reason Damien asked her to work with Rowan, he realises in yet another dizzying, revelatory moment, but that isn’t the cause of Rowan’s spluttering. “If? You think it’s only if? I’d have more aro shit on my desk if I weren’t paying a psychiatrist and a psychologist!” He sighs and nods. “January. I see them January.”

“I don’t like to assume.” Damien shrugs again; Rowan guesses it his attempt at conveying casualness. “Given that this isn’t quite the … er, situation for this conversation, I should—”

“I’m fine,” Rowan says, thinking Melanie’s heedless interrupting a contagious quality. “Really. It’s good. Like actually...” He doesn’t know how to voice this feeling that, for the first time in his life, someone has voiced a critique that doesn’t feel like he’s being disdained or unravelled. “Melanie … again, I’m sorry.” He thinks the time right for another distraction and grabs the second parcel from his bag—tissue paper tied with strands of aro-coloured embroidery floss. “Here. I’ve been working on this. I got your name.”

Melanie lunges for the parcel, struggling to untie the knot with her long fingernails until Shelby—was she close by?—hands over a pair of scissors. Blades click shut; Melanie pulls away the paper.

Twenty square embroidered patches in the purples and greens of many aro-ace and aromantic pride flags cascade from Melanie’s hands onto the worn carpet.

Melanie has always been given to laughter, but the way she bends over, resting her elbows on her knees as though she can’t hold herself up, has Rowan fearing that he’s given her a heart attack via pride patches.

“Aro-ace! Are these all of them?” She draws a shaking breath and carefully kneels, gathering patches. “I didn’t know there were this many!”

“Aro and aro-ace. The ones I know about, anyway. There’s probably a few I don’t.”

“Did you make all these?” Shelby asks. “You should sell them!”

Rowan considers explaining why he’ll never make even minimum wage selling hand-embroidered patches in aro pride flag colours, but Melanie’s pulling him into another grasping hug has him scarce able to breathe, never mind speak. He doesn’t know for how long Melanie smothers him, just that she, like an eventual retreating tide, steps back, leaving Rowan bewildered and giddy. Perhaps this is too much?

“You’re a liar, and this must have taken forever, and you shouldn’t have. I can’t believe you sew!” Melanie shakes her head, shuffling through the patches. “There’s the aro-ace flag with blue and orange, and a combined one, and one without black stripes—oh, thank you!”

Rowan shrugs, relieved that she seems happy. “Do you have something to put them on?”

“I have a coat. I’ll have a pride coat! And nobody will have the least idea what it means!” Melanie grins, shaking her head, before leaning over to tap Damien on the forearm. “Should the rest of us swap gifts now?”

Damien settles himself down on the closest chair. “Good idea. Do you want to—”

“We’re doing Secret Santa now!” Melanie stands on her tiptoes, waving the hand not clutching a handful of patches. “Find your person and give your gift, and then come here and show me what you got! Rowan made me aro-ace patches! All the aro-ace patches!”

“You know your evaluation says ‘needs to stop interrupt—’”

“Quickly, because Damien’s nattering on about performance evaluations!”

Damien sighs, shakes his head and leans back on his chair, looking up at the ceiling. “Lord give me—is that mould up there?”

“Probably,” Rowan says, hoping that he doesn’t look like a man expecting to open a set of golf balls. Did Shelby get him and lie about Melanie? Does that explain the voice recording? “Does the janitor have a step ladder? It’d be easier to tell if we got up close.”

“She does, because of the lighting.” Damien shakes his head. “Remind me first week back to get someone in to look at that. Or to write it on the whiteboard before we leave.” He reaches inside his left trouser pocket, removes a small card-sized parcel held between thumb and pointer finger, and flips it onto Rowan’s lap with surprising deftness. “I think this will be appropriate? While I didn’t know what you planned for Melanie, I saw you working on the train one evening. You had earbuds in and were too busy looking at your hands to notice, but I guessed then you’d made your bag’s patches.”

“It’s hard to cross-stitch on a moving train,” Rowan says by way of apology, a shade confused: what gift needs this explanation? “Hard to cross-stitch well. Not so hard if you don’t care about neatness.” He peels back the tape—Damien wrapped the card the way he presses his suits, the edges inhumanly crisp—and finds a gift card for his local sewing store. Rowan stares, drops the card on his lap and slides his hands under his legs, doubtful he can say anything comprehensible past this isn’t a gift pack of golf balls.

“That’s what you got him? A gift card?” Melanie shakes her head and pokes Damien in the shoulder with startling vehemence; only Damien’s size and his feet, firmly planted on the ground, keep him from falling. “Did you put any thought into that? I don’t like to be that oldie—” She stops, scowling: Rowan can’t hold back his spluttering laughter. “As I was saying, gift cards are the laziest way to—Rowan’s laughing at me, isn’t he?”

Damien tucks his hands behind his head and leans further back in his chair, grinning up at the popcorn ceiling.

Moments—in which Shelby gives Damien a six pack of fancy-looking artisanal beer—pass before Rowan’s ribcage resumes its regular pattern of movement. Finally, he manages to rasp an explanation: “Buying a gift card for a department store? Impersonal, but okay if they shop there. Buying a gift card for a trans man at a clothing shop where every tag has woman on the label? Hateful, unless you know he wants it. Buying a gift card related to someone’s interests so they can pick what they want? Good. And I need fabric, so … thank you.”

“Did someone get you a Millers gift card?” Melanie asks, her hands raised to cover her mouth. “That’s horrible!”

“That’s Aunt Laura,” Rowan mutters. Melanie’s expression of horror, Damien’s surprising evaluation and the wonder of a good, useful present leaves him inclined to truth: “That’s the most considerate gift I’ll get. One with thought that isn’t ‘outright cissexism’ or ‘you’re a man so we’ll ignore your personality to give you the most generically-male of generically-male items’.” He places the gift card and paper on his desk before nodding at Damien, who continues his overgrown Cheshire Cat impression. “Really, thank you.”

Even though Rowan isn’t standing atop his desk to blather about names, the room falls into an uncomfortable quiet.

Shouldn’t someone rustle some wrapping paper? Bite into a biscuit? Thank somebody for their gift? Why aren’t they making noise?

Melanie breaks into a broad smile, threading her fingers together like a self-congratulatory cartoon villain. “Oh, I don’t know about that.”

Rowan’s body, ever alert to strangeness in the people around him, stiffens long before his brain concurs that this change in conversational direction is at minimum odd and veering towards confronting with a high likelihood of I’m so not going to like it.

Damien jerks upright, chair creaking. “Didn’t we talk about how to do this—”

“His aunt gave him a Millers gift card!” Melanie grabs Shelby by the arm and drags her towards the meeting room like an illegal firework gone out of control.

Damien isn’t much an arbiter of this office’s brand of chaos, but he’s the closest thing to a pillar of stability inside this mouse-scented bewilderment and therefore the person at which Rowan directs his questioning: “What...?”

“You know how Melanie gets all enthusiastic?” Damien runs both hands through his already-mussed hair. “She comes up with plans and you can’t so much stop her as guide her in the safest direction and hope you’re alive come the landing?”

Does Damien know that is the worst answer anyone can give to a man with more than one anxiety disorder? At least short of pronouncements like “we volunteered you to give year 12 biology students a seminar on recessive genes and you’re starting right now”? Wasn’t that something to do with the monk who grew beans? Hendel? Mendel? Or did he just grow beans at a monastery for some reason? Or was it peas?

“What...?” Rowan croaks, staring at the dark meeting room like a man waiting to face a starving tyrannosaurus.

“She thought we should demonstrate our acceptance of you, after our failures in this. And then she realised Christmas isn’t a great time of year for you, which made her even more … uh, enthusiastic. I made her promise she’d do this after everyone else left, but...”

Melanie staggers out of the meeting room with a large basket held in both hands, a basket covered with glinting cellophane and decorated with a mix of blue and green ribbons.

Shelby trails after her, clasping another pair of scissors.

Rowan will never understand, never mind be able to explain, the thought processes leading to his diving off his chair for the sanctuary underneath his desk—just that one moment he’s sitting on his chair and the next he’s crouching beside computer cables and a lid from someone’s Pikachu lunch box. Some primeval sense of cave as safety, perhaps … but didn’t prehistoric humanity fear cave bears and cave lions? Aren’t large, bright spaces, with visibility and room to run, safer than small, dark places concealing unknowable predators? What about drought, then? Or deserts? Are there any safe places, really...?

Melanie holds no respect for the ancient tenets of let the hiding man hide undisturbed until he’s ready to stop hiding, but she does rest the basket on the ground at the entrance of Rowan’s desk-cave, blocking legs and chairs from sight. “Merry Christmas,” she warbles from behind the mountain of cellophane and wicker. “We hope there’s something there that you like!”

“Happy Holidays!” Shelby echoes, followed by a few more rounds from the rest of the office. “Do you want scissors? Melanie wraps things like she’s paid to use sticky tape by the metre.”

“We only have cheap tape in the office! It won’t stick unless you use heaps!” A thunking sound echoes from above Rowan’s head, and then Melanie’s candy-striped hand reaches around the leg of his desk, offering Shelby’s scissors. “Here. You’ll ... probably need them.”

There’s something to be said for this workplace’s willingness to treat escapades atop and beneath office furniture as normal, Rowan thinks. Breathe. “Than—uh—thanks.” He takes the scissors, staring at the back of shining cellophane; a miscellany of shapes wrapped in green paper sit within like an aromantic dragon’s treasure hoard.

“Damien, can you make them give us better tape next year?”

“We can have good tape if we stop spending the stationery money on good coffee and your fancy teas?”

“The tape’s fine,” Melanie announces before changing the subject: “Rowan? Are you opening anything? You have to tell us what you’re opening if you’re going to do it down there. Oh, do be careful—I think Liam used to shove his chewing gum under the table.”

Rowan shudders, but better his hair brushing old chewing gum over seeing his gift-opening become the focus of everyone’s attention! He draws a steadying breath, tells himself delay won’t help and slits the cellophane until he can draw out a wrapped box, one suspiciously weighty. At least fifty pieces of tape fasten the flaps on each end; Rowan promises himself that he’ll wrap everything in string and tea towels from now on before ripping into the paper. A mug with five horizontal bands wrapped around its body, the trans flag fading into the aro flag—blue into green, pink into green, white unchanged, pink into grey, blue into black.

Shelby, he thinks in disbelief, the non-existent golf balls making their appearance inside his throat. He rests the mug in his lap before reaching through the cellophane with shaking, sweating hands for another box. Another box with the same dimensions and weight...

“Oh, god,” he whispers.

His co-workers got him a basket of pride mugs for Christmas.

Melanie breaks into ringing laughter.

He needs a moment to find his voice, a moment in which he unwraps a mug with a gradient allo-aro design and another with the aromantic flag on one side and the bisexual flag on the other. “Did you  … did you … uh, get me any coffee to go with all my mugs?”

“It’s on the bottom!” Melanie trills. “And it isn’t just mugs!”

“Mostly mugs,” Damien says.

After another couple of minutes, a gradient frayromantic and a frayromantic-and-allo-aro mug join the collection precariously balanced on Rowan’s thighs. He sighs in relief when the next item in the basket feels soft, flat and light, something rustling underneath the wrapping paper, but a second lot of golf balls settle in his throat when he spots the pink and blue stripes, the drape of fabric: a trans pride flag.  

He can’t swallow, can’t lessen the burn in his eyes or ease the stiffness in his jaw and neck; his fingers fight to tear, peel and grasp. Bewildered to the point of dizziness, he finds an aromantic flag with its glorious green stripes, a frayromantic-and-bisexual mug and the expensive coffee Rowan permits himself on special occasions.  

He scoops wrapping paper and boxes back into the basket before hugging his clinking pile of mugs and flags.

Inchoate feeling abounds: a tangle, a knot of emotion with trailing threads of pleasure and overwhelm, surprise and gratitude, guilt and shame ... and something like the shock of being slapped across the face. They shouldn’t have done this! He shouldn’t be like this! Why is this too much? Why can’t he say “thank you” and express a normal, sensible gratitude for these people doing what Rowan’s family can’t ... instead of struggling with the feeling that Rowan, ungrateful and demanding, doesn’t deserve anything from people who have provoked his annoyance, frustration and alienation?

Mugs. Mugs and flags.

Why does something this wondrous have to hurt so much?

After a few moments, the only sound from him the chink of shifting crockery, someone moves the basket. Melanie sits on the floor and wriggles herself backwards underneath the table, grunting, to sit beside him. For once, she doesn’t speak; she rests a hand around his shoulder and lets him be a shivering mass of man clasping mugs.

Finally, Rowan’s rasping, croaking voice manages a few words: “Is this why Shelby recorded me ... talking about my identities?”

“I told you he thought it was suspicious!” Shelby crawls to Rowan’s other side, her braid trailing over the carpet. “Mel said you’d think it was just me being old—no, nobody does that!” She clasps his forearm, squeezing like a vice on wood. “Mel tried seeing if you’ve got a … all those accounts that aren’t Facebook, where you might say what you are? But she couldn’t find you, so I had my granddaughter show me how to record you. We knew we wouldn’t remember if you just said them.”

“I don’t know all the flags yet,” Melanie says in apologetic tones. “And I thought if I made the others check, they’d learn more about us!”

Part of Rowan feels a habitual spike of terror at the thought of offline people finding his social media accounts; part of him feels a quiet pride at Melanie’s using him to educate others in aromanticism. Most of him, fearing a blubbering breakdown, clings to the lifeline of asking questions: “And why Damien started that whole conversation?”

“We had to know where your mug seller was.” Damien bends down to peer underneath the desk and, at Melanie’s brow-arched stare, adds: “I’m not getting under there! You’ll have to call the SES to cut me out!”

Rowan nods and draws a breath. “I … I...”

“You’re very welcome.” Shelby squeezes his arm again. “Can I have your shortbread recipe? They’re good!”

“Yeah. Bag. Front pocket, left-hand side. People ask, so...” Rowan tries for another slow inhale. It’s supposed to help. Supposed.  

His family expects gratitude said clearly and directly, even when undeserving; they’ll never take emotional speechlessness as its shorthand. They want the formula followed, interactions never deviating from the same narrow structure: gift given, thanks provided, everything right in their world where it’s the thought that counts justifies disrespect of another’s personhood. They avoid messiness and honesty; they fear navigating and acknowledging mistakes and missteps.

They won’t see him as a man, or understand the pain they cause in believing his masculinity something he can put aside for their comfort, because they fear a world with unpredictability and fluidity.

Mum and Dad will never conspire to give him a gift like this. They’ll never want to get to know Rowan well enough to try. They’ll never put his needs ahead of their comfort. They’ll never speak of challenges or difficulties with Damien’s kind casualness. They’ll never want to acknowledge their failures. They’ll never give him an awkward, chaotic Christmas that veers from their notions of how things are supposed to be.

Does he want to endure their narrowness, now that he knows what better looks like?

Does he want to endure their truth that Rowan Ross isn’t a real man to them—and won’t be a real person until he remembers his deadname and the stereotypical trappings of the gender presumed to accompany it?

Or does he want to expect and get something else?

Maybe he doesn’t want a world so predictable his erasure becomes acceptable collateral damage for sticking to the pattern.

Maybe, despite his anxiety, he wants a world where people can surprise him.

“Melanie? Damien?” Rowan, shaking, pokes his head out from underneath the desk. “Can I … can I still spend Christmas with one of you?”

[chilling-seavey]

Anything But Mine (d.s.) - Chapter Twenty-Three

A/N: A chapter just in time for Daniel’s birthday! 🥰 Maybe I’ll post two to celebrate? 🤔

T/W: brief mention of abortion

Tuesday, July 28th, 2020

“Well it’s good to see you have some company this time around.”

Florence smiled at the doctor from her place on the white clinic bed. Her blouse was pushed up past her swollen stomach, the clear gel spread messily over her skin. Emilio stood on her other side, a gentle hand on Florence’s arm.

“So, thirty-five weeks, we got a solid heartbeat here.” The doctor stated, dragging the wand across the gel, the rapid rhythmic beating echoing gently through the room. Florence watched the screen with wide eyes, seeing the almost fully formed baby there.

“I think it has my nose.” Emilio whispered to her. She smacked his chest playfully.

“You didn’t want to find out the sex after all?” the doctor asked.

“I don’t know. I’m still on the fence.” Florence chuckled.

“No harm in that.” The doctor shrugged. She took a few notes on her paper as she checked the baby’s movement, breathing, muscle tone, and amount of amniotic fluid. The hour went by quickly and smoothly, filled with suggestions for the next month by the doctor in preparation for the birth. Florence held onto a few pamphlets she was handed as they left, Emilio leading her to the car as she flipped through them.

“Oh my God.” Florence sighed as Emilio helped her into the passenger side of his black BMW.

“What?” Emilio asked.

Florence shoved an open pamphlet in his face, a list of post-partum creams and routines listed in bold font. “I forgot my vagina turns into a post-apocalyptic world after birth.” She stated plainly.

“Ew, did not need that visual.” Emilio shuttered and gently pushed the pamphlet away from his face. He closed the passenger side door and let himself into the other side.

“And you bleed for like…six weeks straight.” Florence added as he reversed out of the parking spot.

“Way too much information.” Emilio shuttered. “Again, did not need to know that.”

Florence shrugged, looking back at the pamphlet in her hand.

The previous seven months had gone by fast and a lot had changed as well. Emilio and Grayson soon fell into a civil and friendly relationship, realizing they were both sort of stuck under the certain situation. Tensions had since eased and Florence felt more comfortable around both young men since everything had settled into a unique reality. She was still extremely nervous, however, as she was carrying around the silent burden of who was the father of her unborn child. It was a sticky spot to be in and the guilt she had was heavier than the twenty-five pounds she put on by the start of her third trimester.

Florence’s apartment was arguably the one consistent thing in her life. Although expecting her second child, she could not afford to upgrade to a three bedroom and was therefore stuck with the place she had. Callum was still sending a consistent amount each month for her rent which helped greatly.

Emilio parked in the underground garage beneath the apartment building and the two took the elevator to the familiar 25th floor. Grayson had already arrived earlier that morning, gladly offering his assistance in putting together the crib in the master bedroom. That’s right where Florence and Emilio found him, quiet music playing through a Bluetooth speaker as he sat on the floor surrounded by tools. Clementine sat nearby, a small plastic bowl of cut up strawberries set in front of her as she watched Grayson work.

“We’re back!” Emilio called, falling onto the neatly made bed on his stomach, glancing over Grayson’s work.

“How was it?” Grayson asked, looking up from the floor, pushing his messy hair back from his face. “Everything still okay?”

“Everything is perfect.” Florence nodded, setting her hands on his shoulders. “This looks great, Gray.”

“We’ve been working hard, haven’t we, Clem?” Grayson looked over to the eighteen-month-old who nodded excitedly.

“I knew I shouldn’t have gotten rid of the old one.” Florence sighed, sitting on the end of her bed.

“New is fun.” Emilio shrugged.

“I agree.” Grayson nodded, pressing the screwdriver into the last beam and turning it clockwise. Clementine crawled over to him, her small hands pressing onto his light blue pants with white stripes as she got herself to her feet. She reached for the screwdriver as Grayson pulled it back.

“All done!” he told her, tickling her sides.

“Please.” Clementine whined, reaching for the bright orange handle that he held behind his back.

“Grownups only, remember, Clemmy?” Grayson said, starting to pack up his tools.

“The nap was okay?” Florence asked as she picked up her daughter from climbing over Grayson.

“Yep. She slept a good hour. I got her up at 2.” He said, also getting up from the floor. “We’ve been having fun. She’s been a big help. I think she’s going to take after me with her building skills.”

Grayson tickled the toddler’s side and she giggled loudly, slinging her arms around her mother’s neck.

“We should get ready to head out.” Florence said as the group headed into the living room. “I’m going to throw on a dress.”

Clementine was passed over to Emilio and Grayson set his tool box on the kitchen island before unzipping his bag that was on the stool. He took out a new shirt and slacks and the two separated to different rooms to change in preparation for their plans for that night.

Once dressed and touched up, Florence came back into the living area where Emilio had Clementine situated on the floor with a puzzle. Puzzles were Clementine’s new favourite toy.

Florence set her purse on the island and shuffled through it, “So-“

“I got dinner at 5, bath at 5:30, and bedtime at 6 if you aren’t back.” Emilio finished without even looking up.

“And there’s-“

“Left over spaghetti in the box in the fridge and I should warm it up but make sure its not burning.” Emilio sent a small smirk in Florence’s direction.

“Yeah.” Florence sighed. “What would I do without either of you?”

“God only knows.” Grayson tisked playfully as he emerged from the bathroom dressed in a black t-shirt tucked into olive green slacks and finished with his usual designer belt. He set a hand on Florence’s shoulder, his other ruffling through his mess of brown waves.

“We’ll be back as soon as we can.” Florence said.

“Don’t rush.” Emilio assured her. “We are going to be just fine.”

“Like every time.” Grayson added.

“Tell mama that we’re fine.” Emilio whispered to Clementine.

“Fine, mama.” Clementine whispered through a grin, leaning into Emilio’s side.

“Now let’s get a move on. Daniel didn’t take it well the last time you were late for a meal with him, remember?” Grayson shook his keys in the air, ushering Florence towards the door.

“Wait! I can’t forget my pamphlets.” Florence grabbed the small stack from the table and rushed after him.

“Good luck.” Emilio said more to Grayson than anyone. The other boy rolled his eyes teasingly before closing the door behind himself and Florence.

~~

It was approaching 4pm as they arrived at the restaurant, Grayson’s light blue Porsche earning many glances from on lookers as he handed the valet his keys and helped Florence into the building. The casual restaurant was bustling as the hostess led the pair to their table. Daniel was already there, sat next to a brunette girl on one side of the booth. The girl was named Cayleigh and she was Daniel’s new girlfriend. 

They had been dating only a couple months, meeting near the end of the school year on an app that Florence didn’t care to know the name of. Cayleigh was a nice girl and Daniel seemed to really like her but there was something about the whole situation that just made Florence annoyed. She was not looking forward to sitting through an entire dinner with them and having to deal with Cayleigh’s overly chipper personality.

When Grayson and Florence got to the table, the friends greeted each other happily, Florence plastering on her best fake smile that she had perfected over the years of attending boring functions and dinners with her parents and brothers.

Cayleigh was quick to start with an excited, “How was your appointment today, Florence? I haven’t seen you in so long! You look like you’re ready to pop!”

Grayson shifted awkwardly at the slightly controversial statement and Florence gritted her teeth through her offence, replying with a simple, “It went well.”

While she was pregnant with Clementine, Florence’s body was going through massive changes for the first time, meaning she was barely showing well into her fifth month. Now, with a second child, Florence was shocked to see the difference in how easily her body stretched, the massive weight gain and large, round belly being a sensitive topic to the still young girl. Of course, having Cayleigh of all people point it out so bluntly made Florence’s cheeks flush with anger more than embarrassment. She covered it with a long drink from her water glass and hid her pamphlets deep in her purse.

“How have you two been?” Grayson asked, trying to turn the subject away from Florence as she was clearly already on edge and dinner hadn’t even begun.

“We’ve been fine.” Daniel said. “I’ve managed to pick up a few gigs around the city this summer.”

“And I’ve been working as a sports camp counsellor. It’s so fun.” Cayleigh boasted. “The kids are so crazy but literally relentless. Plus they all love me, so it’s good.”

“I wish we could see each other more but things have been busy.” Daniel said quietly, offering Florence a gentle smile from across the table. She could barely force one in return, her eyes focussed on the minimal space between the two love-birds across from her, Cayleigh’s hand rubbing against Daniel’s thigh. Florence drank more water.

Dinner progressed slowly, lighthearted chatter filling the space between the group of four as they ate. It had been a while since Florence and Daniel had a moment to talk once summer started, although their relationship was never quite the same after their little hiatus in the fall. She knew he was always there for her but things were simply different. Plus, Cayleigh coming into the picture put even more of a strain on their already weak relationship. At least from Florence’s point of view.

But Daniel adored Cayleigh and that was clear. They were almost never apart and whenever they were seen together they were always touching. It was like they couldn’t keep their hands or eyes off of each other. Daniel would stare at her when she spoke, seeming to absorb the way her lips moved and how her brown eyes would squeeze closed when she laughed. Florence hated that she noticed that.

She was glad Grayson was there, though. Even in their simply platonic standing, Grayson’s presence always made Florence feel calm. He told the group a story of how he had been getting into building in his spare time that summer. Grayson always spoke loudly, especially when he was excited about something and a few customers at other tables glanced their way as he continued his story of his recently constructed coffee table. Florence leaned into him, her hand falling to his leg. He shifted a little, almost in a movement to get Florence off of him but he didn’t miss a beat with his story. Florence frowned but turned quietly back to her meal.

Florence pushed the remining food around her plate with her fork before breaking the conversation with a gentle, “I have to pee.”

Grayson stopped his story and quickly got up from the table, letting her slide out of the booth ungracefully.

“I’ll join you!” Cayleigh said, getting up from the table as well.

Florence sent a small glare in Grayson’s direction but he merely smiled in response as he sat back down in his spot. The girls walked slowly across the dining room to the washroom and Cayleigh held open the door for them. Florence thanked her quietly before getting herself into a stall, having to wiggle her swollen stomach through the small door opening.

“Isn’t Daniel amazing?” Cayleigh spoke from the stall next to her.

Florence, now shielded by four walls, rolled her eyes, “He is.”

“He’s literally so sexy. I have no clue how you haven’t snatched him yet, girl.” Cayleigh’s voice echoed through the empty bathroom.

Florence’s eyes widened at her statement and she ran a hand over her face. The whole dinner was tiring her out. Cayleigh was tiring her out.

“We are only best friends and that’s all we’ll ever be.”

“So I don’t have to worry about you stealing him from me?” Cayleigh teased with a laugh although Florence could tell there was a hint of seriousness in her tone.

“No.” Florence could hear Grayson in her mind telling her to be nice. She then asked a question she could have cared less about, “How are you two doing?”

“So good!” Cayleigh’s groan made Florence physically cringe. “Although we haven’t slept together yet. I’ve been trying!”

Florence gaped at the stall door at the girl’s bluntness.

Cayleigh flushed and Florence heard her approach the sink as she continued, “I mean I don’t know why he won’t. Sleep with me that is. He’s a literal man, shouldn’t they want sex all the time?”

Florence exhaled deeply, wishing she could have just gone to the bathroom alone, but she got herself out to the sink as well, starting to wash her hands. She caught Cayleigh’s expectant gaze in the mirror.

Clearly wanting an answer, Florence complied, “Daniel is not much of a physical person. He shows love in different ways. Don’t take it personally if he’s not jumping in bed after three minutes.”

“I guess.” Cayleigh shrugged, pulling a tube of lipstick from her purse and applied a generous amount of pink to her pursed lips. She fluffed up her light brown hair and made a face in the mirror that reminded Florence of early pubescent girls. Florence glanced at herself in the mirror, stood next to such a unique character. Florence’s knee length blue floral dress was pulled tight around her belly, and her blonde hair hung loosely over her shoulders. She couldn’t help but compare herself to the happy, wild, free-living twenty-year-old girl beside her; the girl who’s biggest worry in life was why her celibate boyfriend didn’t want to sleep with her.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Cayleigh speaking through the mirror, “Okay but honestly though, have you seen Daniel’s fingers? Like, holy shit, can he put them to use yet?”

Florence forced a small laugh to hide her disgust, turning for the door so Grayson could keep her from screaming.

Much to her relief, dinner concluded not long after that, and with a quick one-armed hug from Daniel, Florence was back in the passenger seat of Grayson’s car. The exhausted sigh that she let out once the doors were closed made Grayson chuckle.

“That was awful.” Florence shifted in her seat, rubbing her hand over her belly.

“It wasn’t awful.” Grayson shrugged, pulling the car out of the parking lot.

“You didn’t hear what I heard in that bathroom trip.” Florence held her hands up. “I think I am traumatized.”

Grayson’s laugh filled the car and, like it always did, it made Florence crack a smile. She let her two hands intertwine on her lap, her gaze drifting out the window as the city lights zipped by.

“Well while you girls were bonding in the bathroom, Daniel and I had a nice chat.” Grayson spoke after a moment.

“That’s nice.” Florence said, not turning her attention from the window.

Grayson glanced at her before turning back to the road, “He asked how you were doing. Have you not been talking?”

“No.” Florence shrugged, nervously playing with the hem of her dress. “It hasn’t been the same. Not since Cayleigh is around. She takes all his time.”

“He says he misses you. That you haven’t been calling as much.” Grayson spoke gently.

“Because I don’t want to call him just to hear all the new details on his girlfriend and her new fucking lip gloss she bought.” Florence said sharper than intended.

“Why don’t you like Cayleigh?” he asked. “She’s nice.”

Florence held onto her two hands like it would save her life, “She’s taking him from me.”

“What do you mean?”

“We were starting to be better again and she took him away. Now we don’t talk anymore. I miss how things used to be, Gray.” Florence sniffled. “When I was pregnant with Clementine and there was no Matt and no drama and it was just Dani and me. And I was happy.”

Bright lights flooded the car as they pulled into the parking garage, Grayson’s soft sigh at her recently consistent tense emotions barely audible. He pulled into the parking space and put the car in park before turning to face her. The hormonal girl let out a soft sob into her hand.

“Are you not happy?” he asked quietly.

Florence took a trembling breath and shook her head slowly, almost ashamed at the admittance of it. “I keep hurting you. And that doesn’t make me happy. I’m stressed, Gray. So stressed. And I-I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself when this baby is born and one of you is going to get hurt. I can’t do this! I just want to go back in time and change so much! Change my choices and my actions and everything! Fuck! I wish none of this happened! I just want this baby gone!”

The panicked inhale that followed her sentence made her choke on her tears, her free hand tightly grabbing a fistful of her hair as almost to punish herself for admitting such a thing out loud.

Grayson simply watched her cry, staring at her expressionlessly. His silence made her heart ache in her chest and she tried to smother her ridiculous sobs into her hand. Grayson ran a hand through his hair, his gaze falling to his lap with a sigh.

“I-I should go.” Florence hiccupped, reaching for the door.

“No.” Grayson said quickly, reaching for her wrist to keep her from leaving. “I just…this is a lot. And I don’t know what to think or what to do. It’s hard on me too. On both of us.”

“I should have gotten a fucking abortion when I had the chance.” Florence grumbled angrily at herself.

“Don’t you dare say that.” Grayson replied sharply. “I’m allowed to still be hurt, you’re allowed to be upset, but you cannot say things like that. That is not how you better yourself and that is not how you solve this situation.”

Florence took a shaking breath and wiped her eyes with her the back of her hand as she turned away from him slightly.

“Everything is going to be okay.” Grayson whispered, but he sounded more like he was convincing himself rather than her.

Florence wanted to believe him, she really did; but even his gentle words of assurance didn’t spark comfort in the girl. She was stuck in her own mind, spiralling to where she felt she was unable to be saved. But she let herself stare at the wall of the parking garage, missing what life was like before everything changed.

[alleiradayne]

Photograph

Summary: As a journalist, the reader hides her identity as the superhero, Moonlighter, from her photographer co-worker, Sam Winchester. Square Filled: Superhero AU Warnings/Tags: Fluff, sex in a bathroom, anal play, quickie, violence, guns, weapons, blood. Characters/Pairings: Sam Winchester/Reader Word Count: 3,127 A/N: For @spnfluffbingo2019​, this fills the square Superhero AU. Thank you, as always, to @atc74​ for beta’ing. Song: Photograph by Def Leppard

“Can you run these beside your article?”

His voice sliced through the thick tangle of thoughts cluttering her mind. Time stretched, slowing until it hung suspended as Sam Winchester’s photographs slid across her desk. A hooded woman in a dark suit leaped across building tops, illuminated by the silvery moon high in the sky. Artistic though they were, the surreal sensation of seeing herself captured on camera sickened her to the bottom of her stomach.

“Y/N? Aren’t you writing the article on the… what are they calling her?” Sam asked.

“Moonlighter.”

“Wow.”

She pulled her eyes from the photographs to look at him. “It’s terrible, I know. I tried not to use it but nothing I wrote stuck. Everyone keeps calling her Moonlighter. Like she’s some sort of joke.”

Sam’s scoff mirrored her own irritation. “She’s doing some pretty awesome things for the city. And she’s giving me a run for my money. I’ve had to do four stakeouts overnight hoping to get a glimpse of her. Never did.”

Her blood ran cold, numbing her fingers and toes as her gaze fell back to the pictures. “Then how did you end up taking these?”

“Got lucky,” he said with a chuckle. “That building is right outside my apartment window.”

Christ. How careless of her. Time to stop using rooftops. Or at least, all the rooftops in the vicinity of Sam’s apartment.

“Well? Can you put the layout together?” Sam asked, interrupting her thoughts. “Or, if you want, we could do it together when you’re done writing. Let me know and we can meet up at the café downstairs?”

Her eyes snapped back to his where she expected to find some sort of come-hither gaze, but instead found nothing but his casual smile. “Did you just ask me out on a date?”

He blinked once, twice, then said, “Well, shit, I guess I did.”

Something about his smile disarmed her better than any piece of shit she frequently came across on the street. “I’ll let you know when I’m done, Sam.”

He smiled again as he turned for her door. “See you soon.”

Coffee in hand, Y/N returned to their corner of the café and collapsed into her overstuffed chair. Beside her Sam sat on a stool, laptop resting on his thighs and a full mug beside him.

“What do you think of this?”

He turned his laptop to her and scrolled through the article, his photographs—of her, God dammit all to hell—interspersed throughout the page. She would need to be more careful. No more rooftops. Alleys. Stick to alleys, and the likes of Sam Winchester would never—

“Y/N?”

Her focus returned at the sound of his voice. He had stopped scrolling and started at her, concern clouding his face. Under such scrutiny, Y/N shifted in her seat. “What?”

“I asked you a question,” he said. “How does this look?”

“It’s uh,” she started, but the bell over the door of the café snagged her attention. Three large men entered the café, and while Y/N might not have had a sixth sense or heightened hearing or any sort of fictional superhero nonsense, she didn’t need any of that bullshit. She knew those men, had seen them on the streets of her city countless nights.

“Dammit, Dolohova,” she spat.

“Who?”

Her glare snapped back to him. “Sam, I need you to listen to me,” she started.

“Does it need a footer?” he asked as he frowned, oblivious to the danger. But that wasn't his fault. With his back to the café, there was no way he could know.

“It needs a footer,” he confirmed as he looked back to the laptop.

“I'm not talking about the article,” Y/N snapped as she grabbed his shoulder. “I need you to do exactly as I say. Something is about to happen in here and I don't want you to get hurt.”

“Ow, hey, what are you—”

“Sh!” she hissed as she gave him a rough shake. “Look at me. Three men just walked in here looking like they owned the place. They probably do. Or their boss does.”

Sam started to turn, but Y/N shook him again. “Don’t! Keep your eyes on me. Smile. Act like we’re really on a date.”

“I thought we—”

She cut him off with a hard kiss, intent on protecting him and everyone in the café. At least, that’s what she told herself. Though a treat loomed, Y/N could not deny the fact that she thoroughly enjoyed the sensation of Sam on her lips, his tongue eagerly delving into her mouth, and his soft gasp that lilted into a moan.

When she parted from him, Sam slowly opened his eyes and said, “So we are on a real date?”

“Yes, but this date is about to get really fucking weird,” she growled. “Here’s the plan. We’ll keep making out for seven minutes, then I’ll head to the bathroom. You’ll follow me no sooner than twenty-seven seconds later. Count in your head. Don’t look at your watch. They’ll think we’re going in there to fuck, so that’ll be a good cover.”

“Wait, I’m confused—”

“Sam, I need you to trust me,” Y/N interrupted. “This café has been paying Dolohova’s mob for ‘protection’. And by protection, I mean destruction. Those enforcers are collecting the monthly payment. If the café doesn’t pay, Dolohova’s men wreck the place and buy it out from the owner.”

He stared at her with such aghast shock, Y/N thought she had sprouted a second head. His wide hazel eyes flicked between hers as though searching, but for what she couldn’t be sure. Then his smile spread across his lips—fuck, but he was pretty—and his gaze softened. His hand slipped into her hair as he neared her, lips brushing hers as he spoke.

“I’ve been on the Dolohova case for nearly a year,” he whispered. “And you had all the answers the whole time.”

“I’m so sorry, Sam, I couldn’t tell you,” she breathed. “It’s… I’m—”

“Moonlighter.”

The shock of cold dread slammed into her stomach like a hard-high knee. “I am.”

“My girlfriend is a superhero,” he whispered as he kissed along her jaw.

“Okay, first, I’m not your girlfriend, and second, I’m not a superhero,” she said. “I’m just a person.”

“Y/N,” he sighed, “I’ve been following Moonlighter for months. I’ve seen what you can do.”

Her eyes rolled closed as his sealed his lips on the pulse point of her neck. “Alright, fine, so I’m kinda strong.”

“You throw men twice your size through plate-glass. And you know about fifteen different forms of martial arts,” he stated.

God dammit. “I’m going to ignore all of that,” she started as she shoved him back. When she stood, Y/N forced her best smile to her lips. “Twenty-seven seconds. Start counting.”

She turned on her heel and withdrew her phone from her pocket as she headed for the bathroom. Mismatched chairs and tables crowded the small café, and Y/N navigated the space so that, by the time she neared the end of the counter, she was within arm’s reach of the nearest enforcer.

“We don’t have it,” the woman behind the register said. “That’s almost double last month.”

“Services have expanded,” one of the enforcers said. “So, price goes up. You pay now, we leave. You don’t, we stay and…”

He turned over his shoulder as Y/N passed them, her face buried in her phone as she giggled to herself. Once she rounded the corner, she returned her phone to her pocket and flattened herself against the wall.

“We stay and clean up.”

That was all the confirmation she needed.

Y/N darted into the bathroom and immediately stripped. Beneath her casual blouse and slacks, she wore a suit black as night, the material unknown to her. She hadn’t been about to ask her tailor questions, though. Where he got the material was his business. All that mattered to her was that it stopped bullets and knives.

Over her head she pulled on her full mask and lifted the cowl as she glanced in the mirror. Two white orbs provided her full peripheral view, unimpeded by the cowl or the mask itself. The last of her suit came together in flat boots designed for maximum flexibility, and a pair of gloves to keep her prints out of the game.

And then she withdrew the most iconic piece of her identity from her purse. The small silvery cylinder concealed easily in her palm as the door of the bathroom creaked open and Sam slipped inside. The deadbolt locked behind him, and Y/N hoped it confirmed their ruse. She turned for the window nearby only to freeze as Sam startled.

“Holy shit.”

She wheeled about, coiled like a spring. “What?!”

“I… it’s not that I didn’t believe you,” Sam started. “I did. Those men… they’re starting to argue with the owner. But I didn’t really think…”

She lifted her mask and ran into his arms, lips landing on his for a quick kiss. “You didn’t really think your girlfriend was a superhero.”

“I thought you said you weren’t my girlfriend.”

Y/N righter her mask as she darted back to the window and opened it. With a flick of her thumb, she released the spring on the silver cylinder in her palm, and the six-foot bo staff extended with a sharp crack. Over her shoulder she said, “I am now.”

With that, she leapt through the window and into the darkness of night.

From single to dating a superhero in fifteen minutes, Sam reeled. So deep in thought, he barely heard the shouting from the cafe, and it wasn’t until a bullet burst through the tile of the bathroom that he remembered.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—shit.”

A shower of tile and bullets rained down on him as Sam hit the floor and crawled to the door. There he unlocked the bolt and crouched through the door into the hallway near the register. With his back to the wall, he peaked around the frame and his jaw might as well have hit the floor.

Y/N whirled between the three men as though she were made of water and they of stone. Faster than lightning, she struck with her staff, cracking wrists and fingers and ankles, disarming and disabling. A vicious angled strike slashed the pointed tip of her staff down one man’s face, and he collapsed to the floor screaming, both hands clasped over one eye.

In that moment’s breath to disable one of the men, the other two had recovered their weapons.

“Stop!”

The bull man’s bellow echoed through the café. Screams of terrified patrons followed, hot on the heels of his commands.

“Leave, Night-Light,” the big man said.

“It’s Moonlighter,” the second man corrected.

“Whatever! I don’t care! Leave, or we kill everyone in here,” the bull-man roared.

A second ticked past, Y/N coiled with her staff in both hands. But then she relaxed, her weight on one foot and a hand on her hip. Her head cocked to one side as she spoke. “You know, I get how you Russians haggle and win. You’re terrible at it.”

“What?!” Bull-Man said.

“Leave or we kill everyone in here,” she mocked in an impressive Russian accent, and Sam had to clamp a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing. “You sound like some sort of bad movie villain. In fact, everything about this,” she paused as she gestured to the café, “screams Bad Superhero Movie.”

Bull-Man bellowed another roar of rage as he raised his gun and pulled the trigger. Six shots in quick succession missed their mark, deflected by the whirling silver blur that was Y/N’s staff. Repeated clicks of an empty pistol followed, and Bull-Man tossed it aside.

True to his size, he charged headlong into Y/N. She sidestepped him with practiced ease and vaulted into the air with her bo staff readied. A streak of silver flashed as she whipped the end of her staff around to strike the side of the giant man’s neck, the snap of bone audible clear across the cafe where Sam yet hid in the shadows of the hallway.

The man dropped to the floor in a heap, his massive body an unmoving lump. Y/N turned then to the remaining enforcer and shook her head as though shocked to see him still aiming his gun at her. He seemed to struggle with his options, glancing first to the door, then to the back of the café where Sam hid.

“Really?” she asked.

The man whirled about, and after a beat, dropped his gun. His hands shot into the air, and not a second later, police sirens rose in the distance, still miles away.

“And that’s my cue,” Y/N said as she strode to the man. A flick of her wrist snapped the staff across the backs of his knees as she passed him, and he crumpled to the floor howling. Seemingly satisfied, she loped the length of the café to the rear where she reunited with Sam.

“That wasn’t so bad,” she declared.

“That was insane,” Sam corrected. “You’re going to get yourself killed.”

She grabbed him by the back of his upper arm and hauled into the bathroom again. “These are the rules. If we’re gonna be together, you get to know who I am, no lies. But that’s the price you pay. You get to know who I am. You get to live with that constant fear that someone is finally gonna get the best of me, and I might die. I’m not stopping. Not for a relationship. I know who I am as a person. Not as a superhero. And these are my convictions. I don’t expect you to be okay with any of that, but those are my terms, and—”

Sam lunged, and as much as he wanted to believe that he had caught her unaware, he knew she had let him pick her up and carry her into a stall. She tore her mask from her head, and he kissed her as hard as she had kissed him in the café.

Though the police sirens howled miles away, Y/N tore at his pants, buckle and zipper opening beneath her fingers. Sam parted from her in a breathless gasp and asked, “What are you doing?”

“I’m on a massive adrenaline rush, and after you manhandled me into this stall, I’m sopping wet, and you are way too hot not to finish what you started,” she said.

Her honesty—not to mention the language she chose—stiffened his cock, straining against his tight boxers. And yet, as the sirens continued to grow louder, he hesitated. “The cops—”

“Will be here in six minutes. Think you can satisfy us both that fast?”

He dropped her to her feet, grabbed her by the hips and spun her to face the wall. Pleased, Y/N moaned as he shoved her against the wall and pinned her to it with his entire body. He grasped at her suit until he found a seam at her hips, and the material bunched as he shoved it to her ankles. Her back arched as though presenting herself to him, a subtle shimmer coating her sex, and Sam wasted no more of the precious seconds they had left.

He shoved his pants to his knees and withdrew himself from his underwear, the waistband hooked under his sac. When he looked up to find Y/N staring, a familiar sting burned in his cheeks. “What?”

She licked her lips, then spoke. “Oh, I have a feeling I’m going to be more than satisfied.”

“Yeah?” He dragged the tip through her arousal, coating himself as her lips spread for him. “You like it?”

“I’ll know when you’re—oh, fuck me, Sam.”

His hips snapped, slamming his cock into her completely. “Holy shit, you feel so damn good, Y/N.”

“Five minutes,” she stated as she bucked her hips. “If you don’t fuck me, I’ll take care of myself on you.”

Sam withdrew and set his grueling pace, hips pumping into her ass in quick snaps. Y/N grasped his wrist and pulled it from her hip to shove his hand between her thigh. “Four and a half minutes. You’ve got a lot of work to do, Sam Winchester.”

Fuck. “Like this?” he asked as he rubbed furious circles around her swollen clit.

“Harder,” she moaned.

Sam thrust as hard as he could, the slaps of their bodies echoing in the tiled bathroom. Y/N moaned so loud, he knew anyone left in the café could hear her, but he didn’t care. If anything, it only heightened his arousal.

“Two and a half,” she breathed. “I’m close, baby. You feel so damn good with that big fat cock inside me.”

“Oh, god, Y/N, you keep talking like that, I’m gonna come,” he growled.

“Do it, Sam,” she hissed. “Come in me. Come inside my pussy.”

He ground his teeth as he grasped her hip with his free hand. “No, I want you to come first.”

“Sixty seconds, then, honey,” she mewled. “I’m so close, keep going.”

His grip on her backside adjusted, and his thumb pressed to her asshole. A shriek of surprise lilted into a moan so lascivious, Sam growled in his effort to hold back. “Come for me, Y/N. Come on my cock.”

Rapid shudders coursed down her spine as the walls of her cunt squeezed and spasm. “Yes, Sam, harder. Fuck me, baby, keep going. Thirty seconds.”

“I… fuck I can’t—”

Another wild wail filled the bathroom as Y/N unraveled, her entire body writhing in her release. A fresh coating of her arousal gathered on his cock as he continued to thrust into her pussy, his own orgasm ravaging his entire body. His cock twitched a hard, prolonged flex as he came, balls emptied into her as he buried himself inside her.

The police sirens exploded as several cars raced down the streets connected to the back alley of the café. Y/N moved swift as a cat, cleaned and clothes righted in a blur of arms and hands. When she turned and found Sam still reeling from his orgasm, a pink hue colored her cheeks.

“Five minutes and forty-five seconds,” she said as she slipped her mask over her face. “Meet me at my apartment in an hour?”

Sam righted his pants as he followed her from the stall. “Yeah, right after I talk to the police.”

She pushed the open window aside and stepped onto the ledge. “Make sure you're outside in about ten minutes.”

“Why?”

She hopped into the alley as she said, “You'll need a few more photographs to go with my article on Moonlighter!”

If you want in on any of my tags (Sam/Jared, Dean/Jensen), send me a DM or an ask!

ALLEIRADAYNE’S SPN FLUFF BINGO MASTERLIST

ALLEIRADAYNE’S SPN MASTER LIST

The Whole Thang:

@atc74  @hannahindie @bevans87  @meganwinchester1999  @plaided-ani-on-hiatus  @oneshoeshort @jonogueira @andkatiethings @elfinmox @wonderfulworldofwinchester @princessofthefandomrealm  @just-another-busyfangirl @jmekitchens @81mysteriouslyme @dolphincliffs  @seenashwrite  @canadianspnhunter  @meowmeow-motherfucker @depressed-moose-78 @staycejo1 @hobby27  @pretty-fortune @mypopculturediva @fanfictionjunkie1112 @sandlee44 @4llmywr1tings @claitynroberts @maddiepants​ @scarletluvscas @donnaintx​ @blackeyedangel9805​ @rainflowermoon​ @winchesterprincessbride  @lazinessisalliknow​ @the-is13​ @waywardafgrandma​ @keymology​ @sister-winchesters99​

Sam’s Sasstresses (Jared):

@morganas-pendragons​ @karouwinchester​

[christophe-delorne]

Good Dog

Chapter 10

Warnings: None

Pairings: Gregory x Christophe

AU: Adulthood

The house was what he'd describe as... homey. Not really an apt descriptor, but it fit and it was all Christophe could come up with at the moment. Like one of those cookie cutter American Dream homes, with a little porch out front fixed with a hanging swing. Picturesque. And everything about it rubbed Christophe the wrong way. It reminded him of his mother's home when he was a child, the way she strained so hard to make everything perfect on the outside when everything on the inside was crumbling within.

To make matters worse, Gregory had made him dress 'decently' as he put it. Chocolate brown slacks, silk hunter green button up top. He looked like a suburban husband with his hair combed and face clean shaven, everything that he was not. He'd been warned several times on their way here to behave, a lofty expectation coming from the likes of Christophe, especially considering who's home they were going in.

He didn't particularly blame Stan and Kyle for his death, but they hadn't really given a shit either. They were kids, Christophe should have known better than to even think about putting such a responsibility on them. He should've went alone, maybe then he wouldn't have died. The sole blame of his death was on the kid named Eric Cartman, the boy hadn't turned off the alarms, didn't have enough spine to overcome his fears and eventually had failed everyone. He supposed he could blame Kenny as well, being he'd been the source of fear in Eric, but the boy had enough shit on his plate and Kenny's sacrifice had brought Christophe back. So they were even.

As Christophe mulled through his thoughts, Gregory pressed the button on the doorbell to gain the attention of the residents inside. Christophe could hear the muffled talking, the tapping of feet on hardwood floors as someone neared the door. When the door opened, it revealed Wendy, she was dressed nicely, her hair styled casually. Her loose blouse was slightly feminine but never too out there, regardless, the way she held herself was something that probably had drawn Gregory in. The reminder was slightly annoying to Christophe and already he was yearning for a cigarette, but Gregory had taken them from him. No smoking on this night.

"Gregory, nice that you could stop by, come in, the dinner is almost ready." Polite as usual with Gregory, but the look Christophe received was just above scathing. The feeling was mutual.

"Of course, I can't pass up spending some time with some dear old friends." Gregory held up a bottle of wine, some expensive wine that Christophe hadn't paid attention to. Despite being French, Christophe didn't fall into the stereotype of liking wine. "I brought a little something to top it all off." Gregory smiled as he followed after Wendy, leaving Christophe to slink behind with his hands in his pockets.

As they entered the small dining area, Christophe spotted a man with black hair sitting at the table, he didn't look too keen on being in nice clothes either. When he noticed Gregory, he gave a small frown but kept himself in check. Still seemed he wasn't all too fond of Gregory being friends with Wendy, Christophe could relate with that at least. "Hey, Gregory. Long time no see." Probably had to be on his best behavior as well, considering the warning look Wendy had given Stan before entering the kitchen.

"Pleasure as well, Stan. Its good to see you're doing well." Gregory, ever the charmer as he pulled out a seat but didn't take it. Instead, blue eyes looked over to Christophe, indicating he should sit. Christophe scowled, eyes narrowing and causing the wrinkles in the corners of his eyes to become harsher. The man was toying with him. Pulling out his seat like they were on some date? Christophe took a moment to consider the situation. Maybe Gregory was thinking with his dick again and Christophe didn't like the idea of Gregory going back to his girl in London after all of this. If Christophe let Gregory get away with these sort of things, they would likely only escalate and leave Christophe in ruins. Again.

However, he didn't want to start a fight right now, even though it was tempting to lash out at everyone in the house at the moment. Gregory and indicated he needed Christophe there and Christophe couldn't say no to that. Despite everything, Christophe would always be loyal to the Brit. He sat down in the chair as Gregory pushed it in in the same motion. Formal and smooth as always. Gregory took the seat next to him, which left two empty chairs at the table. Christophe wasn't certain if it was just because they had guests over often or they were expecting one more, so he took to observing the house around him.

There were pictures on the wall, not a lot, just a few here and there between decorations. He didn't take Stan as the type to decorate, from the short time knowing him as kids. Stan had been realistic, but at the time he'd been focused on jealousy between Gregory and Wendy. Didn't seem like he grew out of that jealous streak either. Wendy, while political, did tend to enjoy some feminine things, finding some sort of strong balance with what she liked. So the decor was likely all her, simple yet fitting for the small house. As Christophe took stock of the interior, he noticed there were three people in most of the pictures. A red head he assumed was Kyle. He remembered Kyle fairly well, it was the last face he'd seen before he had died.

While it may seem like Kyle had been sympathetic, holding onto Christophe so he wouldn't die alone. They were strangers, he expected no tears from the other boy. Kyle was sympathetic but with a aggressive streak with the possibility to turn out more like his mom than he would've liked. Luckily, Christophe hadn't heard any news about a war breaking out in America, the violence there was the usual. So the empty chair might mean that Kyle could be coming over, which didn't bode well for Christophe. All the people he tried so hard to forget were popping up in his life again, all at once.

"I hear you're moving up in the construction business, Stan." Christophe zoned back to the conversation that was going on without him. Gregory had always been able to hold a conversation, putting all the attention on himself and letting Christophe relax in the background.

"Yeah, my company was ranked number one in Denver this year. MBP just signed us on to lead the construction of their new facility in Colorado Springs." Stan replied, gaining Christophe's attention. MBP was the same company that Mr. Hall said that had hired him to outsource drugs in Europe. Christophe slid his gaze to Gregory suspiciously, had he been getting close to Wendy because she had connections? Well, it certainly was something Testaburger would be interested in, the woman was a lawyer up front, but an activist in her free time. Maybe if he stuck with Gregory and Wendy on the ride to the hotel, he might have a little more information.

Before the conversation could continue on, Christophe heard the front door unlock and open, causing him to tense, ready to stand up. He hated being in another person's home, he had no real control here, didn't know the layout of the house, who would be able to come and go. The new guest rounded the corner to the dining room and Christophe recognized the face, slightly curly red hair, a bit of a mess, was a telling sign. It seemed Christophe was right to think Kyle would be joining them.

"Sorry I'm late, I got held up at the lab." Kyle smiled as he first took in Stan and Wendy, though it faltered when he noticed Gregory and Christophe. Apparently he hadn't been informed they were coming, though the 'why' was the part that interested Christophe. Certainly something like dinner guests would be alright to tell those who would also be joining. Though, those green eyes seemed to stick to Christophe, staring at him like he'd seen a ghost. Probably not far off from the truth either. Christophe hadn't told anyone he'd returned back to life, Gregory had only known because he'd gone searching for Christophe's body, the only one who had. Gregory had apparently told Wendy though, how much was beyond Christophe's knowledge though.

"Shit." Was all Kyle could say after a moment's pause, it seemed given that small amount of time, he'd been able to process how Christophe was here. Kyle had been there, had seen the result of the war but probably just hadn't thought that it had effected Christophe as well. Probably better off that way, the less people knew about him, the better. Though, coming back here was messing up that plan, luckily only four people really knew what the 'Mole' looked like, other than Gregory. Christophe was tempted to take that number down to zero, but that would throw a wrench into Gregory's plan.

"Kyle, you're just in time, dinner's ready." Wendy broke the tension as she brought out a couple of pre-made plates. "I tried a new recipe that was suggested to me from Bebe, so you guys are my guinea pigs for the night." She set down a plate in front of Stan and one in front of the empty chair that was for Kyle.

"What is it?" Stan looked a little confused by the plate, but didn't seem like he was complaining.

"Cider-braised Chicken-and-Fennel Panzanella." Wendy stated pleasantly, despite Stan's even more confused look. The man seemed to shrug as Wendy went back to retrieve more plates, but Kyle followed after her, planning to help out. With Kyle's assistance, the table was set up with plates, silverware, and wine glasses. Gregory took the liberty to pour the wine into the glasses, insisting Wendy and Kyle to set and let him at least handle this.

"This looks gorgeous, Wendy. Thank you for inviting us over, I simply couldn't pass up spending some time with dear old friends while I'm here in America." Gregory sat back down, this whole time he hadn't passed a single glance in Christophe's direction. The Frenchman was already poking at his food, fairly used to eating things he didn't really understand the names of. Well, by now he did know as Gregory enjoyed explaining things to him and no matter how much Christophe tried to ignore him, the information stuck. Technically, this dish was served during the autumn months and right now it was just hitting summer, the flavor of cider was supposed to make people feel... He didn't know the world for it but people traditionally did things in certain seasons to feel in the moment with that season.

Gregory likely knew this but chose not to mention it in favor of being polite, irritating Christophe that he could remember such useless knowledge. Why couldn't he replace it with something that would benefit him, like remembering his passport numbers. Once Gregory began to eat, Christophe followed after, a habit picked up when they were kids, when Gregory took their roles a bit more literally. 'The master eats before the dogs', the words still stuck with him to this day, most of the time he didn't notice it was so far ingrained into him. The food was decent enough, Christophe was never really picky unless he wanted to spite a certain someone. A free meal was a free meal.

"So, Kyle, Wendy has informed me that you require outside assistance on a certain matter?" Gregory finally broached a topic Christophe was more interested in than the drivel they had been conversing about during most of the dinner. Kyle looked over in surprise at Wendy, who merely shrugged and took a sip of her wine, she didn't seem apologetic.

"Well, yes, I wasn't really sure if I was serious about it or not." He gave a look at Wendy, a glare almost. "But I'm having moral issues with the company I work for."

"And what, pray tell, company would that be?" Gregory pressed as if he already didn't know the answer.

"MBP, I'm one of the researchers working there. My team and I... We only meant to create something that would help boost low immune systems, to help aid the cure of diseases. It wasn't a sure thing to cure, but it would greatly increase the chances of other medications and therapy working." Kyle looked down at his plate, pushing around bits of leftover food he hadn't finished eating. Maybe guilt was slowing his appetite. "With the boost in immunity, the side-effects were both good and bad. It made people feel on top of the world. A high almost. But it was also addicting and prolonged use caused severe hallucinations."

Gregory sat back in his chair, appearing as if Kyle was regaling a fanciful story, looking as noble as his blood would indicate. Kyle continued on when Gregory didn't ask anything, "We were planning to go back to the drawing board, addiction to medication is already bad enough as it is, so we wanted to see if we could at least lessen the side-effects a little. However, our CEO got wind of the drug and decided we should continue on with it. I don't agree with the decision, but I could easily be replaced at this point. So I decided to stay on board, it would be better to get information on what was going on."

"Which is why I'm here." Gregory concluded setting his empty wine glass down. "A wise choice on Wendy's part to contact me. You don't have the necessary skill to really take down an empire like MBP and when dealing with drugs, I can only assume the company would monitor their finest scientist. In case of any insurrections that may happen."

"How do you plan on stopping this?" Kyle seemed anxious but the determination to join in on the discussion was reaffirmed now that stopping MBP became an almost realistic outcome now.

"Ah, I can't let you in on the details, least someone in the company begins to suspect you. Wendy would be most upset with me if I let you in harm's way." There was an unspoken 'again' at the end of his sentence, Gregory had let Kyle and Stan go into a dangerous USO show, but Wendy hadn't been the only one who had someone they cared about go in to a brewing warzone. "For now, I simply need you to write down your daily routine, as much knowledge of the security in the building as you know and then hand it to me. Let me take care of the rest."

Kyle seemed dissatisfied with that, dropping his fork on the plate and pressing his hands on the table. "You can't expect me to sit on the sidelines, I'm as much of a part of this as anyone else! It was my mistake."

Stan reached over, placing a hand on Kyle's shoulder in attempts to calm him down, but Kyle brushed him off, his Jersey temper seemed to have flared and would take time to stifle back down. Gregory didn't seem too concerned, pouring himself another glass of wine before replying to Kyle.

"If you want this plan to work, then it is best you sit this one out. I, for one, am not going to make the mistake of trusting you or your friends would be capable of carrying out a mission again. Not after last time."

[thdorkmagnet]

Starcoweek5, Prompt 5: Crossover Double Date

Pancake Pals

Well here it is folks! This one was really interesting to me when I first heard of it, a crossover with a second ship you love! I debated for a while the perfect fit for this but ultimately decided to go with my favorite cannon cartoon couple (Starco, duh) and my favorite cannon anime couple RenxNora aka FlowerPower from RWBY, which is a supppper good show and one that I adore so, so much. Plus, I felt their dynamic was too similar to Starco not to go for.

Hope you enjoy! (p.s. This is cannon Starco just so you know)

Disclaimer: Star vs and all its characters are owned by Daron Nefcy and Disney. RWBY and all its characters were created by Monty Oum and are owned by Rooster Teeth. All rights go to them. 

When Star and Marco had arrived for their date at the new pancake shop that had just opened on Earth-ni, they hadn't been expecting to see the closed sign hanging on the front door. After all, this was opening day and they had both gotten their taste buds all ready to be satisfied by the delicious breakfast treat. But instead, their taste buds were being forced to go without as the store had closed after only a half an hour of their grand opening.

"I know we're late, but I thought there'd be enough to have at least one pancake," Star said sadly. The blond had looked so disappointed and downcast by this, that Marco hadn't been able to stand it, kicking the door open with loud karate yell. The couple took in the scene inside, noticing the empty store, not a customer in sight, and the apparent owner of the store crying into his hands, as one of the staff tried to comfort him.

"What the heck happened here?" Star asked, looking around at the empty restaurant.

"I don't know," Marco replied. "This is opening day, this place should be packed."

One of the staff overheard the young couples conversation, explaining, "Our first customer completely sold us out of pancakes."

"She's a menace!" the owner screamed, tears streaming down his cheeks. "An absolute nightmare!"

"Well, where is this menace?" Marco asked, his hands on his hips, refusing to give up just yet. His girlfriend wanted pancakes and she was going to get some, if he had anything to say about it.

"She's over there," the staff member said, pointing at a small booth in the corner, which the two hadn't noticed coming in, but it was piled high with all pancakes.

The two shared a look before Marco started storming over, Star quickly following after him and shouting, "Wait, Marco! It's okay we don't to-"

"But Reeeeennnn, these pancakes are delicious!" came the overly enthusiastic voice of a girl from the booth. "Almost as good as yours!"

They then heard a deep sigh. "Nora, you know we're short on cash, right now. We don't have enough to pay for this many pancakes," a monotone voice replied. "And yet, you still insisted on eating an entire stores worth."

"Well I worked up an appetite," Nora defended herself.

"Not 18 dozen pancakes worth."

There was a gasp. "How can you say that, Ren? You don't believe me? I'm hurt, I'm betrayed. I must drown my sorrows in pancakes."

The only thing the two heard after that was the loud slurping and munching of the girl and the deep sighs from her friend. Star and Marco shared a look with each other, a plan simultaneously forming between the two. They both casually sauntered over to the corner both, before looking down at the two. The girl had short orange hair with a white blouse shirt and a pink skirt. The boy had jet black hair with a single pink streak, tied back in a ponytail. He wore a dark green, long sleeved coat and white pants. Nora was still munching away on her food, while her partner Ren had his face buried in his hands, a small cup of coffee sitting next to him.

"Hey there friends!" Star greeted, cheerfully waving at the two who looked up at them in surprise, Ren with narrow magenta eyes and Nora with wide blue orbs. Nora with a pancake now hanging out of her mouth. The blond continued, "I'm Star Butterfly and this is my boyfriend Marco Diaz."

"I'm Lie Ren," the black-haired boy spoke up, before gesturing over at his partner, who slurped up the remains of her pancake. "And this is my friend-"

"Girlfriend!" Nora corrected him loudly.

"Right, girlfriend Nora Valkerie. May we help you with something?" Ren asked all formally.

"Actually we think we can help you," Marco spoke up, leaning against the table and giving them a knowing look.

"Don't trust them Ren, their probably a bunch of con artist," Nora whispered to her boyfriend suspiciously.

"But they're younger than us," Ren whispered back.

"Uh, so anyways," Marco interrupted, drawing their attention back to him. "We couldn't help but overhear that your having a bit of a financial crisis and we wanted to help you out a bit."

"For a price," Star said pointedly.

"What kind of price?" Nora asked with narrowed eyes, slowly reaching for something beside her.

"Just that you share some of your pancakes with us," Star said and Nora instantly lightened up, saying cheerfully, "Oh sure, that's fine! Help yourselves!" Star and Marco cheered and high fived each other.

Ren turned on his girlfriend. "Nora, you barely let me have any of your pancakes. And your going to allow these stranger to."

"If they're offering to pay, I will," Nora replied with a scoff.

Ren sighed, shaking his head firmly. "No, I'm sorry. I can't ask you two to pay our check for us. It's simply too much money and it wouldn't be right of us to-"

"Hey!" Marco shouted over to the restaurant staff, before setting a huge pile of cast down on a nearby table. "Here is $650 and I think that should be enough to cover our friends' check."

The owner and staff all stood their slack-jawed at the sight of the immense amount of cash before diving over to it in a hurry, Marco just turning back to the equally shocked Ren and Nora.

"So, is there room for two more?" Marco asked assertively.

…

A few minutes later, the sound of happy chatter filled the empty restaurant, as Star and Nora swapped stories over full mouths of pancakes, spewing food all over the table with every word. Meanwhile, in the background, the owner and staff were counting out their money with excited faces. "So then," Nora mumbled, before swallowing her bite of food and continuing dramatically. "There we were, all alone."

"We were in a crowded city," Ren corrected, over to Marco who was listening in between small bites of his pancakes. Star on the other hand, didn't seem to hear a word the black-haired boy had said, completely invested in the story, being told.

"Only me and Ren to face this deadly and evil threat! As from the bushed emerged a giant Death Stalker!" Nora exclaimed, standing up in her seat.

Star gasped loudly, muttering worriedly, "Oh no."

Marco turned to her with a raised brow. "Do you even know what a Death Stalker is?"

"No, but it sounds really bad," Star explained, before turning back to the orange-headed girl eagerly.

"It's a giant scorpion," Ren explained and both Star and Marco released collective groans of disgust.

"Stop interrupting!" Nora yelled, drawing the attention back onto her. "Now as I was saying-" she looked pointedly at Ren. "The Death Stalker was a hundred feet tall, its yellow beady eyes trained right on us. But I didn't back down or panic, as I went right up to it and hit it as hard as I could with my hammer! The beast went down with a mighty blow, thus saving everyone with my heroic feat!"

"Yay!" Star cheered. "You go girlfriend!" Star and Nora high fived before going back to slurping down pancakes like there was no tomorrow.

"And what was I doing during all of this, Nora?" Ren asked.

Nora stopped eating for a moment as she replied, "Well duh, you were busy fighting off all the Beowolves so that I could handle the Death Stalker, silly." She chuckled, patting her boyfriend on the shoulder. "Poor forgetful Ren."

Ren just turned to Marco with a deadpanned stare, saying, "I don't know what could be causing her to be having so many reoccurring dreams. Frankly, I'm a little worried."

"I don't know, man. Maybe limit her amount sugar for a bit, see if that helps any," Marco suggested. The two turned to see both of their girlfriends, deep in an eating contest, munching down the syrupy treats with no sign of stopping. Ren let out a defeated sigh, before taking a large swig of his coffee. "That's a problem," he muttered.

Marco smiled over at his girlfriend, who now had syrup smeared on her cheek and was laughing at something her new friend had said. She was too adorable sometimes. "Be honest," Marco said turning back to Ren. "Their so much cuter when their acting all crazy, right?"

Ren followed his gaze, unable to help his own smile as he watched his oldest and dearest friend swallowing pancakes down whole. They had been together for as long as the young man could remember, growing up beside one another and protecting each other through every disaster they could imagine. And though Nora could be crazy sometimes, he had grown to like her insanity, almost nothing able to faze him much anymore.

Ren smiled and nodded in agreement. "Yes, somehow their crazy almost feels normal after a while. And I would certainly miss it if it were to go away."

Marco took a long look at his girlfriend, his bestie, his Star and tried not to think of how close the two had come to being separated forever. "Yeah, me too," he replied softly.

"Wait there's a fair!" Nora exclaimed, ruining the two boy's moment.

"Yeah, me and Marco were going to go after we finished lunch!"

"Ooohhh are you thinking double date," Nora said with a mischievous glint.

"Oh, ho, you know I am," Star replied back, with a large smirk.

Before Ren or Marco could say anything, their girlfriends had pushed them out of their seats and were already racing for the doors, dragging their unwilling and startled boyfriends behind them.

"Come on, Marco! Let's go!" Star exclaimed.

"Wait, Star. Can't we at least get a to-go bag for the food," Marco tried, but Star was too excited to stop. "I didn't get to finish mine."

"Sorry Marco they'll only slow us down," Star declared loudly.

Ren put up no resistance as Nora led her man down the streets of Earth-ni, talking a mile a minute and her feet racing almost as fast. "Oh this is going to be so fun! I can't believe we get to go to a fair, together! Like together, together! This is gonna be so much fun, right Ren?! Yeah, it's gonna be amazing and now we get to go with another couple! And they are so cute too! Like reaaallly cute! Though do they remind you of someone! Cause I think they do, though I can't think of who! What about your, Ren? Any ideas?"

And thus the two cute couples spent the rest of the afternoon, hanging out at the corn festival. Star won Marco a stuffed corn prize, the girls tried their hand at the test your strength game (Nora winning after smashing it with her own hammer) and Marco even tried participating in a eating contest, which was nachos so Marco threw up before taking a single bite. All in a fun little date for both of the young couples.

Done on time! Yay! Hope you enjoyed this one! Even if you have never seen the show RenxNora is based off of, Starco should be cute enough to stand on its own, I hope, haha. Well I'm off, everyone, see you next time!

[pvterparkours]

Sincerely, Not Yours (2)

paring ; Harrison Osterfield x Female Reader

au ; ceo! harrison

words ; 2878

summary ; When Harold Spencer’s daughter’s casual summer fling comes back to bite her in the ass, literally, life seems to create an ever lasting domino effect upon the Spencer empire.

warning(s) ;  angst. sexual humour. mentions of criminal activity. smut. swearing. all the fluffy shit. drinking. slight mentions of rehab. did i mention angst? there is a smut scene so yeah here’s that warning, nothing to graphic.

authors note ;

ADD YOURSELF TO MY TAGLIST 

this story is very slow burn on the readers part. anything in italics is a flashback. i have given the reader a last name and named all their family members. but other than that its all still reader insert.

The trill sound of having received a notification makes your head lull to the side to take a glance down at the phone screen, illuminated with unflattering text message from your father with yet another one of his agitating requests for you to do.  You figured out his motive after the board meeting last week, he took advantage of your inability to decline and continued to extend his stay in the Maldives with your mom. So, this had technically meant you were Spencer Industries sub CEO for the time being, meaning you had to face the dreaded office every day for god knows how long your father tortured you with this supposed “opportunity for greatness.”

He'd claim it was just a business statement and that with Blake out of the picture he needed someone to continue his legacy and you were the next in line, no harm no foul were his exact words when you confronted him via skype. Your hand slam on the desk as the call disconnects yet again, you let out a long sigh and in a state of utter frustrated you tossed the fake potted plant sitting on the desk across the office as it bounced off the glass door.

Your fingers rake feverishly through your hair as, yet another notification appears on your screen, this time something concerning about a business meeting in London. Your fingers carefully manoeuvre around the track pad, double clicking on the email from your father an annoyed scowl plastered on your face at the one sentence email.

‘I’m needed in London, so you’re going with Harrison instead.’

Your eyes remain focused on the screen as you continue to read and re-read the single sentence. Your father really was out to get you, it wasn’t a purposeful thing he didn’t have a clue what happened last summer. Not that you were going to tell him either. It wasn’t his business to know every small detail about your trip, that was something you wanted to keep to yourself.

Your dramatic gesture of having thrown the fake plant across the room moments ago had peeked Harrisons curiosity as he peered over his assistants’ shoulder to gain a proper view of you, more specifically the look of pure confusion your face held after looking at whatever was on your screen. It caused him to bite back a low chuckle taking a quick stab in the dark at perhaps you had read your fathers email.

You push the chair back roughly, standing up and walking over to the office door, your hand runs through your hair avoiding eye contact with Harrison as he takes yet another glance over at you. A slow forming headache seems to be fighting its way to your temples causing you to chew on the inside of your cheek as you searched the pockets of your jacket for the advil you had put in there from the morning.

“Ah Ms Spencer” Harrisons voice spoke slightly out of breath as he jogged to catch up to you, your hesitant to turn only to throw your head over your shoulder an eyebrow risen as his lips turn into a cheeky smile. “You don’t have to be so formal Harrison” You mumble turning yourself right around to face him directly, arms crossed over your chest as your eyebrow remains risen.

The tension between the two of you was quite literally choking you, as you swallowed hard to remove the lump that was slowly forming in the middle of your throat. You watched as his Adams apple bobbed and his hand raked through his hair and it had quite literally taken you all the sheer willpower in you to not do it yourself.

“I feel like you’d much rather prefer the formalities Y/N” He states, unsure if it was to amuse himself or frustrate you. To which it had done both. You grit your teeth and your jaw slightly clenches.

“Oh, is that so? Care to elaborate Osterfield” “’m positive you wouldn’t like being called baby doll in the workplace”

If you hadn’t of been trying your hardest to create an unnecessary amount of tension between both Harrison and yourself things would have gone differently. Your tongue lightly licks your lips as your stepped forward, lips dangerous close to his earlobe as your smirk.

“I’m sure you wouldn’t be over the moon being called daddy during a board meeting” You state stepping back and shrug your shoulders. Your quick to turn on your heels and walk away you didn’t catch his reactions but the muttered of curse words under his breath had indicated quite clearly to you just the power you had over him. Especially in these circumstances. A truly exhilarating feeling if you were being honest.

You hadn’t managed to get half way through forcibly shoving in a pair of slacks into the one suitcase because you ‘needed them’ based on your assumption that just because your phone had told you it was going to be cold in London. Your hand pushed the baby hair lining your forehead out of the way as your fingers tug on the zipper of the suitcase. Cheering to yourself for having successfully managed to condense your itinerary for you to only need a suitcase and a carry-on bag.

Then came the knocking, you weren’t expecting anyone, at least for another hour or so. Confusion swept across your face as you socked feet padded across your studio apartment, hair tucked behind one ear with the pen you had been using to tick off your list. You lean up slightly to look through the peephole and you’re disappointed it’s not the pizza that you never ordered but not surprised to see the back of the familiar head of dirty blonde curls.

You’re slow to open the door, sliding the chain through the long tauntingly knowing he can hear it. A cheeky smile found its way on your face as you lean against the half open door an eyebrow slightly raised. “Oh, are we into stalking now Osterfield” You ask holding back any laughter that fought to break your persona for the time being.

“No, not stalking, more so being made to take you to the airport because your driver had to bail, somethin’ about his kid getting food poisoning, maybe I wasn’t sure I just skimmed over the email from your father”

Your stance turned in an annoyed drop of your shoulders to which you huffed. You understood the reasoning behind your driver had to bail because of a family emergency, your father on the other hand was a different. He could have sent for a different driver but alas he sent Harrison which in itself was reasonable from your fathers view point, but you couldn’t be certain how long you could last in this self-induced sexual tension. That was your own fault for starting this mess in the first place.

Harrison leaned slightly against the door frame, feet crossed as his seemed to just stare at you for a hot minute, taking in the sight of your hair slightly amess and flicked over your shoulder, you’re still wearing the blouse from the morning, but you had swapped the skirt for a pair of sweats. Not the most appealing look but to Harrison he found you adorable either way.

“Earth to Y/N you kind of zoned out for a moment” He chuckles pushing the sleave of his button up shirt to reveal his watch as he quickly checks the time before returning his gaze to look at you. Your lips press into a firm line as you open the door to let him before rushing off to fix yours.

“Just take a seat or something, there’s no need to look so uncomfortable Harrison” You shout from your bedroom quickly put your work attire back on smoothing out any creases in both your skirt and blouse. Pinning your hair back and out of your face you grab your suitcase and carry-on bag.

“When I said make yourself comfortable I didn’t mean stare at my photos” You let out a slight breath of annoyance as Harrison is quick to react placing the photo frame back on the hallway table. You stood a few feet away from him arm slightly crossed as he turns to look at you. “Tell me about it…the photo I mean?” “No” “Why not?” “It’s none of your business Harrison.”

“It’s a photo of you, your dad and a male who looks a few years older than you. Is he an ex-boyfriend you haven’t gotten over? Fiancé?” His questions only seemed to annoy you further as you shook your head silently praying he’d give up on prying further into your life than he already has.

“Just drop It okay, people have secrets and sometimes they don’t need to tell everyone who asks. Now let’s leave or we’ll be arriving later than planned” You mumble blowing out a breath as you pushed past him wheeling the suitcase out into the hall. He was quick to help you grabbing he suitcase for you as you locked your apartment.

The car ride to the airport was contained in an uncomfortable and unwavering silence that truly has you sitting on the edge of your seat ready to leap out of the car and head back to your apartment. Your brain was trying to wrap around the initial idea as to why Harrison wanted to know about the picture. Your eyes carefully watched the road as he pulls out of the drive way, his hand moves to switch the gear stick into drive when you flinch unknowingly as his fingers slightly brush against the skin on your thigh.

Your unaware that with every red light the car stop at Harrison is bitting down on his tongue, eager to delve deeper into your life. To him you were a book that hadn’t been read in a while, but the author still kept updating because they weren’t one with you right at this moment. Your story was something Harrison knew he didn’t need to know but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t curious as to how you came to be the way you were.

Your jaw remains clenched the entirety of the drive to the airport as the car remains in a stoic silence neither one of your brave enough to break the silence. You let out a soft exhale of breath once he pulls up into the airport parking, it had soon clicked that you weren’t taking a commercial flight like you normally opted for when you flew. Instead your father had arranged to take the company jet because this was a ‘business meeting’ after all.  

You were greeted with a warm smile from the pilot as you hand off the suitcase to one of the workers loading the luggage whilst your grip remains tight around your carry-on and you’re quick to pick a seat near the back of the plane sitting down comfortably in the leather clad seating. Your head lulls to the side slightly as you watch Harrison sit in a few seats in front of you, you’re chewing on the inside of your cheek as if a natural reaction to that guilty feeling residing in your stomach. There was just far too much detail to go into with a story like that and with the limited time you have you highly doubt he’d ever understand a cliff note version.

The air hostess is quick to offer you a glass of bubbly to which you thank her and down is quickly as you cross and uncross your legs in an attempt to sit comfortably. Your head rests against the window as take-off commences and slowly the landing strip is disappearing behind a layer of clouds. A small tap against your knee disrupts your somewhat day dream as Harrison is sitting, slightly slouched, in the chair across from you. He’s got an unreadable expression on his face and you somehow know he wants to ask about what happened before. You’re slowly moving to sit up quickly taking your phone and unlocking it to show him a series of photos.

“The male in the photo with my father and I was my older brother, Blake” You state quickly as your finger swipes to show the next one, Harrison seems only to nod his head remaining silent as you continue on with your explanation. “He used to be a personal trainer before his wife cheated on him with one of his clients, he started an argument during one of their sessions and he was fired and never really found his way back to a stable life and career…” Your shifting uncomfortably and Harrison takes a notice of this before slowly reach his hand out to squeeze your knee.

“Hey, you don’t have to keep telling me if you don’t think you can handle it” His voice was soft and sent a chill up your spine forming a thin layer of goose bumps over your arms and legs. You give him a sweet smile, a genuine one that you’ve been holding back for a while.

Reaching out you’re moving a small strand of hair out of his face finding that comforting factor between the two of you where your mind goes slightly adrift reminiscing on your summer fling. Your lips purse into a small line as you sit back in your seat, eyes never once leaving Harrison as he does a double take behind him and he’s moving closer to you. Sinking off the chair, your breath hitches in your throat as his hands carefully shift your legs apart causing the black pencil skirt to rid up slightly. His eyes look up as your pressing your knuckle between your teeth watching his hands push your skirt up further and your legs move autonomously to where his face is situated perfectly between your thighs. His lips pepper sweet kisses from the side of your knee to your inner thigh, his teeth nip softly at the tender skin and you’re already squirming slightly.

He lets out a slow chuckle and his breath hits your heat at just the right angle that a small squeak falls from your lips and his eyes snap up to look at you. A slightly confused but mostly cheeky look falls on his face at the sound you had made and how he wanted you to do it again. His hands force your skirt up to rest on your hips moving it out of his way, his eyes look over your body as his fingers dance around your clothed heat. You knew from the moment he had begun kissing your leg that you had already begun to grow more aroused and the pool of wetness in your panties was a clear indication of that.

“Jesus, you’re already so wet baby” He mumbles his fingers slowly push your panties aside, moving his index and middle fingers to trace the slit between your folds. Sucking in a breath your free hand twists into his hair and pulls is gently. Harrison is quick to respond to your actions and dip his fingers inside of you moving them around slightly before his thumb trace your clit.

You’re slightly leaning your head back as your teeth sink into your own index finger to surpass the ecstatic moan that threatens to fall from your lips as his thumb on your clit is replace with the both warm and wet feeling of his tongue and you’re sent into overdrive. His fingers pump in and out of you and with every thrust they go deeper and curl slightly as a result of your hand pulling his hair.

Your whimpering slightly as his lips tease your clit, sucking on the bud, over stimulating it that you’re head goes cloudy for a small, blissful moment. Your hand that was once surpassing your moans moves to join your other hand tangled in is hair. His finger movements quicken as he feels your walls clench around his fingers slightly, your bottom lip shakes slightly as your moan breathlessly.

“Mmm f-fuck Harrison” you whimper your leg shakes and your thigh clenches around his head slightly as you’re body rocks with the sweet release of your orgasm. Your cheeks flushed a deep shade of red as he slowly pulls his fingers out, your teeth bite down on your lips as he licks off any remnants of you from his fingers.

Your chest rises and falls slowly as his leans up between your legs to press his lips to yours, savouring the taste of your own juices but also the taste of the stick of gum he had been chewing beforehand, your pulling away slowly to where your forehead is flush against his. Staring into his eyes your looking around for an answer to a question that you’ve tried your hardest to push away, especially the sort that’ll get you into trouble.

Harrison begins standing up slowly as you fix your skirt and readjust your underwear, he’s leaning down again, and you’re not surprised when he kisses your forehead. Letting his lips linger against your skin for a small moment you feel your lips twitch into a small smile. “You still taste as good as ever”

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* bold means i couldn’t tag you

[iliketowrite1996]

Suits and Secret Moments

Little bit of insight into how T'Challa and reader’s relationship came to be.

NOTE: I can not write smut, and I try to make most encounters alluded to instead of full on stated.

TRIGGER WARNING- Sexual themes implied (i never write anything graphic, I can’t write it) casual relationships, and insecurities and secret relationships

You’re not quite sure when, how, or why this little… fling with T’Challa started. You remember that it was at Winifred’s retirement party. She’d been with the company since T’Chaka first began it. He and T’Challa had both pitched in and rented a fancy banquet hall for the night, at one of the city’s most luxurious hotels. The attire was black tie. Winnie had a flair for the dramatic, and she loved Old Hollywood style.

    The rest of the employees pitched in and got her a cruise around the world, something she’d always wanted but never gotten for herself in between her marriage, raising her children, and then helping her daughter raise her children. So, it was T’Challa’s idea.

    That was the first time that the man had ever been more than physically attractive to you. Of course,he’s good looking. He walks with confidence and those suits are just...the send thoughts through your head that you probably shouldn’t be thinking about your boss.

    Let’s leave it that.

    He’s always struck you as stoic and serious, though. You didn’t see him loosen up a bit until a year into your employment at the company. He was laughing at the Christmas party, head thrown back and hand clutching his stomach as he guffaw at whatever Nakia had just said to him.

    Nakia.

    You know they used to date. They dated for five years, breaking up right before college. He reassures you that the feelings are long since buried, but you don’t know how true tha tis. Especially considering how closely they’d been dancing on each other at that Holiday party.

    But you were dancing just as closely at that banquet, four and a half years after you began working for this company. The two of you moved in sync, ignoring the inebriated eyes that where on your forms before parting ways to go to your separate hotel rooms.

    He’d danced with most of the women at the company. It was just in his nature. T'Challa liked to socialize. You watched as he twirled Pepper Potts around the floor, slow danced with Nakia, moved with Gladys, Jenny, Diana and Sage to the rhythms of the song they’d chosen to dance with him too.

    So you dancing with him? That wasn't really scandalous at all. Just part of his personality, part of the fun of the night.

    No one could ever know what happened after that though.

    Because, by the end of the night, flirty text messages were exchanged and lips were pressed against yours and you ended up in his room, sneaking out with your navy blue dress over your arm, heels in your hand, and one of his shirts and a pair of his shorts to keep you dressed as you made your way down the hall and back to your own room.

    Thus began your little love affair.   

    You didn’t know that at the time, though. It was definitely a slow burn f there ever was one.

    First, you’d notice T’Challa seemed to always wanna meet with you after the little… incident. He’d check you out when he thought no one was looking, wide, brown eyes scanning over your frame with satisfaction gleaming behind them.

    He’d make off-hand comments about your appearance,saing how ‘’Lovely that blue blouse is’’.

    That blue blouse began making more and more appearances.

    T’Challa began to wear that blue tie that he pairs with his many suits, pulling out the grey, windowpane one that you adore so much more than a few times a month.

    Then, it got a bit more… physical.

    He’d claimed he wanted to run over something with you before he met with your team tomorrow, and i wouldn't mind sitting late, would you?

    Ofcourse you rolled your eyes. Watched your team hide their smirks. Excused Peter to go home early. Agree to stay late and meet with T’Challa about your ideas after his meeting.

    Ended up pressed to the wall of his office, the cold, hard surface doing nothing to extinguish the thousands of flames that seemed to burst across your skin as T’Challa pressed scorching hot kisses to your neck, leaving  trail of fire in the wake of his touch when his hands grazed the skin on your waist, just beneath the sweater.

    You both caught you breath about fifteen minutes later, that having been the longest kiss and definitely the most secretive one.

    Promised it wouldn’t happen again.    

    Ended up in the same position, just at your apartment this time.

    That night he’d pressed a kiss to your forehead, before lying his head on your chest, playing with her silk fabric of your pajama shirt as he vented about the pressures of being the son of T’Chaka and Ramonda, the CEO of one of the most successful commercials and trying to do it all while being human.

    ‘’I often feel like I am not… like everyone wants me to be perfect. And I am not,’’ he’d told you that night, the moonlight bathing his skin in that blue glow.

    ‘’You’re not perfect, T’Challa. But you are more than enough,’’ you’d said, rubbing a hand over his dark curls.

    He’d pressed a kiss to your sternum, lips sliding across the blue fabric of the shirt.

    ‘’You are wonderful to talk to,’’ he said, sleep overcoming the both of you moments later.

    Three months later you found yourself leaning against his chest as his arm wrapped around your middle, holing you and letting you vent about your day.

    ‘’Then, this man just takes my taxi, dude! He takes it and it’s not like I was waiting five minutes for it or anything, you now?,’’ you’d griped through clenched teeth, the nerves slowly working away as T’Challa reached one hand up to gently massage your scalp.

    ‘’Relax, babe,’’ he’d whispered into ear, ‘’Isn't there something more you’re upset about?’’

    ‘’I just… I really wanna do well at his meeting tomorrow. I mean, your dad is gonna be there. He’s not the boss anymore, but…’’

    ‘’Hey. You are brilliant. Your team is amazing. I do not doubt your skills at all, okay?’’

    ‘’Okay, babe,’’ you’d sighed, relaxing into his embrace.

    That night, all you did was kiss and slide under the covers, his arms around you as held you close.

    In the morning,you woke up to empty sheets, something that's become more frequent just as your… ahem, late evebubgs had.

    Which explains why today, five years after you started working for the company, you wake up alone, a note from T’Challa on the bedside table.

    ‘’See you at the office, entle’’.

    And so your day began. 

    You entered the office dressed in black slacks, a purple, silk, button up blouse, and your black flats. Your coffee is waiting for you, as is yout fifteen-year-old intern, Peter Parker.

    ‘’Good morning,’’ he states, eyes eager as he places a stack of papers on your desk, ‘’I got these form the fax room for you.’’

    ‘’You’re so efficient, Peter,’’ you sigh, high-fiving him, ‘’I faxed my notes today. My copier was taking forever and I couldn't be late.’’

    ‘’I’m sure that Mr. Udaku wouldn't mind if you were late.’’ he places the emphasis on the ‘’you’’ and it causes you to choke on your coffee.

    ‘’Why do you say that,’’ you quirked an eyebrow.

    ‘’You two seem like friends. He stops by where quite a bit when you run it for work errands,’’ Peter explains, setting up his laptop, ‘’Speaking of which, he told me to tell you that he meeting is at twelve.’’

    Must’ve forgot he told you last night.

    ‘’Oh. Thank you.’’

    Soyou prepare for your meeting, showing Peter your ideas and running them by him, since he is younger after all. He’s the age you all are targeting with these STEM programs.

    You gather your things a quarter until noon. ,making your way to the meeting room with Peter hot on your trail.

    Nakia is already there, with SHuri sitting behind ehr,taking notes on whatever Shuri is saying to her.

    M’Baku is there to, eating his vegetarian lasagna.

    ‘’Good morning, M’Baku. How are you?’’

    ‘’I am gone,’’ he tells you, ‘’You?’’

‘’Just a bit tired,’’ you shrug, pulling out your papers.

He doesn't need to know why, though.

‘’I am glad to hear that. How’d you convince him to move the meeting to noon?’’

‘’It was actually T’Challa’s idea,’’ you state just as  W’Kabi enters.

It’s not a lie, after all.

‘’So, team. Let’s get down to business. Mr. Udaku wants our final presentation on Friday. We have a lot to do, and say short time to do it in.’’

This is it, the environment where you best work. So you show them your presentation and leave all thoughts of T’Challa behind,

Focusing on what you do best.

    Monday night finds you enduring yet another painful, blind date with a guy Nakia had set you up with. He’s nice and all , just… well, he hasn’t asked you a single question about yourself. He’s not stopped talking about himself since you arrived an hour and a half ago. So, as far as you are concerned, this was a perfect waste of fresh makeup and a pretty, black dress.

    You’d rather be hope finalizing your final presentation or asking Nakia about her own date tonight, the one that she was very secretive about.

    Instead, you're here with him and wishing that you could end the date before your taxi gets there.

    That’s when you get a text from T’Challa,a skin if you are busy and if you’d like to come over.

    ‘’Can’t. Date night.’’

    He responds quickly, ‘’Tell him your boss requested your presence.’’

    It’s not a lie. And if it’ll get you outta this awkward date, it’s worth it.

    ‘’Hey, Nate,’’ you sigh, ‘’I’m sorry, I have to go. My boss needs me.’’

    ‘’Oh, now? It’s nearly nine!’’

    ‘’I have a huge project to work on, and he rpbalty wants to be updated.’’

    ‘’He messages you this late at night?’’

    ‘’He messages me all of the time,’’you roll your eyes, hoping that you are convincing him that you're annoyed with T’Challa, ‘’Um, maybe you and I can reschedule.’’

    ‘’That'd be nice,’’ Nate replies, standing when you do and helping you with your jacket and opening up the cab door when you get outside…

    And you make your way straight to T'Challa's place.

    Like him it is prim and proper n the outside. The only messy part is his bedroom, because T’Challa rarely hangs his clothes up. It’s almost like him- you’re the only one that got to see the the inside of him, see the T’Challa that he doesn't’ want anyone else to see.

    You’re broken out of that thought he=when he pulls you close, pressing a kiss to your cheek and then to your lips, ‘’How was the date?’’

    ‘’Awful. Yours?’’

    ‘’It was okay. Wasn’t really interested. It’s someone I kinda used to see,’’he shrugs, ‘’The spark is gone.’’

    ‘’Obviously, because you messaged me. And on a weeknight?! What happened to our weekend rule,’’ you tese.

    ‘’Hmmm, don’t tell me you didn’t miss me,’’he pretends to be hurt.

    ‘’I definitely missed you,T’Challa.’’

    ‘’Because you’re obsessed with my kiss?’’

    ‘’I’m obsessed with everything about you,’’ you confess.

    ‘’Yeah,’’ he whispers, bringing his lips toy uor ehar and pulling shivers down your spine, ‘’Prove it?’’

    You don't’ mind that all you do is makeout.

    You don’t mind that you have to catch a cab back home, not wanting anyone to find out where you’ve just been and especially with Nakia living in the same apartment complex.

    You don't’ even mind that you're tired the next day from staying up late to work on the proposal, especially when T’Challa winks at you before disappearing into his office.

    Because this is nice and easy and it’s what you both wanted. He’s so...he’s good. He’s a good man and your relationship is mostly kissing and sneaking around and late nights. It’s fine and it’s perfect and it’s all you want right now.

    But things like this are not always easy.

    And you and T’Challa are about to find out that, the harder you try to deny what you both know…

    The more it grows.

    And eventually it’ s bound to get out.

DISCLAIMER- I OWN NO MARVEL CHARACTERS OR THEIR FICTIONAL WORLDS

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